#but i'm able to hold a pencil in a way that matters now

[unknownersirius]

took me a week to do this lmao

[missdynamighttt]

i wholeheartedly BELIEVE that bf! katsuki would make you sit on his lap and help you do your eyeliner when you struggle with it sometimes.

you were sitting at your vanity, getting ready to go out with katsuki to meet some friends. but you were struggling with your holy grail: your eyeliner. normally you'd be able to do it perfectly but something just felt off about today.

no matter how many times you tried, the pen (or maybe your hand) just wouldn’t cooperate. the wing was either higher or thicker than the other, and it seemed noticeable.

you wipe what feels like the umpteenth failed attempt with a sigh, catching your boyfriend's attention as he lounged on your bed.

katsuki noticed the frustration on your face, silently watching as you rubbed your eye for a few seconds before finally speaking up.

"havin' trouble?" he asked, his voice monotone as usual. from his spot on the bed, he could see just how annoyed you were.

you let out a frustrated sigh as you glance at your reflection in the mirror. it morphs into a pout as you attempt your eyeliner again, determined to perfect it. "uh-huh..."

katsuki chuckled at your pouty face, getting up and approaching you from behind. he looked over you, watching the failed attempts closely as his hands brushed your shoulder.

with a sigh, he offers a hand to you. "give it here. let me do it."

you contemplated, but then you recall how katsuki's eyeliner always looked flawless. your thoughts drift back to your days in ua, remembering how he would wear his hero costume with his eyeliner to fill in the gaps of his mask.

it was always sharp, precise, you fawned over him whenever he chose to do a cat-eye that day. it didn't fail to make him look a hundred times hotter.

"alright," a soft smile spreads across your lips, handing the eyeliner pencil to him. you looked up at him, waiting for him to start tracing.

but he had other plans.

katsuki instructs you to stand up, squeezing your shoulder. "get up, sweetheart," he says, his tone gentle but firm. "i'll take the seat and you can sit on my lap."

"oh, is that so?" you grin with a hint of suspicion. "i'm starting to think you have an ulterior motive, katsuki."

despite your teasing, you comply and get up from the chair, crossing your arms as you watch him settle into the seat.

katsuki rolled his eyes, a frown on his face from your comment. "hmph. maybe i just wanna help my girl out. poor thing can't even do her eyeliner." he looks up at you, his expression softening, and pats his thigh.

"now... c'mere, sweets."

you bite your lip and nod, moving to settle, straddling him on his lap. you can feel the firmness of his thighs beneath you, his hand on your hips, steadying you as he holds your eyeliner in the other.

katsuki scoffs as a subtle blush appears on his face, watching as you settle yourself on top of him. he wraps one of his strong arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

he was pretty close to you, reaching up to brush some hair out of your face. he hummed, gently angling your head, positioning your chin to get a better look.

"so..." he mumbles, studying your face for a moment, as if imagining the art he would put in his canvas. "stay still. i need to focus."

"or what?" you'll get a boner?"

"shut it, brat. you want me to do this or not?"

he scoffs as you nodded up at him with a cheeky grin, taking hold of the pen and bringing it up to your eyes.

"tch. remember what i said. stay. still."

katsuki carefully starts drawing the line, using his free hand to gently hold the skin around your eye.

he really does try his best to keep his cool. but its hard when he can feel your breath on his face, the warmth of your body, and your gaze. it's distracting as hell, but he keeps himself focused on the task at hand.

he's determined to perfect your eyeliner.

you couldn't help but watch him. the experience felt oddly intimate, despite doing way more explicit stuff with him. he's so focused, a look of intense concentration on his face as the eyeliner glides across your eyelid. it was kind of cute.

katsuki bites his tongue as he moves onto the other eye. he notices you staring at him, but he tries his best to ignore it. he doesn't want to mess up this eyeliner because of a simple, silly distraction.

but he would be lying if he said his heart didnt skip a beat. he takes a deep breath and continues, trying to steady his hand.

"quit starin', sweetheart."

"i'm not! where am i even supposed to look?"

you scoff, but make a conscious effort to keep your face still, avoiding any sudden movements so katsuki wouldn't suddenly smudge his work.

he huffs, adjusting you in his lap, inadvertently pulling you closer. your scent was driving him crazy, and the feeling of you on his lap was starting to get him worked up. it was becoming difficult to focus.

"anywhere else. pay attention to somethin' else."

"likeeeee?"

katsuki lets out a sharp breath and tries to distract himself. but it wasn't working.

the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to bend you over on the vanity and do unspeakable things to you. but no, he couldn't. he needed to finish this damn eyeliner first. and go out with a few friends before he has you for the rest of the night.

"i don't know. the ceiling, the damn wall... just somethin' that isn't me."

"aww, how come? you're not getting distracted from this, are you?"

his breath hitches as you tease him again. damn it. damn this woman. he was doing good on keeping it together until you started talking, but now it was getting difficult.

katsuki doesn't respond right away, he's too focused on your goddamn eyeliner, trying to ignore the feeling of you in his lap. he focuses intently on getting it right. but he could feel the heat starting to pool in his pants. he's not sure how much more of this he can take.

a tiny smile tugged at the corners of your lips, but you suppressed it, holding back the urge to annoy katsuki further. you waited patiently as he continues to draw the line, the pen gliding smoothly on your eyelid. you were super eager to tease him more.

katsuki finally finishes the last stroke, his hand shaking slightly as he puts the pen down. he tries to keep a neutral expression, but the heat in his face betrays him. he lets out a shaky breath and looks up at you, his eyes darkening as he locks eyes with you.

"there," he mutters, his voice hoarse. "finished it."

your eyes twinkled with appreciation as you looked at yourself in the mirror, running your fingers through your hair as you looked at his handiwork.

his work never failed to amaze you. his hand always such precision that made it great for things like this. you spun around to face katsuki, a giddy smile on your lips.

"oh my god, katsuki! you did an amazing job. holy shit, i look like a million bucks!" you leaned in and planted a big, sloppy kiss on his cheek, grinning widely. "seriously, i'm like, ten times hotter now! you're a genius!"

katsuki lets out a soft gasp when you kiss him, his blush deepening. he was relieved to finally be done with the eyeliner so he could put his focus elsewhere. he was happy you're happy. but now he has an entirely different problem... "yeah... i know. you look gorgeous, sweetheart. always do."

he swallows hard, his eyes focused on yours. he doesn't say anything at first, letting out a shaky breath as he processes how hot you look right now. all he wants to do is fuck you right there, show you how much he likes your eyeliner, but he's trying to hold himself back. he's not sure how long he'll succeed, though.

you notice katsuki staring off into space, head titled as a hint of concern crosses your features. you called out his name gently, voice laced with a note of amusement. "katsuki? baby, you with me?"

katsuki hums in response, his hands gripping your hips a little harder. he can feel himself getting more heated, your voice making him feel almost dizzy with desire. "mhm?"

as katsuki shakes his head and snaps back to reality, your can't help but bite your lip, suppressing a smile.

"you okay? you looked like a deer in headlights."

he lets out a sharp breath, letting his head fall to the crook of your neck. he knows you've noticed how riled up he is right now.

this is going to be harder than he thought.

"m'fine. just... just give me a second.."

a soft chuckle escapes your lips as you brush your fingers through his hair, affectionately playing with the strands. you smirk at his question, a hint of playful sarcasm lacing your voice.

"okay... for what, though? what you thinking about, tough guy?"

katsuki lets out a shudder at your touch, his grip on your hips tightening a bit more. you're a wicked, wicked woman to him. he lifts his head up to look at you again, his eyes roaming your body.

he can't even form a coherent thought, your touch sending jolts of heat straight through his body. this was not the time for you to play coy.

"you.. god, you.. need to stop that."

"stop what?"

he can feel his patience thinning rapidly. you're driving him wild, he has to do something about this.

"stop.. touchin' me," he mutters, his hand moves to grip your wrist, gently pulling your hand away from his hair.

you feign disappointment, lower lip sticking out in an exaggerated pout. you looked at him with a feigned look of dejection, gently shifting your weight as if preparing to leave his lap. "aww, okay. i guess i could get off your lap... but i was getting comfortable, y'know..."

katsuki immediately grabs your hips, anchoring them underneath him, stopping you.

"no. stay."

he lets out a shaky breath, his eyes looking up at yours. he's desperately trying to keep his cool, but his eyes are practically filled with lust. his body is aching for you, the heat in his stomach is slowly becoming uncomfortable.

he buries his head back in the crook of your neck. his hands rub your hips, squeezing the flesh softly, but with a firm pressure.

"i just need a damn minute."

you let out a soft, playful chuckle, enjoying how flustered he looks as you shift your weight in his lap, grinding against his crotch a little.

"for what? for it to go down?"

katsuki lets out a low, guttural moan against your neck when you do that, his grip on your hips tightening as his body responds to your touch. his head is clouded with a fog of lust, and he honestly can't think straight.

"shit.. stop that, jesus..." he whimpers out, his hands grabbing at your hips and holding you in place so you can't move. "for the love of god, stop movin' like that or i'll.."

"c'mon, katsuki.." you giggle softly, your voice is soft and sultry as you lean in, hot breath tickling his ear. "can we have some fun?"

your hands trail down his thighs, your touch sending shivers down his spine as you rubs and caress his legs, hands dangerously near his crotch.

katsuki shivers from the touch, his thighs muscles tensing under your touch. he lets out a shaky breath, trying desperately to find the willpower to resist you. but he's losing the battle faster than he knows.

he's completely at your mercy.

"we... we can't.. we have to leave soon.." he groans, his hands slowly traveling up your side and to your chest, his fingers rubbing against the soft flesh. "sweets, we're gonna end up skippin' the whole damn thing if you don't cut it out.."

you look up at him, biting your lip in anticipation. your hand dips beneath his waistband, fingers teasing along the sensitive ache in between his legs.

"can we be a little late, katsuki? please...?" you purr, your other hand tracing lazy circles across his chest.

katsuki lets out a deep moan as you touch him, his hips bucking slightly into your hand. his head falls back as you trail kisses down his jaw, his self-control starting to break. this is torture. pure, blissful torture.

your hand moves lower, gently fondling his length through the fabric. "just a few minutes..."

katsuki's breath hitches at the contact, he lets out a loud gasp and throws his head back at the feeling. his fingers dig into your side slightly as his body tenses up. he can barely focus on anything else besides your touch.

"goddamnit... f-fine, but only... only for a few minutes."

that was what katsuki said before he bent you over your vanity. needless to say, it wasn't just "a few minutes".

you were 2 hours late.

but even with your sex hair™, your clothes wrinkled and your disheveled look: your eyeliner still looked flawless.

and you had your boyfriend to thank for that.

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

⋆˚࿔ kia's note ˚⋆ super self-indulgent as an eyeliner girlie oml 😞😞 sorry for the lack of smut, been struggling with school lately and i wanted to feed you guys!! to the people requesting, pls read that i cant accept them rn 😭 tysm!!

[hyacinth-in-a-haze]

Hi I really like your writing!

All of it I read it in like the last two days!

Could you many write more about the life withe the yan!preacher like how reader’s live is now that she lives as his wife

If not that is also absolutely ok just thought I would ask because I would really like to know

Domestic- Yandere southern preacher x fem reader

There's not much work for you to do in the day, you suppose you should be thankful for that. He has some consideration for you, enough to take the dishes from your hands and hire someone else to clean your clothes. Your main housework revolves around tending the house, keeping the dust out and cooking meals for the both of you. The dust is the worst one getting in from cracks under the doors and windows, you hear some places get dust storms so bad folk suffocate in their sleep. The papers got plenty of horror stories like that. The preacher always reads the paper out at breakfast, you're not allowed to leave the table until he's done regaling you of stories he deems worthy. Pinning you down with his words as you stare at your porridge, watching the rivers of honey and cream sink down. He saw you struggling once with some book you grabbed from the shelf, sounding out a word that made no sense on the page. He only tutted and took it from you, repeating the word over and over until you got it somewhat right.

Ever since you told him you left school when you were fourteen to work in service he's seemed to take any chance he could to educate you. Reading the papers is part of that, it's the less embarrassing part unlike the workbooks meant for Sunday school children. He hovers over you watching as you write down answers with your shaking hand, hemming and hawing without actually saying anything. Until you're finished, then he breaks everything you did wrong down until you're crying from frustration.

“Do we really need all these waterworks, little lamb?” He brings his hands to your cheeks, wiping tears and holding you steady in line with his gaze. “There's no one shaming you here, I'm only just trying to help you as a husband should.” you sob even harder with his help. He doesn't do anything but let you cry yourself out. Finally when your sobs become hiccups he places the pencil back into your hand, kisses your forehead, waiting for you to try again. “You need to know this, I won't fail you like everyone else has.”

“I can figure sums out just fine when I've gone to the market before,” you hiccup as you speak like a petulant child. At the very least with him you're able to talk back to him without fear of anger, no matter how much you've pushed he always remains calm. “And I can read fine too.” He sighs, running his hand through his hair, only a few flecks of gray in an otherwise uniform sea.

“Your too stubborn to know what's best for you” he grumbles, you could almost think him fatherly if he didn't look at you in that way.

You try not to think of him as your husband, despite the ring he's given you, a size too big. Not enough to fall off but enough that you are always aware it's there, spinning around your finger like a shackle rather than a second skin. The worst part is his gentleness, you're not used to men using their gentleness against you. Nor are you used to gentleness in general from men, you've been a servant for wealthier folk since you were old enough. Used to sharp words and sharper strikes around the head for your sins. Sometimes he does give you that hot coco once more, lulling you away when he can't trust you awake. You still have the burns from dropping it that night, dappled on the skin of your thighs, faint but it's there when he strokes over the bare skin gently. He's had no need to strike you, you always were a timid thing afraid of trouble but you'd always find yourself there for no good reason. But you've been good, he tells you so in the dead of night, that you're a good girl and the greatest thing the Lord has given him.

Church is always an event, he gets you ready in the morning himself. Smoothing out your dress and rubbing a light rouge to your cheeks, with a look that says to not run your mouth when he lets you outside the house. It's not as if you had anyone but him, his congregation are zealous folk for a man who only keeps to the god talk inside church. They whisper about you, some new thing who suddenly appeared one day as their preacher's wife. It only serves to make you seek him out more, the closest thing you have to a companion who knows you

He always fucks you after services, sometimes still in your dress. Holding you steady beneath him as he eats you out until you make a mess of yourself on his tongue. You try your best to focus on the beams above your head rather than on the growing warmth between your legs and the soaked sheets underneath you, and how he kisses you deeply with your taste in his mouth. And how there's too many and’s when you're here, underneath him as he mumbles soft praises. Is this a better fate than being hanged for murder? Sometimes you do question it after he's finished drilling a hole into you. Stroking you gently and mumbling “let's not waste that now missy” as he pushes his cum back into you. Yous pray to not get pregnant but it seems God's gone and turned his back on you.

[justafewberries]

In your opinion how common are pencils in district 12?

alright, so, baseline, they do have them. katniss knows what they are, and she knows what graphite is. huge win for the pencil truthers of d12.

by catching fire, katniss has an unspecified writing utensil at home:

I tried to write it at home...

EXCEPT it is specified on the train:

Things seemed clear in my head and even when I talked before the crowd, but the words never came out of the pen right.

Now, it's possible she refers to a pencil as a "pen", but she later calls a pencil and pencil, so I can't definitively decide either way. For the sake of taking her at her literal word, let's assume Katniss uses a pen to try to write her victory tour speeches. This could be a matter of preference, not necessarily a commentary on the skepticism.

We also know that Prim has homework and her mother does her budgeting at the office desk, so they have to have some sort of access to a writing utensil at home. The "homework" leads me to believe it's a pencil, as we know one of her classes is math:

Besides basic reading and math most of our instruction is coal-related

We also know that Peeta has decent control over his handwriting, at least enough to where he can write in tiny print:

 He writes lightning in tiny print in the corresponding wedge

Which is more difficult for people who are just learning how to hold a pencil. He's also a painter, but I think it can stretch into the potential assumption that students in d12 learn how to write/hold a pencil. This, to me, indicates that pencils have to be available enough for them to learn how to write.

Now, back to the homework, in d13, Katniss says this:

so I ask for a piece of paper and a pencil right off.

She doesn't ask for a pen, but a pencil. this is instinctual for her. she could have asked for either, but her gut ask in a stressful situation was for a pencil. This is distinct. Yes, d13 is partially a graphite district, so we can safely assume they would have more pencils than pens from the left over mines:

I spring up, upsetting a box of a hundred pencils, sending them scattering around the floor

But Katniss, a d12 resident, defaults to a pencil, too. Not a pen. Thus I believe the "pen" she was referring to pertaining to the speeches was purely what she had on hand, rather than her preferred tool.

Now for pencils specifically, the districts are taught d13 mined graphite, but d13 hasn't been part of panem in 75 years. For pencils to continue to exist, they must either have another mine, or an agreement with the capitol where d13 still produces graphite for them. i'm more inclined to believe the relations between the two entities are far too sour to include any sort of trade deal.

In fact, we know that somewhere mines graphite, as katniss, 75 years later, knows what it is, and they use it in d3's manufacturing:

The main newscaster is reading a piece about a shortage of graphite affecting the manufacturing of items in District 3

While we know this footage is recycled, we also know that by this point, there has been some rebellion in 3.

"Oh yeah. My prep team was all upset a few months ago, I think, because they couldn't get hold of that," I say casually. "I guess a lot of orders from District Three were getting backed up." Beetee examines me... "Yes. Did you have any similar backups in coal production this year?"

We also know that the lie the capitol concocted for d4 has a similar grain of truth, where the issue with production is plausible enough to believe.

"Oh Katniss, we haven't been able to get any seafood for weeks!" says Octavia. "You know, because the weather's been so bad in District Four."

Thus, I believe, due to the believable nature of the grain of truth in the d4 lie, d3 genuinely uses graphite. It's common in manufacturing irl anyway, but this is more so to prove it textually. So they must get it from somewhere.

The question is, how much of that production is relegated to pencils, and how much is used in d3 or other places.

From what's available, I don't think this is calculable, but we'll go off of this one part from Mockingjay:

There's a closet in the Education Center that's great because no one ever seems to need school supplies. They're so frugal with things here, waste is practically a criminal activity. Fortunately, the people of 12 have never been wasteful. But once I saw Fulvia Cardew crumple up a sheet of paper with just a couple of words written on it and you would've thought she'd murdered someone from the looks she got.

If paper is scarce, there'd be no use for pencils. Thus I think they're equivalently scarce, as in, probably not all that scarce, but still too expensive to throw away. That's mostly an assumption, though. And with Katniss's instinct being to ask for a pencil, not a pen, I think pencils are fairly widely available. Obviously, you'd have to take into account the fact nothing seems to be very bountiful in d12, so pencils are only "widely available" under that frame. Best guess: they'd be a common tier item.

[slippinninque]

Sleepy Snap Shots

Was feeling a bit down at an ungodly hour and I wanted to write some fluff, lol

Warning: None I think, fluffy fluff!

Pairing: Fontaine x Fem!Black Reader

You both tried to go to bed a the same time.

There were a few times that you where encouraged to go on to bed while Fontaine was out handling his business. You'd promise to go on to bed, answering his facetime to confirm that, yes, you were in bed.

There were even more times that Fontaine would come in and see your stubborn little ass on the couch. The TV would be low and often set to Bounce, old reruns keeping you company.

Fontaine watched you for a moment and didn't know about the smile on his face, but he did feel the savory joy of finally having someone willing to wait up for him.

He'd nudge you awake enough to roll into his arms, throw blanket and all, and he'd take you to bed. Fontaine would only have to lay you down and you'd burrow into the covers with no coaxing.

Fontaine would be tempted to slip right into bed beside you, but he never liked the thought of bringing 'outside' to you. Especially any of the dregs of the world he walked in.

Showering quick and grabbing only a pair of fresh boxers, Fontaine would finally be able to lay down beside you. You stirred enough to pull him beneath the covers and into your dark, stuffy cocoon.

Fontaine was surrounded by the smell of you, instantly encased in you. You pressed close to him as you spread the throw blanket to cover the both of you along with your lighter sheets.

You hummed softly when you felt his bare chest, pressing a little more fervidly than not.

"Naughty, 'Taine. Meow?"

Fontaine took hold of your hand and pressed a kiss to your palm, you were a little imp when you were dozy.

"Ain't no meow tonight. Take yo' little horny tail back to sleep." He placed laced your fingers put them to his chest.

And with a final, 'well, how rude' , you were out again. Fontaine stroked his thumb along yours until he fell into sleep as well.

........

"Whatchu doin;?"

You startled, badly, looking up from your sketchbook to the figure standing accusingly near the couch.

A sheepish look at your man, him raising both his brows and the comforter he drug from bed. He tucked it more securely around himself as he fussed.

"Woman, do you know what time it is? I do. Too far after midnight for me not to have you in bed."

Fontaine would not appreciate if you pointed out how adorable he looked. From the way he had the comforter wrapped, it looked like he was only wearing his white long socks. That and his snippy little tone was nearly too much.

So you told the other truth, "I woke up and I couldn't go back to sleep! So I figured I get some sketching done."

"You coulda did that in bed. With me." Fontaine trudged towards you with intent, "It's bedtime."

You stood up and held out a hand, "Hold on now Mr. Statham--

Fontaine's head crooked a little to the side, "Who?"

"Y'know, Transporter? He be transportin' folks--ah, nevermind. Don't you pick me up! I'm comin', let me save my stuff real quick and I'll be there."

He narrowed his eyes at your rambling and you pointedly began straightening your sketchbooks.

"I'm on my way, Daddy! Go warm the bed back up for us."

And with a hmpf, Fontaine turned and shuffled back down the hallway towards the bedroom. You chuckled as you began gathering loose sketches and replacing your pencils into their pouch.

You thought you would have more time, but you should have known better. Once you started sharing a bed, Fontaine could not stay asleep in it without you. You could get an hour, two at the most before he would go looking for you.

It felt good to have someone who showed you in their own little ways, that you mattered. The thought felt selfish but you always fell a little more for Fontaine when he doesn't hide his need for you.

So, you did not keep your man waiting. After one small detour, you hurried to the bedroom. Fontaine was a lump in the middle of the bed but a corner of the blanket lifted up when he heard you enter.

Scuttling beneath the blankets with your apology, you waited for the familiar coil of his arms as he drug you closer to him. You wedged your bowl of green grapes between the two of you.

"Sleepy snack." You whispered, pressing a grape to his lips. Even in the dark you would be able to find those blessings.

He made a surprised noise, but his mouth was open enough for you to dispense another after taking a few for yourself.

You fed him only a few more grapes until there was no response to your soft pressing. It was then that you polished off the bowl, moved the dish to the night stand, and resettled.

Fontaine shifted onto his back and laid your head on his chest. His arm came around you, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear.

You stared into the darkness of your room until your lids got heavy and with absolutely no worries burrowing into your mind, you fell asleep to your love's rhythm

............

Thank you for reading! I just needed to write some fluff lol. I really appreciate the time you too to read this and please tell me how you liked it!

Taglist:

@megamindsecretlair @thadelightfulone @mag1calenchantr3ss @cocoeffects @wide-nose-and-wonderful @8ttached @thadelightfulone @hobiesmain @thickeeparker @longpause-awkwardsmile @ms-angiealsina @educatorsareslutstoo @mysterychick93

(let me know if you want to be tagged!! 💕💜🌟)

[animentality]

not to be a boomer, but I do worry about the current generation of kids being raised with iPads.

first off. some of them literally can't hold a pencil because their parents never gave them physical toys to grip and play with, developing their fine motor skills.

you might ask why do we even need to learn how to write physically anymore- well, frankly, because if you're stranded on an island somewhere and you need to write HELP, you might not have the strength to hold a pencil, but you can at least hold a stick.

but on a more general note.

writing by hand helps you remember things better. it forces you to focus in a way that typing something word for word does not. a person can transcribe what a professor says without even thinking about it.

someone writing notes has to consider what to write and what to omit. it also activates more parts of your brain, forcing you to flex the parts of your brain related to learning and communicating, while also engaging the part of your brain dedicated to muscle control and precision.

but in general, I think the issue isn't even oh technology is bad and kids are getting dumber.

you can have PowerPoints AND take physical notes. that could help you learn even better than the olden days where you just had to remember everything that was thrown at you. or read very limited, out of date books.

the problem is that the generation that raised/is raising this generation of children just doesn't understand the true impact that all this technology will have on their kids. or they just don't care.

because our generation had the internet yes, but it wasn't widely accessible for most of us, sharing our computers with the entire family in the kitchen. it was also the internet in its infancy, where it wasn't quite so predatory, when it was lawless and disturbing, yes, but it wasn't weaponized by corporations trying to sell you things and steal your data, it wasn't flooded with bots and ai and all sorts of things that the human brain can't even distinguish as real or fake, especially when you're just a little kid.

that generation still played with physical toys. we celebrated when it snowed and we could stay home.

we also came from a gen that still, vaguely, cared about some form of community and had third spaces for kids to hang out.

90s children, who still had some memories of both playing outside on a playground and playing Mario Kart on the Nintendo 64 with their friends, who both went out to the mall and had a club penguin account.

we grew up with laptops and smart boards. maybe some of us had them in high school or college, but we still physically went to class and developed relationships. learned uncomfortable things about ourselves and others, the way humans do.

met new people and were exposed to new ideas, away from our parents. but not from some fucking influencer trying to sell us Sephora products.

we had to study for things, instead of just being able to Google shit for some bullshit online test.

which is also something that really concerns me. so many kids today can so easily Google answers for every test, and while tests don't ultimately matter in the real world, they still provide some basis for things that do matter.

like I'm just imagining medical students googling how to perform an appendectomy on the day of, and just using a YouTube tutorial to guide them through, and shuddering.

there are some things that the Internet can't teach you.

there always will be.

but I don't think my generation is really helping their kids find the balance that we were given naturally growing up.

the boomers and gen xers had fist fights and we had bullying someone online until they committed suicide.

and now kids use AI to spread fake nudes of girls.

but the laws haven't caught up with a lot of this stuff yet, and certainly won't while we have dinosaurs running our government. and culture takes even longer to change than laws.

I also worry because I know how badly covid affected kids worldwide. how they struggle to read and do math, because remote learning just isn't good for kids.

and I can't even blame them!! I literally teleworked for 4 years and even I can admit that I'm not nearly as good at focusing at home as I am in the office.

it's hard for kids with social anxiety and disabilities, yes I know, I know, trust me, I have social anxiety, and as a hybrid worker ATM, I highly doubt I'd be able to handle 5 days a week in the office.

but it's also not particularly good for kids to stay home ALL the time, entertaining themselves in their room and never being challenged, and never meeting people other than their parents.

the iPad is more of a symbol of that problem than the direct problem.

if your entire... world view is limited to what you can see on your iPad... I mean what a terrible world view you'll have.

you're a 10 year old using TikTok and all you ever see is the same opinion over and over until you can scarcely comprehend people who have an opposing opinion.

you see fake videos that seem so real. that must be real, and so comforting, aren't they, those videos that seem so real?

you let 30 year old influencers who are trying to grift people shape your world view.

and it's not even your fault.

your parents aren't doing anything to help you.

you're young and you're being barraged with entertainment and fake educational videos and how to guides that accidentally create mustard gas in your toilet.

your parents should be teaching you to find a balance between these things. they should be telling you what's real and caution you about the things you see.

they should limit your fucking time on the iPad actually. take you to a fucking park and let you roll in the mud or some shit.

and then when you're a teenager and a young adult, then you can start deciding for yourself what you believe.

but a lot of these weird millennial/gen z parents, man. just let your 1 year old scroll through vids on TikTok while you don't even talk to them or look at them once.

maybe it's because they don't see the harm in it, but I don't get it.

adults can watch TikTok all day and know, ahhh this is bad for me. I'm not doing anything I actually want to be doing.

adults can see other adults doing dumb shit and say ah you're sponsored. someone paid you money to say and do that. silly.

but kids are just kids.

they don't have discipline and frankly, that's not their responsibility. that is yours.

you should be teaching them that they can't have everything in life at their finger tips at all times, actually.

the iPad doesn't solve all of your problems, nor will it think critically for you.

so I worry about if humanity can really keep up with its own technology.

our species is still in its infancy, believe it or not.

so maybe these are just growing pains, and future generations will be able to look back on this era and know the proper balance.

but as someone living in 2024.

I wonder just how much pain is left before we really mature and either make it or break it.

[whumpisgoodwhumpislife]

Nameless

Masterlist

The vampire slowly awoken, sitting up in the bed.

The bed. He was in a real bed, with a comfortable mattress, a duvet and everything. He hadn't felt so comfortable in... Years, likely, since he couldn't even remember.

His face fell as he remembered something, and he started searching the surface of the bed anxiously. Where was his teddy bear? It was the only thing he had from his life before the hunters. The only thing that he could call his. And it wasn't there.

The door to the room opened just as he choked out a sob. He immediately looked up, both hands going up to cover his mouth, his empty eyes staring blindly in the direction of the noise. A single tear rolled down his cheek, as he shook silently in terror.

Please, please.

Raphael almost took a step back at the sight of the vampire's white eyes. It... No, he was staring right at him, as if he could see him. For the first time since he had found the creature, he was wide awake and conscious. He took a deep breath, before speaking, hesitantly waving the teddy he was holding:

- Hey, uh, how are you?

Stupid question. The vampire's throat and stomach were still covered in red, angry burns. There was no way he would be able to answer him, anyway.

Raphael sighed, and walked slowly close to the bed. He was still wary, ready to run if his unusual guest lurched at him or anything. Just like he had done in the hunter's basement, he placed the stuffed animal in the crook of his arm, ignoring his flinch, before stepping back.

- Here you go. I washed it, it was really disgusting, full of blood and...

The vampire's own blood, likely. The man suspended his sentence, and watched as the other buried his face into the now clean fabric of the plushie, surprised by the low chirping noises he was doing. It was... Oddly endearing. The creature's behaviour reminded him of a child's, and he couldn't help but wonder about his age. He looked like a human in their twenties, but he could also be over hundreds of years.

The vampire inhaled slowly, the smell of laundry oddly calming. He couldn't believe it. Not only had the human given him back his teddy, but he had also washed it. Why...? Why was the man acting like he mattered?

He flinched again as he heard him speak, focusing on the words.

- I'm Raphael, by the way. I'm not going to hurt you, 'kay ? Can you please give your name ?

The small creature let out a frightened chirp, as something touched his arm, and he had a movement of recoil before understanding. The human, Raphael, was handing him a notebook and a pencil. He was giving him a way to express himself, like a real person.

There was just one small issue.

Raphael frowned as the vampire handed him back the notebook, deciphering the clumsy letters he had traced all over the page.

- You forgot? What do you mean, you forgot your name?

Taglist : @sausages-things

[scarletsaphire]

For his entire nine years of life, Danny has had incredible dreams. Featured in every one is a patch of stars, staying just in the corner of his vision, just out of reach. It is only after his first nightmare that the stars appear as what they truly are; a ghost, here to make a deal.

--

This is my Big Boy fic I've been planning for over a year. I hope you guys enjoy.

Danny had always dreamed of stars. It wasn't necessarily that he always dreamed of the stars, but they were always there. Sometimes he'd dream that he was a pirate, fighting glowing green sea creatures that came up from the bottom of the ocean, tentacles grappling on the sides of his pirate ship. Sometimes he would dream of a world made entirely of smudges of color, and he had to save it from the evil people who wanted to erase it all. Sometimes he would dream of exploring other planets, of the taste of space dust on his tongue and a ground that made him bounce like a trampoline. Danny dreamed a lot of things, but no matter what he dreamed about, the stars were always there, just out of reach. They were different then the ones that appeared in the sky; they seemed to flow and ripple like water, and they always seemed to move to the corner of his vision no matter how hard he tried to see them.

For a while, Danny tried to catch the stars. Every time he got close, he'd wake up. But his parents had taught him that Fentons don't give up, and Danny wouldn't be the one to break that streak. So he swore to himself, after what felt like the millionth time waking up in the dead of night, that he'd get to hold those stars someday, even if he needed to go to space to get them. He spent every night that summer trying to catch them, every night waking up disappointed and going through the next day so tired his mom brought him to the doctor's for a check up.

Danny didn't try and catch the stars the night before third grade. In between teaching Danny the correct way to weld, his dad had talked all about how he'd need all his energy to learn the new things that tomorrow would bring. His mom had stolen Danny away to show him the new and improved Fenton Folders she'd finished for him, designed to be able to hold not only the papers for his class, but any textbooks or other supplies he might need as well. They were bulky, and the combination of metal and mesh wasn't the prettiest, but Danny loved them; he'd helped her make them, after all. Jazz had told him while helping him pack that he needed to prepare himself. 

"Third grade is where the real school starts," she said while trying to fit his pack of #2 pencils in the backpack without disrupting the spots she'd already put his other supplies. "I can help you prepare physically, because I'm the best big sister ever, but you've gotta make sure you're prepared mentally. It's a lot of responsibility."

"I don't know what that means," Danny admitted.

Jazz grinned at him, showing off the gap in her teeth. "Yeah, well you're gonna. That's something third grade will teach you."

Danny did not pout. He was nine now, which was basically double digits. He was above pouting. "Why don't you just tell me now?"

Jazz zipped up the backpack and left it on the hook next to the front door. "I can't do that, it's against the laws of third grade. Everyone has to go through a ritual at the start, to make sure they're fit to be a third grader."

Danny narrowed his eyes. "You're lying."

"Would I ever lie to you?"

"Yes."

Jazz stuck her tongue out at him, and Danny did it right back. "I'm surprised Mom and Dad didn't tell you about the third grade ritual. What else do you think they've been having us do those martial arts classes for?"

"Ghost fighting?" Danny said slowly.

"And who says the challenge isn't a ghost?" Jazz was smiling at him in the same way she had when she said she didn't hide his cookies on the top shelf.

"You're definitely lying."

Jazz shrugged and turned around towards the stairs. "Believe what you want. I just know that if I was you, I would listen to your big sister who’s already beaten the ghosts. You don't want to fight them by yourself, do you?" With that she went upstairs, leaving Danny by himself. Jazz was lying to him. She had to be. But...

Danny grabbed one of the half finished inventions laying on the end table in the living room and slipped it into the side pocket of his backpack. It was better safe than sorry.

That morning Danny woke well-rested, having slept better than he had all summer. He’d had a dream about constructing fish bowls out of clouds, wringing the water from them like you would a towel. It had been a good dream, even if the stars still hung in the corner of his vision, taunting him. It would have been a pleasant way to wake up, if the first thing he was aware of wasn't the bellowing of his name from the doorway.

"Danno!" Jack repeated at a volume that only made his ears ring a little bit. "Hurry up kiddo, you're gonna be late!"

Danny blinked the sleep out of his eyes as he tried to interpret the numbers on his clock. 7:10. "Dad, you were supposed to wake me up at 6:20!" Danny yelled, jumping out of his bed, blankets falling in a twisted knot to the floor. "The bus is going to be here in 10 minutes!"

"Sorry, son," Jack said. "You don't have to worry about the bus, your old man can drive you."

"No, I'm sure I can catch the bus."

---

Danny walked out of the GAV at precisely 7:24, with only his nine years of experience keeping him from vomiting. He'd missed the bus by thirty seconds at most. 

"You've got this, kiddo! Face those challenges head on!" Jack called from the open window. "Love you, good luck!"

Danny waved back, and Jack drove away. His mention of challenges reminded him of Jazz's words yesterday. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been able to take the unfinished device with him to school; his mom had ended up grabbing it to work on, and with how late he'd woken up, he didn't have a chance to grab a new one. That was okay. Jazz was just kidding. Probably. He tightened his grip on his backpack straps and made his way into the school yard.

Danny's plan was to find Tucker. His parents hadn't let him hang out the past week. They'd said something about summer reading stuff that Tucker still hadn't done, and that he was grounded until he got it finished or school started back up. It was completely unfair, and it meant that the couple minutes before they had to go inside were crucial for catching up about all the exciting things that they had done since the last time they'd hung out. Unfortunately, the first person Danny found was not Tucker. It was Dash.

"Are your parents still adding weapons to that hunk of junk you call a car?" he called out from his spot on the stairs. Dash was mean and a bully, and he had been since kindergarten, but he wasn't persistent. Danny had learned early on that the best thing to do was ignore him and walk away, ideally into the sight of a teacher. Danny tried to do this now, but Dash got up and started to follow him. "What are you running away from? Gonna go hunt down some ghosts to talk to? It’s not like any of us want to."

Danny's grip tightened around the straps of his backpack. "Leave me alone Dash."

"What are you gonna do if I don't?" Dash spat. Danny's next step was halted by Dash's grip on his backpack, forcing him to stumble backwards to keep from falling. "Are you gonna tell your weirdo parents? You'd probably have to lie to get them to care." 

Danny spun to face Dash, the force of his twist breaking the taller boy’s grasp. Despite their height difference, Danny didn't back down.

"Stop it," he spat.

Dash sneered. "Oh, I'm so scared." He leaned down until Danny could smell his breath, warm and gross on his face. "Your whole family is a joke, and everyone knows it. You're no different."

There were a number of things that happened in those few seconds. The first was that Danny realized that, whether intentional or not, Jazz had been right about needing to fight a monster. He wouldn't tell her that, of course. She was already insufferable. 

The second was that Danny's hand had let go of his backpack, clenched into a fist, and flew at Dash's jaw with all the speed and might Danny's nine year old body could muster. 

The third thing, which was by far the worst, was the door to the school yard flying open only a few feet from where Dash and Danny stood. This meant that the teacher got front row seats to Dash's tooth flying out of his mouth.

"Daniel James Fenton!" she called, but her voice sounded distant under the rush of Danny's blood in his ears and Dash's blubbering. He only fully processed that his name had been said when he felt her grab his arm. "Just what do you think you are doing?"

Danny flushed red from embarrassment as he realized that the teacher's yelling had attracted the attention of the whole school yard. "He started it," he mumbled under his breath.

"I don't care who started it, young man, that's no excuse for violence!" she snapped. "I'm going to need to call your parents, do you understand that? In all my years of teaching, I've never had to call anyone about something like this so early in the school year." She moved towards the building, Danny dragging along behind her. 

She stopped briefly near the door to point at a student Danny didn't recognize; a 5th grader, by the looks of it. "Would you be a dear and escort Dash to the nurse’s office?" The student nodded.

The teacher led Danny through the halls of the school to the main office. "You are going to sit right here," she said to Danny, leading him to one of the waiting chairs, "-and you aren't going to move a single muscle, do you understand? I'm going to talk to the principal, and then she is going to talk to you." Danny nodded, and the woman disappeared behind the adjacent door.

Danny would not cry. He wanted to, and his eyes burnt with hot, angry tears, but he did not cry. He was nine. That was almost double digits, and someone who is double digits doesn't cry. Danny focused on one spot on the worn, dirty, carpeted floors, trying to get the heat of his anger to burn a hole through it.

It didn't work. Danny cried quietly.

When the teacher walked back into the room, he wiped away his tears as quickly and discreetly as he could before getting out of his chair and following her into the principal's office. Danny had seen Principal Caulfield a couple of times before; she would give announcements in the cafeteria sometimes, and would lead fire drills. He'd never been called to her office before. He'd never wanted to.

She smiled at him warmly, a stark contrast to the teacher's steely gaze he could still feel burrowing into the back of his head like knives. "Hello, Daniel. I assume Mrs. Robertson explained why you're here." Danny nodded. "Mrs. Robertson explained what happened to me, but I want to hear it from your perspective. Can you do that for me?" 

Danny shifted from foot to foot, not meeting Principal Caulfield's eyes. "She can leave, if that would make you more comfortable." Principal Caulfield nodded to her, and Mrs. Robertson took her leave.

"Dash was making fun of my family," Danny mumbled. "I tried to walk away, but he grabbed me and wouldn't let me go."

Principal Caulfield nodded. "So you decided to hit him?" 

Danny nodded. 

"Why don't you take a seat?" Slowly, Danny sat down in the chair opposite of hers. "We try very hard to teach our students that violence isn't the answer here, and it never is. You should've called for a teacher, or tried to settle the issue with words. Do you understand that?" 

Danny nodded again. 

"Now, I'm going to call your parents. I'm going to have a long discussion with, and you will be sent home early. I know that the first day of school has a lot of fun activities, and with your behavior today, I think a fair punishment is missing out on them. If this happens again, however, you will be in far more trouble. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes ma'am," Danny said. He focused on keeping his voice from wobbling.

"Good. Now, let me see here..." Principal Caulfield stood up and made her way over to her filing cabinet, rifling through one of the drawers and pulling out a folder with a label that read "D. J. Fenton." She flipped through it, traced her finger down one of the pages, and started dialing a number on the phone. Just as Danny had expected, it went to voicemail. A voicemail that was completely full.

Principal Caulfield frowned down at the phone. She looked through the file again, before looking up at Danny. "Are your parents busy right now?"

"My mom's down in the lab," he said. "If Dad's home by now, he's down there with her. If not, he's in the car."

Her face twisted in confusion, probably trying to figure out what Danny meant by lab, before it settled on an expression Danny had become very familiar with over the years. It was the mixed horror and understanding that most adults got when they realized that those two jumpsuit-wearing ghost hunting weirdos did in fact have children, and one of them was standing in front of them. Danny braced himself for the conversation that almost always followed, even as Principal Caulfield's expression faded into a professional veneer of kindness.

"I didn't realize that your parents had a laboratory in your house," she said. "What type of things do they do in the lab?"

"They build things, mostly," Danny said. That was a major simplification; even though Danny wasn't allowed to help with a lot of the things they did, he helped with enough to know a lot more than that they just 'built things.' More importantly, he knew that Principal Caulfield wasn't actually interested in hearing about his parents’ work, no matter how interesting it truly was. She was poking and prodding around the house to make sure Danny and Jazz were safe. He'd gone through it many times. It was never a pleasant conversation but it didn't normally bother Danny. "They don't let me or my sister into the lab unsupervised, they have all the proper PPE for both themselves and us, and anything they think will hurt us, or that they don't know whether it will or not is locked away where we can't get it," Danny recited.

Slowly, Principal Caulfield nodded. "It sounds like that's something you've practiced."

Danny shrugged. "I just get asked things like that a lot."

"Daniel." Her voice was hard. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Danny," she said, and her voice softer this time. She reached her hands out on her desk and folded them over each other. "You understand that that's not normal right? That you shouldn’t be in a house where your safety is questioned by everyone?"

That was also something he heard a lot. It wasn't like any of them were wrong. His parents weren't normal, and he knew that; what did it matter that everyone else knew that too? But Dash's words from before whirled in his head, mixing with Principal Caulfield's concern and the remaining whispers of the dozens of other people who'd said it. Danny bit his tongue to keep from either crying or shouting. He wasn't sure which was more likely. 

It took a few seconds before he managed to get out the response he wanted. "I am safe."

Principal Caulfield sighed. "Do you have any other way to get in contact with your parents?" Danny shook his head, and she pursed her lips. "Ok. Do they let you walk home alone?" Danny nodded. "Since I'm not going to be able to get in contact with them, what we're going to do instead is you're going to walk home. Straight home, no detours. You’re going to give them a letter explaining the whole situation, and then they are going to call me back. If I don't get a call back from them by -" she glanced at the clock on the wall next to her "- by nine o'clock, you are going to be in a lot more trouble. Do you understand?" Danny nodded again.

The next few minutes passed in tense silence as Principal Caulfield wrote out the note for Danny's parents. Finally, she handed the paper over to Danny. "You're free to leave." Danny shoved the note into his backpack and stood up. 

Just as he was about to walk out of the room, she spoke again. "Daniel?" He turned back to look at her. "Let's make sure this doesn't happen again, ok?" 

All he could do was nod.

---

It was almost 8:30 by the time he walked through the front door, his face red and puffy from anger, tears, and the rising August heat. As he had guessed, the sounds of clinking metal echoed up from the lab. He threw his backpack on the couch, and crouched to untie his shoes. He needed to gather his bravery to face his parents. He'd gotten in trouble in school before; even Jazz had gotten in trouble a couple of times, and she was as goody two shoes as they got. It was just that most of the time when he got in trouble, it was for something that his parents were more lenient about; they didn't care about him missing homework assignments when he had spent most of the time with them in the lab. They didn't care about him not paying attention in class because neither of them could pay attention to much of anything not related to ghosts or science; they claimed it was a Fenton Family trait. 

Danny knew that they would care about this.

He took a deep breath and started down the basement stairs. "Mom? Dad?" he called out as soon as he reached the bottom, peeking his head around the corner.

"Danny? Is it three o'clock already?" Maddie said, glancing over at him in confusion.

"I could've sworn that I only just got started!" Jack said, sitting upright from where he was hunched over his workbench. 

"Time sure flies when we're working," Maddie replied with a laugh.

"Um..." Danny shuffled from one foot to the other. "It's not."

"What was that sweetie?" Maddie asked. 

"It's not three yet. I got sent home from school early," Danny said. He started to explain everything, the words falling out of his mouth as he talked. When he finished explaining what Principal Caulfield had said to him, he pulled out the note and held it out to his parents. They'd both moved to stand next to Danny while he was talking. 

Maddie took the paper and opened it to begin reading, while Jack lowered himself to one knee to get on Danny's level. "I'm disappointed in you, son. I thought we had raised you to know better than resorting to violence."

"Unless it’s against a ghost," Maddie added quietly as she continued to read.

"Unless it’s a ghost," Jack amended. "Then your old man can show you how to shoot the sorry spook right between the eyes!" Jack bounced to his feet, pointing his hands into finger guns, and imitating the sounds of shooting and explosions. That went on until Maddie finished reading the note.

"Jack dear, you've gotten distracted again," she said, folding the note back up and slipping it into her jumpsuit pocket before turning to Danny. "What your father is trying to say is that we're proud of you for trying to stick up for us, but you should know better than to start fights."

"I'm sorry…" 

"You don't have to apologize to us," Maddie said. "You need to apologize to Dash. And that's what you're going to do, right now. You're going to go up to your room and write an apology note to him, and then you are going to go right to bed. No games, no TV, no books, no toys. I think that's a fair punishment, don't you honey?"

"Sounds right to me."

"But he started it!" Danny protested. 

"I don't want to hear it, young man," Maddie chided. "We can be a lot meaner about this if you make us."

Danny bit his lip. "Fine."

"Good. Now, you go upstairs, and I'll give your principal a call."

Danny and Maddie made their way out of the basement together. She stopped at the phone to wave Danny along. "And I'll be coming up to check on you soon, so don't think you can sneak out of the punishment." Danny gave a curt nod in response, not stopping his trek upstairs. 

Danny sat down at his desk in his bedroom, grabbing one of his new school notebooks. He and Jazz had talked their parents into buying a bunch of stickers, and the two of them had spent an entire afternoon customizing their new school notebooks. Danny had, of course, covered his in stars, rocket ships, planets, and astronauts. 

Danny’s lungs and eyes burned with anger as he realized that the very first thing he was going to have to put in his new notebooks was an apology letter to Dash, of all people. But he didn't have any of his notebooks from last year, so he didn't have much of a choice.

He flipped to the first page and lifted his pencil to start writing. The first couple of words were dark and shaky. The pencil tip snapped from the force he used. Danny let his head fall to the desk, and groaned into his arms. "Why do I have to apologize?" he complained to himself, not lifting his head from the desk. "He doesn't deserve it. He's been nothing but mean for years." 

The burning feeling in his throat got more intense. Hot tears ran down his eyes onto the notebook, smearing the few words he’d managed to write.

Danny turned over and glared at the door. His mom had said that she'd come and check on him, but he had grown up with her. There was the chance that she'd make good on her word, sure, but it was far more likely that something would call her back to the lab and she'd forget all about Danny, at least until Jazz got home. 

Danny didn't want to risk the offhand chance of her coming up and catching him doing something she said not to, but that didn't mean he had to write the letter. Not yet, anyway. Danny pushed his chair back from the desk with a squeak, and made his way over to his bed, flopping onto the mattress. With his pillow muffling him, Danny let the tears flow freely.

---

Danny sat in class, the teacher at the front of the room droning on about something. He wasn't paying attention. How could he, when he could feel the weight of his classmates’ stares on his shoulders? Their whispers joined together in a cacophony of noise, getting louder and louder with every passing moment until Danny couldn't even hear himself think. The sound persisted even when he covered his ears with his hands, pushing against his head until it hurt. "Please, stop," he begged. Like a switch, everyone stopped whispering. Danny opened his eyes to see the teacher from the playground standing above his desk. 

"What was that, Fenton?" she said, her voice dripping with venom. 

"I just..." Danny looked around at his classmates, but he couldn't focus on any of them, not under the heat of the teacher's gaze. "I wanted them to stop talking."

"How dare you interrupt their conversation!" Spittle flew from her mouth, bright green, and splattered against Danny's desk where it sizzled, chewing through the wood. He flinched back. "Apologize. To all of them. And then it's straight to the principal with you!" 

"But I didn't do anything!" Danny protested. 

"And you're talking back? If you're ever allowed back in this school again, you can apologize then. But I think the principal might put a stop to that."

Danny tried to stand up, but his legs were glued to the chair. He strained against the force holding him down until his muscles burned, but no matter what he did, he couldn't move. 

"What do you think you're doing, young man?" The teacher said, and she bared her glistening fangs at him. "You are about to be in a world of trouble!"

"What, are you too weak to get out of your chair, Fenturd?" Dash's voice overlapped the teacher’s. "Or is a ghost holding you down? We gonna have to call your crazy parents?"

They didn’t stop talking even as the rest of the class started again, an echoing cacophony of every horrible thing Danny had ever heard about him and his parents and his sister and his house and everything. All he could do was struggle against the chair even as his legs burned from the effort and his head pounded and his eyes leaked hot tears and- 

Danny sat upright in his bed, gasping for air. His school clothes, which he had fallen asleep in, stuck to the skin, and the blanket he'd been sleeping on top of was soaked with cold sweat. He grabbed at his chest, trying to slow down the frantic beating of his heart. 

"It was just a dream," he said to himself, still breathless. "It wasn't real."

Danny'd had nightmares before, but they'd always been full of fantastical beasts and monsters and ghosts. He’d never felt trapped; any time that he'd get too scared, he'd reach to the stars. Their ever-present shimmering would block out whatever terrors plagued his mind, and he'd wake up calm.

The stars weren’t there to save him this time, and that was almost scarier than the nightmare had been.

---

"Did you get the note finished like I asked?" Maddie asked over their Chinese takeout. (Surprisingly, Jack had tried to cook dinner. Emphasis on the tried. He claimed that the hot dogs started the fire in the kitchen, but they had been peaceful since the Great Toaster War, so Danny was pretty sure that Jack just burned the water he'd been boiling. And the stove he'd been boiling it on.)

"Mhm," Danny answered around his mouthful of pork fried rice. He hadn't even started the letter. Every time he did, the cutting words of his dream flooded his mind. It wasn't like she'd check it anyway.

"Good. Make sure to give it to him tomorrow when you go back to school," she said. 

"I still can't believe you got into a fight!" Jazz said. "I didn't get into any fights when I was your age."

"You're only two years older than me," Danny grumbled, shoveling another bite into his mouth.

"And those two years make quite the difference, obviously," she replied. She twirled the noodle around her fork. "I wonder if it has anything to do with the fact that-"

Danny cut her off before she could get started. "Can I be excused?"

Maddie and Jack shared a look before Maddie nodded. "Don’t forget you’re still grounded, mister!" Jack called out after him as Danny shoveled one last spoonful into his mouth and retreated to his room. 

The day had passed slowly and painfully, with Danny spending a lot of time staring at his wall. He'd tried going down to the lab to help his parents, but they had made him go back upstairs to his room. It had taken an hour for them to remember to do so, in which they had told him all about the newest ecto-filtration system they were working on developing, but that hour hadn't done much to help with the other ten hours of extreme boredom. That, and the skin crawling grossness from the dream had yet to leave him.

Despite the fact that Danny had done less than nothing today, he was tired. He may have left the dinner table to avoid Jazz's rambling, but he probably would've done that anyway. In spite of the sun still streaming through the window, he made his way through his bedtime routine, before laying down in his bed, this time in his comfortable pajamas.

Apparently, it didn't matter that Danny's exhaustion seemed to run bone deep; no matter how he twisted and turned, he couldn't get comfortable. Every time he thought he'd found a nice position, his hand, head, or legs would throb. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the teacher from his nightmare with the venom filled fangs, or the disappointed faces of his parents and Principal Caulfield. 

Something told him that if he fell asleep, he would be met by similar dreams. No matter how tired he was, he didn't want to go through that again. He tried to keep his hands busy, and when he was too tired to move them with any more grace then a baby, he moved to keeping his mind occupied.

Despite how much he fought it, the soft ticking sound of his clock lulled him into an uneasy sleep.

—

Danny knew that he was dreaming because of the stars. The stars that had hovered at the edges of his vision in every dream but the last now covered everything, as if they were making up for lost time.

"Woah..." he whispered. He'd dreamed of standing in a field of stars before, but this felt...different. Before, there’d always been that one patch that stood out from the rest, his constant companion, a spot inconsistent with the rest of them. It had always felt more real, more physical, then the rest of them. This time, that patch made up everything around him. 

He dropped to his knees to touch one, an exceptionally bright star that pulsed with the beating of his heart. He cupped it in his hands, pulling it out from the inky blackness that surrounded it. It stayed where he held it, with most of the darkness dripping off like water, only a thin strand keeping it connected to the rest of the starscape. It wasn't warm like he'd expected; in fact, it was cold. So cold that it almost hurt to hold it, but he didn't put it down. He'd been dreaming of this moment, literally, for his entire life.

He stared down at the glowing ball, enraptured by its flickering lights, before he realized that it was… wrong. He knew stars; he had begged his parents to bring him to the space museum so often over the summer the people working there knew him by name. Stars were not just balls of light, they were balls of fire that moved and changed. Whatever he held in his hand was nothing but pure light, perfectly frozen, completely unchanging. 

He let the not-star fall from his hands, slipping back into its place in the inky void.

"Is it not living up to your expectations, little dreamer?" Danny whirled around to try and find the voice, but it seemed to come from everywhere, echoing endlessly. The sound traveled in ripples across the not-quite liquid floor, and the echoes only started to fade when the ripples did.

"Who are you?" Danny asked, continuing to scan his surroundings unsuccessfully. "Where are you?"

"You may call me Nocturne," the voice said. "And you already know the answer to the last question."

"I do?" Danny asked, confused. He spun around in a circle slowly. 

"You do. We're in a dream."

"This doesn't feel like my dreams..." Danny said. 

"That's because it isn't one of your dreams," Nocturne said. The surrounding darkness coalesced into one being, the starry cloak extending endlessly into the rest of the surroundings. One cluster of stars became a horned mask, with sunken eyes that seemed to be staring straight through Danny. "It's one of mine. I've brought you here to make a deal."

Nearly every alarm bell Danny had started ringing at once. Despite this, he did not feel scared, just wrong. Something was wrong. He tried to figure out what, but failed. Nocturne was still staring at him expectantly. He had to answer, even if he couldn’t figure it out. “My parents say I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”

Nocturne's laughter rang out through the dream, even though his mask remained perfectly stationary, his eyes never leaving Danny. "Dearest Daniel, I am many things, but I am no stranger." He moved closer to Danny. Or, Danny moved closer to him, the ground beneath his feet folding over itself as if the world was being moved around him.. "You've known me for many, many years now."

"I don't..." Danny started to say, but he cut himself off with a hard swallow. He did know Nocturne, even if he didn't understand how. "What are you?" Danny asked instead.

"I am a ghost," Nocturne said, and Danny’s alarm bells worsened as a cold dread settled on his shoulders. Maybe he was in danger. "You don't need to be afraid, little dreamer. If I wanted to hurt you, I would have done it a very long time ago." 

For some reason, that didn't make Danny any less afraid.

He tried to stumble backwards, only to find that the cold liquid of the pool had hardened around his ankles, locking him in place. "What do you want with me?" Danny said, and his voice was barely over a whisper.

Nocturne tilted his head to the side. "I think a better question is how can we help each other? As I said before, I am offering you a deal. All I want from you for now is to listen." Nocturne laughed again. "I suppose in this case your question ended up just as good as any other." He held his hand out to Danny. "Now, shall we?"

Danny struggled to tear his gaze away from Nocturne's piercing eyes, but he managed to. The ghost's hands were barely visible, blending in almost perfectly to the inky blackness surrounding them, but Danny could still make out the vague outline of claws connected to a hand nearly the size of his face. He knew he should say no; he'd spent his whole life listening to his parents talk about ghosts. They were heartless creatures, a sad mixture of energy and ectoplasm and nothing more. They were more dangerous than anything Danny could ever dream up, had the ability to kill him with nothing more than a thought, and may do something even worse with only a little bit more. He should not take Nocturne's hand.

He tried to move again, but his foot was still stuck in the pool, the cold liquid clinging to him like tar. It didn't look like Danny had much of a choice. Hesitantly, Danny reached out and took hold of one of Nocturne's claws, touching as little of him as he could. Nocturne's expression did not change, but Danny could still feel the satisfaction rolling off of him in waves.

Danny could not remember blinking, but he must have, because one second they were in the star-studded abyss, and the next they were standing at the rear end of Danny's classroom. Danny looked around, confused, and his confusion only grew when he saw himself sitting in the middle seat. His doppelganger was hunched in on himself, visibly uncomfortable.

"You recognize this scene, do you not?" Nocturne asked.

Slowly, Danny nodded. "My nightmare. From earlier today."

"Very good. Tell me, what do you think of it?"

"Um, I don't like it?" Danny answered.

"And why is that?"

Danny shrugged. "I mean, no one likes nightmares."

"Yes, but you've had plenty of nightmares before. Why was this one different?"

Danny bit his lip and took a shot in the dark. "It reminded me of my bad day?"

"Excellent, little dreamer," Nocturne said, his voice laced with pride. "The bad things that have happened, or the bad things that might. Everyone gets them, at some point or another. And yet, for a very long time, yours were special. You were never truly afraid of the things that might happen, but created new things to be afraid of. Isn't that right?"

Danny gave a small nod. It felt like the answer Nocturne was looking for.

"Tell me," Nocturne continued. "Do you want to have more dreams like this one? Do you want for them to be built on the ugly truth of your reality?"

This time, Danny shook his head.

"I didn't think you would," Nocturne said. "Which is why I am offering you an escape from it. I can make it so that you never have these dreams, or any like it, ever again. All you need to do is help me in turn."

Danny narrowed his eyes. He may not have been the smartest Fenton, but he wasn't an idiot. And he had grown up with an older sister. "How would I be helping you?" he asked. "Cause my parents have talked a lot about fairy stories, and they say it’s really bad to make a deal with a fairy, and that fairies are just ghosts that have been mislabeled."

"The details are somewhat complex."

Danny crossed his arms. "Well, I'm not making any deal unless I know what it’s about."

The stars in Nocturne's cloak twinkled brighter. "There is an issue within my home, the Infinite Realms, that requires someone special like you to fix. It is, of course, more complicated than that, but that is the important part."

"And what would I need to do to fix it?" Danny asked.

"It is my understanding that you would simply need to be present," Nocturne replied. "As for the how, that comes back to your side of the offer. Instead of having dreams like this," Nocturne swept his hand across the room. "...you would instead spend your dreaming nights in the Realms. In the morning, you would wake up in your bed as if nothing had happened."

"It won't be any kind of sleeping forever thing, right?" Danny asked.

"It could be if you would like," Nocturne said. "Unless you request it, however, no. It would last just as long as any of your other dreams."

"So you want me to agree to let you take me into the world of ghosts, every night, instead of having the occasional bad dream?" Danny asked slowly. "That doesn't seem very fair to me."

"It would not be the occasional bad dream," Nocturne said. "Dreams are my realm. I know them very, very well. And your dreams have been... tainted. It does not matter whether you take this deal or not, you will never return to the dreams you had for so long. I am simply offering you an alternative to this mundanity."

"Why should I trust you?" Danny asked.

"You shouldn't," Nocturne answered easily. "But you don't need to trust me to agree to the deal."

"And if I don't agree to it?"

"Then you will wake up with no memory of ever seeing me, and go back to a life where you can't escape the horrors of the real world even in the comfort of sleep."

Danny took a deep breath through his nose, and looked around the room. He couldn't hear anything that was happening, but his memory worked to fill in the gaps. The teacher was nearly frothing at the mouth with her green, acidic spit, the other kids in the class were either whispering or laughing at him, and the dream Danny was sitting at his desk. His face was a patchy red, tears streaming down his face. He remembered how helpless he had felt sitting there, and he couldn't imagine feeling like that for who knows how long.

Danny turned back to Nocturne, whose gaze had never once strayed from him. "Okay." His voice didn't shake, despite how nervous he felt. "I agree."

"Wonderful." Nocturne reached his hand out to Danny. This time Danny didn't hesitate to take it, and then the world shifted around him.

[stargazer-sims]

Broken Glass

♫ Broken Glass - David Francey ♫

This will make more sense if you've already read Full Circle

_______________

"Forest, what are you doing?"

Fox probably doesn't have to pose this question. He thinks he has a fairly solid idea without needing to ask; however, if working with kids on a daily basis for the past twenty-plus years and also being a parent to six kids of his own has taught him anything, it's that jumping to conclusions is almost always the wrong thing to do. He'd much rather hear an explanation directly from the child in question.

Now that his and Takahiro's older kids have moved into their newly-renovated rooms in the basement, everyone has to pass by Forest's and Camellia's doors to get to the laundry room. The fact that Forest's bedroom door is open is what catches Fox's attention initially, but the thing that makes him pause and set his basket of laundry down is what he sees on his second glance. His oldest son is sitting on his bed, haphazardly cramming clothes and other items into a large bag. Forest's green backpack is on the floor beside the bed. It looks full to bursting.

Forest looks up briefly. "Nothing."

"It certainly looks like something."

Fox steps onto the threshold of Forest's room, but doesn't go any further. Ever since their kids were old enough to understand the concept of privacy, he and Takahiro have maintained that the kids' rooms are spaces that the kids control. Unless it's an emergency, they won't go in without permission.

"It's none of your business,” says Forest, in a defensive response that takes Fox aback.

"Papa said you were upset when you got home from school today," Fox says.

"Yeah," Forest acknowledges. "I told him I didn't want to talk to him about it."

"He mentioned that. He said he thought you were waiting for me to get home from work."

"Sort of."

"Would you like to talk to me about it?"

Forest shrugs. "I guess I can tell you, but it doesn't really matter. There's nothing anybody can do."

"Maybe not, but I can listen," Fox says. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah, I guess."

Fox steps into the room and comes over to sit on the end of the bed. There are clothes strewn all over it. He picks up a shirt and begins to fold it. "You know, you'd be able to fit more stuff in your bag if you took your time and organized it."

"What?"

"Your bag," Fox says. "Obviously, you're packing. You'd fit more in there if you folded everything. I presume you want to save a spot for your sketchbooks and pencils, don't you?"

His son stares at him. "Are you, like... helping me pack?"

"Don't I always help you pack?"

"We're not going on a family trip, Dad," Forest says.

“I know.”

"I'm the only one going."

"So I figured." Fox lifts another shirt and folds it neatly atop the first one. "Come on. Take all that stuff out and I'll help you fix it."

"Why?"

"If you're running away, there won't be anyone to help you carry your stuff. You should be economical with your storage space so you can fit as much as you can into as few bags as possible."

"How did you...?"

"How do I know you're running away? Let's see..." Fox pretends to think about it. "A kid packing his bag when he's not going to an overnight camp or to a sleepover or on a planned trip? There aren't that many options left."

"Great." Forest sighs and drops the pair of jeans he'd been holding. "So much for a clean getaway. I can't even run away right."

"There's no right or wrong way," Fox says. "Either you go, or you don't. There's no rule book on how to do it."

For several seconds, Forest doesn't respond. He just sits there and gazes at Fox as if he's trying to look inside his brain, to discern in which direction their conversation is ultimately heading. After a while he says, "Are you... you're like, okay with this?"

"No," Fox replies.

"But, you're not gonna try to stop me."

"Would it do any good for me to try?" Fox asks. "You're not the first person in this family to run away, you know. Your grandparents stopped me the first time I tried it, and that just led to me being smarter about it on my second attempt. I sneaked off in the middle of the night, and I was on a plane before they even realized I was gone."

"That's not true."

"You can ask Granny and Grandpa or Aunt Clancy if you don't believe me," he says. "Anyway, I doubt me trying to keep you here would work any better than my parents trying to keep me at home did. If I told you I don't want you to leave, would that make you want to stay or would it make you want to go even more?"

Forest narrows his eyes suspiciously. "I see what you're doing."

"What am I doing?" Fox asks.

"Psychology or whatever," Forest says. "You're treating me like you probably treat your clients."

"It seems to work on them."

"Dad, I'm not stupid. Not that stupid at least. You're trying to trick me into doing what you want, and I'm not falling for it."

"I'm not trying to trick you into anything," Fox insists. "You're still a minor until January, so Papa and I have the legal right to keep you under our roof until then, but if you really want to go now, I won't stand in your way and I don't think Papa will either. I think you're old enough to make your own choices. If you think running away from your problems is a good choice, you're free to test that theory if you want."

"Who says I'm running away from my problems?"

"Aren't you?"

"I'm running away so I won't be anyone else's problem," Forest tells him.

Fox contemplates this. His instinct is to ask his son why he feels that way, why he thinks he's a problem for anyone, but it occurs to him that he might already know the answer. After all, hadn't he felt similarly at Forest's age? He'd often wished he could just disappear so he'd no longer be a burden to the people around him. Although it wasn't the only catalyst for his own flight from home, it'd certainly been a factor in his decision.

The realization that this might be the case for Forest too is upsetting. Even before Forest and Camellia were born, Fox was determined not to make the same mistakes with them that his parents had made with him. He didn't want to raise them — or any of his children — in an environment where the predominant emotions were fear, shame and guilt.

Fox's parents hadn't handled any aspect of his upbringing in an appropriate way, in his opinion, and things only got worse after he was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes at the age of six. Because of his illness, his parents sheltered him to the point where he became afraid of everything and could barely do anything for himself. His entire purpose in life had been to do what his parents said was best, and not to make them angry or sad for any reason or cause them to worry even more.

They'd meant well and they hadn't been trying to hurt him, but unfortunately, their own fear had blinded them to the fact that they were actually far more responsible for Fox’s suffering than any outside factors ever were. They were terrified something awful would happen to him and they were desperate to protect him, but what they failed to understand was that by keeping him away from virtually everything the world had to offer, they'd harmed him even more than he might've been harmed if he'd been allowed to take risks and experience life for himself.

The older he got, the less content he was with the way things were. Obeying his parents wishes became more difficult as he began to have goals and dreams of his own. Eventually, the situation devolved to where he couldn't take it any more, and he knew he'd have to do something if he ever wanted a normal life. After his first unsuccessful attempt to leave, he secretly planned his escape and didn't tell anyone anything until he was far, far away.

Although he'd spent the first few months of his time in Japan feeling lonely, scared, out of his depth and questioning the wisdom of his choice, he doesn't regret it now. That adventure, born of desperation, had changed his life completely. He'd met his beloved Takahiro, gained independence and self-confidence, and found hope for a better future. When he finally returned to Canada, with Taka by his side, he felt as if he were a totally transformed person.

A better version of yourself, his sister Clancy had said.

When he and Taka discussed growing their family, Fox knew he didn't want any of his kids to have the sort of childhood he'd had. He and Taka have done their best not to coddle their kids too much, instead encouraging them to explore and experiment and not be afraid of making mistakes. That didn't change when Camellia and Forest were diagnosed with diabetes within days of each other at five years old. Fox was adamant that the twins shouldn't be treated any differently than Matsu or the younger kids simply because they were diabetic.

"It's not a disability," he'd told Taka at the time. "Obviously, we'll have to make a few adjustments, but it doesn't mean they can't have a normal life. There's nothing holding them back from doing whatever they want."

The reality of the twins' diagnosis was far more challenging for Takahiro to accept than it was for Fox, but he agreed that Forest and Camellia should be afforded the same opportunities as their siblings.

For the most part, he and Taka seem to have succeeded. Each of the kids has a strong sense of self and most have their own ideas and aspirations and at least a tentative plan going forward. Camellia intends to work in health care, Matsu is interested in law enforcement like his aunt Clancy, outgoing and energetic Takashi wants to be a journalist, studious Willow is considering a career as a robotics engineer, and quirky, free-spirited Midori wants to study fashion design.

The only one who seems to have no direction is Forest.

Fox thinks that if were up to Forest, he'd never do anything challenging, interact with other people, or even leave the house if it wasn't necessary. He'd stay alone in his room all day, every day, drawing and painting and listening to music. Even Fox had socialized more as a teen than Forest does, and it's concerning.

Fox folds some more clothes and considers his approach.

At length, he ventures, "Where are you running away to?" He tries to make his tone as conversational as possible. "Near or far?"

"I don't know," Forest says. "Maybe I'll go to Japan and stay with Uncle Seiji and Auntie Sachiko."

"Okay. Do you know where your passport is?"

"No," Forest admits.

"And do you know how to get more insulin and supplies for your blood-glucose monitor if you're outside the country?"

Forest looks annoyed. "I don't even know how to get it here. You always do that for me, remember?"

"Because you don't want to make your own doctor's appointments," Fox points out. "If you're not going to live with us any more, you should probably learn how to do that. All our passports are in the top drawer of my desk, and you can use my credit card to book your flight. Oh, and make sure you've applied for a work visa so you can earn some money to live on, and don't forget to let Uncle Seiji know you're coming. Nobody likes an unexpected guest."

Forest's reaction is so sudden and so volatile that it catches Fox off guard. The teenager snatches up the nearest thing to his hand, which happens to be a sneaker, and flings it across the room so hard that it bounces off a shelf and knocks several items to the floor. Then, he leaps off the bed and follows the sneaker's trajectory. One of the objects that toppled from the shelf is a framed photo, and he stomps on it hard enough to crack the glass. Fox can hear it crunching under his son's heel.

"Stop it!" Forest yells. "Just... stop it!" He brings his foot down on the photo a few more times before collapsing onto the floor next to it and bursting into tears.

"What do you want me to stop doing?" Fox asks.

"Stop pretending like this is no big deal!" Forest exclaims. "It's not a joke, okay? It's my life, and this is serious!"

Fox gets up from the bed and kneels on the carpet beside his son. He rests his palm on Forest's back. "I know it's serious, Forest," he says quietly. "It's not a joke to me."

"Then stop acting like it is! Scream at me or tell me I'm an idiot or try to make me stay home. Do something parental and stop trying to play these fucking head games!"

"I already told you I won't make you stay."

"But why?"

"Because you're nearly an adult and this is your choice to make," Fox says. "But, I need you to understand exactly how serious this is, okay? You can leave if you want, but you can't leave unprepared. What if you get sick or you need help? Could you take care of yourself if you were on your own?"

Forest covers his face with his hands in what Fox assumes is an attempt to hide the fact that he's crying. His voice is strained when he responds. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Maybe you can start by telling me what's up," Fox suggests. "Tell me why you'd come home from school on an otherwise normal Thursday and decide that running off to another country would be a good idea."

"Because," Forest mumbles.

"Because...?" Fox prompts.

"Because I'm no good to anyone here. I can't do anything and I'm never going to be anybody, and the only person in the whole world who ever loved me actually hates me now."

"Really? The only person in the whole world who ever loved you?"

"Yeah."

"There are seven other people in this house who love you very much," Fox reminds him gently. "All your grandparents love you too, and so do Aunt Clancy, Auntie Aiko and your cousins."

"Yeah, but none of you were going to marry me some day," Forest says.

"Oh, I see." Fox glances in the direction Forest is looking, and his focus lands on the shattered picture frame. "This is about Caroline."

"Who else would it be about?" Forest demands.

"I had no way of knowing, and you know I'm not in the habit of assuming." Fox says.

Beneath the shards of glass and cracked wood, the image of Caroline Okamoto-Nelson is smiling brightly. She's wearing a deep pink gown and her white-blonde hair is piled high in a fancy style no doubt constructed by her grandmother Grace. Fox recognizes the Willow Creek High gym in the background. The photo was taken at last year's Sweethearts Ball, the school's annual Valentine's Day banquet and dance. Fox recalls how overjoyed Forest had been when Caroline invited him to attend it with her.

"Everybody loves Caroline," says Forest. "She's beautiful and she's good at everything and she has tons of friends. She could have any boy she wanted, but she picked me, the fat kid with diabetes, who has no other friends and who's bad at math and even worse at sports."

"None of that stuff defines who you are as a person," Fox says. "Caroline loves you."

"Maybe she did, up until today."

"What happened?" Fox inquires.

"She wants to break up with me."

"Did she actually say that?"

No, but I can tell she's going to," Forest says. "You know how you just believe something so hard because you want so bad for it to be true? I really thought she meant it, all those times she said she loved me and that she'd marry me some day. I thought we'd always be together, and when we were old enough we'd get married and have a family and everything, but... now that's never gonna happen."

There are a dozen ways Fox could address this, not the least of which would be to say that Forest and Caroline are only seventeen and that it's far too soon for them to think about marriage. Then again, Forest and Caroline have been asserting since they were seven years old that they were going to get married some day. They'd never wavered on that, even when they'd hit their teens, and everyone around them seems to have taken their future union as a foregone conclusion.

"Maybe you should explain everything to me from the beginning," Fox suggests. "Let's get off the floor first though, okay?"

"Okay," Forest acquiesces.

It's a bit of a struggle for Fox to heave his bulk into a standing position, so he doesn't notice at first that Forest is having trouble too. It's only after he regains his equilibrium and catches his breath that he observes his son only has one foot on the floor. Forest is balancing on his toes on the other foot. It takes him a second longer to see the bright red stain on the heel of Forest's light grey sock.

"Forest, your foot—”

More tears leak from the corners of Forest's eyes, and he starts to turn away from his father, but Fox reaches out and touches his arm.

"Sorry," Forest murmurs, although Fox gets the sense that he's saying it out of habit rather than believing he has a reason to apologize for something.

"It's okay," Fox says. "We can go to the bathroom and check it out."

Neither of them says anything as they make their way the short distance to the bathroom Forest shares with Camellia and Matsu.

In the bathroom, Fox gets Forest to sit on the wide edge of the bathtub. Camellia has a little stool she uses to reach the top shelves of the towel cabinet, and Fox gets that and carries it over next to the tub so he can sit down facing his son.

With Forest's foot in his lap, Fox carefully peels off his sock so he can assess the damage. There are three small cuts on Forest's heel, but he can't see any embedded fragments of glass.

"Is it bad?" Forest asks.

"I've seen worse, "Fox tells him. "We can take care of it here. I don't think you need professional medical care or anything." He pats the top of Forest's foot. "Here, put that down for a second while I grab some stuff."

Forest lowers his foot, and Fox hauls himself upright once again. He really needs to start working out, he tells himself.

Ambling over to the sink, he opens the cabinet above it and takes out Band-Aids and antiseptic spray. He's grateful that he went along with Taka's idea to keep first aid supplies in all four bathrooms in the house. This isn't the first time they've needed them, and with all six of their kids still at home, he doubts it'll be the last.

He pulls a few sterile wipes from one of the small boxes on the counter next to the sink, where Camellia and Forest keep their diabetic supplies, and makes his way back to his son.

"That was pretty dumb, wasn't it?" Forest comments. "Breaking the picture frame."

"Probably not your finest moment," Fox says, as he tears open one of the little packets of sterile wipes. "Did you do it on purpose, or was it just because you wanted to smash something and that's what happened to be right in front of you?"

"A little of both, I guess," Forest says. "I was just so... I don't know. Mad isn't even the right word. I mean... yeah, I'm angry, but like, I'm sad and hurt and I feel like crap about myself. You know, as usual."

"Why do you feel like that?"

"Maybe 'cause I'm a huge waste of space."

"Forest, you are not a waste of space. Try again."

Forest sighs. "You don't understand what it's like. You don't know how much it sucks when you're not good at anything and nobody likes you. When you're the kid everybody thinks is weird, and they'd rather bully you than be your friend. But, Caroline..." His voice catches and he continues in a near-whisper. "Caroline stood up for me. She treated me like I mattered. But now, she... she sees me just like everybody else does."

"Tell me what happened," Fox encourages.

"Fine," Forest says. "You know this week at school is Futures Week, right?"

"Yes. You were going to talk to your friend Mohammad's mom about interior design at career day today, weren't you?"

"Mohammad's not my friend."

"Your classmate, then. Little sting coming," he adds as he sprays Forest's heel with antiseptic. "How'd your chat with Mrs. Omar go?"

Forest winces, but he doesn't try to pull away like he would've done when he was younger. "I didn't talk to her."

"Why not?"

"You have to promise not to be mad."

"I'm not going to be mad. Do you want the Band-Aids with stars, or do you want one of your sister's Batman ones?"

"Who cares? No one's going to see it on the bottom of my foot."

"Okay. Stars it is." He applies the first bandage carefully. "What is it that I'm not supposed to be mad about?"

"I..." Forest hesitates. "I, uh... didn't go to the career thing."

"I see." Fox can't say he's shocked. He'd mentioned to Taka just last night that he wondered whether Forest would actually follow through. Whether Forest realizes it or not, both his parents are also aware that his decision to take a year off between high school and university is really just a way to buy time. They know he has no intention of getting a post-secondary education, and although neither of them is thrilled about that, they also know they need to respect it. It is his life to lead, after all. "You were at school though, weren't you?"

"Yeah," Forest says. "In the library. That's where all the trouble started."

"Go on."

"It was stupid Mohammad," Forest says. "He was in there for some reason and he saw me, and then he just had to run and tell Caroline I was hiding out. So, of course she came to get me and she tried to force me to go to the gym to talk to people. When I said I didn't want to, she got mad, and we... we kinda got into an argument and got kicked out of the library."

"Did you get detention?"

"No. Caroline just dragged me outside so she could harass me about my future some more," Forest says. "She's turning into a bully, just like everybody else."

"Why? Because she's concerned about you?"

"Because she's bossy as hell," Forest grumbles.

"She's assertive," Fox says. "From what I've seen, she's got leadership skills and she's good at motivating people, just like her parents. That doesn't make her a bully."

"Trying to badger and guilt-trip people into doing what she wants them to do makes her a bully. She wants to make me fit into her idea of a perfect boyfriend, 'cause apparently I embarrass her and she doesn't want to be seen with me the way I am."

"Which is?" Fox inquires.

"She said she doesn't want to be with somebody with no ambition. She said I don't have any goals and she called me lazy and unmotivated, but that's not true!"

Fox uses the excuse of putting a final Band-Aid on Forest's foot to allow himself to be silent. He has no clue how he's meant to handle this. His immediate thought is that Caroline isn't wrong, which is followed almost instantly by a stab of guilt for thinking such a thing about his own child. Still, he can't let himself be in denial about it. He's learned the hard way that pretending issues don't exist is never the solution.

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

"Forest," he says. "If that's not true, then can you tell me what your goals are?"

The answer, when it finally comes, is not at all what Fox expects.

"It's Caroline." Forest is crying again, and he seems barely able to get the words out. "She's my goal. I love her and I want to marry her and have a family some day, but even if that never happens, I still want her to be happy. That's all I ever wanted, to take care of Caroline and make sure she's safe and happy."

"That's an admirable goal," Fox says. "But I hope you know it has to be Caroline's goal too."

"I know, and I found out it's really not, even though she said it was before. She lied to me, and I believed her like an idiot.”

“I don’t think she lied.”

“How would you know?”

"Because I know people don’t always see the world the same way as adults that they do as children,” Fox says. "Caroline's growing up, and so are you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Forest asks.

"What I mean is, people's priorities change as they get older and more mature. Then they have to figure out what's important and what order of importance each thing is going to get," Fox says.

"I haven't changed my mind."

"No, but maybe Caroline has. I know that sucks and it's hard to hear, but there's not much you can do about it. Sometimes all you can do is accept the truth and try to move past it."

"What if I don't want to move past it?"

"It's okay to feel like you don't want to," Fox says. "Nobody expects you to snap your fingers and get over it just like that, but eventually you'll have to figure out a way to cope with it. If you don't, inside your head isn't going to be a very nice place to be."

"So what? It already sucks inside my head anyway. What's one more betrayal gonna do that all the other rejections and betrayals haven't done already?" Forest stands up and stalks toward the bathroom door, limping slightly on his bandaged foot.

"You don't have to live like that," Fox tells him.

"That's easy for you to say," Forest retorts. "You have everything you want. You're smart and good at stuff and you've got friends and a partner."

"Even people who don't have everything don't have to let themselves suffer. Being happy and comfortable inside your own head isn't about what you’ve got. It's about—”

Forest cuts him off. "I'm done talking about this."

"Okay." Fox acknowledges. "If you ever want to—”

"Why do you think I'd want to later if I don't even want to now? You can't offer me anything useful, like I already knew you couldn't. Plus, you dragged all that information out of me and messed up my plan to leave, so I'm not falling into the trap of having any more conversations with you."

"It's not a tr—”

"I don't care! Shut up and stop wasting your breath trying to convince me how you have my best interests in mind or whatever. I'm staying and you're getting your way for now, so maybe just be happy with that."

"I'm not," Fox says, though he doubts Forest is listening any more. He's not sure where in the conversation he'd lost him. Perhaps he'd never had Forest's real attention in the first place. "I'm not happy at all."

"Good," Forest's tone is acidic. "Maybe instead of telling me I should grow up and learn how to cope with stuff, you should think about how it feels to be me. Maybe being unhappy will get you started in figuring it out."

"If you want to know the truth, I think about it a lot, how it must feel to be you."

"That's bullshit!" Forest shouts. "You don't give a crap about me! You're just upset that I'm not the son you wanted."

"You are exactly the son I wanted," Fox says. "You, Matsu and Takashi are all the sons I wanted. Papa and I love you and your brothers and sisters more than anything."

Forest reaches for the door handle. "Yeah, whatever." He pauses, and then adds vindictively, "You know what? On second thought, I did learn something from you. When I finally do leave, you're not going to know a damn thing about it, and I'm sure as hell not going to call and tell you where I am. Then you won't have to pretend to care about me. You'll never have to worry about me again."

Fox considers himself to be an even-tempered person. He's not the sort whose anger goes from zero to sixty in the space of a few heartbeats, but in the wake of Forest's callous dismissal it's as if something inside him cracks. He springs up from the low stool and doesn't even feel the usual ache in his knees or tugging of his back muscles.

In a few quick strides, he's face-to-face with his son, and he glares with all the ferocity his conflict-avoidant heart can manage.

"Forest Winter Abbottsford, you listen to me." His words come out shockingly, terrifyingly calm despite the racing of his heart. "You can run away from your problems and delude yourself into thinking you're doing it for somebody else's benefit, or whatever. But, I'm telling you right now that if you treat people out in the real world the way you're treating me, you're going to have more problems than you ever dreamed were possible. More problems than you could ever run from, even if you lived forever. Do you understand?"

Forest nods, but it's not in comprehension. It's the most eloquent non-verbal display of sarcasm Fox has ever seen, and it infuriates him.

"Awesome way to express your love, Dad. Great job. Well done."

Some irrational part of Fox's brain is telling him to grab his kid and shake some sense into him, and it's all he can do to keep his arms at his sides. He isn't violent by nature, but still he finds himself needing to actively resist.

Maybe it's because he's done everything in his power for the past seventeen years to demonstrate his love for Forest and to offer him opportunities Fox himself didn't have that Forest's ingratitude feels like a slap in the face. Or maybe it's because, after years of fighting to gain self-respect and working hard to earn the trust and confidence of others, he simply refuses to tolerate disrespect any more.

"I love you, Forest." The façade of calm is slipping away and his voice is starting to tremble. "You can believe it or not, but that doesn't make it any less true."

"Right."

"You know what?" he says. "Maybe you should leave. If you think you can run off and live your own life right now, go for it. Go out and see how hard it is when you're on your own. But when you realize you can't do it by yourself, don't come back and ask me and Papa for help unless you're prepared to apologize."

Forest stares at him. "So, now you're kicking me out?"

"That's not what I said." Fox realizes he's so close to losing it that he's nearly hyperventilating. He can barely catch his breath. "Stay or go. Do what you want. All I'm saying is that if you go, we're shutting the door behind you."

"Fine," Forest says. "I guess my options are pretty clear."

Forest yanks open the bathroom door and storms out, leaving Fox standing there stunned at the rapid and dramatic turn his interaction with his son had taken. He's well and truly shaking now, as the effects of the adrenaline flooding his body fade as rapidly as they'd spun up. He presses his palm against the wall to steady himself. He feels sick.

For an instant, he considers calling for Takahiro, but he's not sure he can draw enough breath to do that. Besides, what could Taka do? A hug and a soft word aren't going to be enough to calm the storm inside him this time.

Of course he'll tell Taka everything later, but what he really needs at the moment is to talk to someone who's removed from the situation, someone who's practical and who's used to managing conflicts in a no-nonsense way.

Someone who knows me better than I know myself.

He uses his hand to guide himself slowly downward until he's sitting on the bathroom floor. Then, he slides his phone out of his pocket and taps out a familiar number.

The line rings a couple of times, and then the clear voice of his twin sister reaches his ear. "Clancy Abbottsford."

"Clancy, it's Fox."

"Holy fuck, you sound terrible," Clancy says. "Are you okay?"

"No." It's an effort to get the single syllable out. "I need your help."

"I'll be right there," says his sister.

He nods, before remembering she can't see him. "Yes, please. Come pick me up."

"Trouble on the home front?"

"You could say that. I'll meet you outside."

"Okay, I'll be about fifteen minutes. I just dropped Grey off at his rehearsal, so I gotta make my way back from downtown."

"Okay," Fox says.

"Don't worry," Clancy says. "Whatever it is, we'll fix it."

I don't know how either of us can fix it, he wants to say, but instead he allows himself to be wrapped momentarily in the protective covering of his sister's confidence. Clancy doesn't even know what the problem is, and already she's sure she can sort it out. This is one of the many things he loves about her, that she's rarely defeated by anything for long. She inspires courage in him, and he can always count on her.

He wishes he had a bigger, better word than thank you, but it will have to suffice. "Thanks, Clancy. You're the best."

"I know," she says. "Take deep breaths and try not to have too bad of a panic attack, yeah? I'll be there soon."

_______________

TBC

[pastel-rights]

I LOVE your art style! How did you came up with it?

huh? my art style??? uhhh, i mean i uhhhh if you want, i can explain how I got to this point but. sometimes, things just. happen yknow???

honestly my old art compared to the more recent of what I've done probably looks. very very jarring side by side since it looks like it was drawn by completely different people lol. For example, look at this early 2017 character concept verse a late (November) 2024 character concept.

It's. Definitely a lot to take in so uhm. Buckle up! [cue a heavy metal version of bye-bye-bye playing for atmosphere reasons]

So, I've been drawing as a hobby since about... 2009 give or take? However, the earliest art I have on hand is probably from... 2016 or 2015 tbh??? Although, I only really started keeping a fr fr log of my art from 2019 and onwards so, let's start with what I actually have to show.

It's all about the basics, anon!

Growing up, my art was inspired by the shows I watched growing up! in particular, shows like "Codename: Kids Next Door" and "Tom and Jerry" were my rock in childhood times (since I wasn't allowed to watch Spongebob until I was much older and a majority of my "childhood" tv shows didn't start airing until later in my life, like Bubble Guppies (which aired in 2011) and Team Umizoomi and Octonauts (which both released in 2010) which, by then, the television was run by my younger brother's needs mostly, and I didn't get a say.)

So, I guess you could say my art was inspired by those two shows mostly???? of course, not... fully? hold on let me show you guys the earliest art I have to work with here-

these are all from 2019 since it's the furthest back I was able to save my art but. Looking at it, it doesn't look like it was inspired in the way artists are normally inspired by their environment. At least, that's not how it feels to me.

my art at this point was very... a lot of it was traditional in comparison to now, for starters. The color grades are completely off, the lining is. interesting. A lot of one shot one result type of shenanigans. Of course, it shares its origin with my childhood entertainment in general, which is being very cartoonish in style! On traditional grounds, I fucked around with a lot of different methods, some just pencil, some with markers, blah blah blah yada yada yada.

which, character design is my passion /ref if you couldn't tell. but my art style has always been very cartoonish and stylized, even in my earliest days. Big eyes, wild hair styles, noodly limbs, you know, the cartoonist hallmarks! If nothing else, my art style is more reflective of who I am as a person?? like the cartoons that formed me, it's very expressive and full of color and whimsy and in its own way, it's my way of thanking the world that taught me happiness and joy, and I draw to give others that same feeling.

Whether that be my friends' OCs or silly shitposts, I draw for the joy others get seeing it! Here look at this picture of my friend (@sxftriina)'s OC, Ocean, I draw way way back when lol

...

but at some point, I realized. My art didn't make me happy anymore. I didn't have fun drawing anymore. and it just became more of a chore to make than a fun hobby or a good time. I couldn't find the joy in art anymore. And I couldn't create anything I was proud of either.

I got stuck. It didn't matter what I drew, what things I tried. I couldn't make myself happy again. and while my art might not have suffered.

I did.

art was nothing more than a chore. something I had to do because I wasn't good for anything else.

and it made me severely depressed, among other things happening during those times.

so what does a burnt out depressed artist do in crisis times??????????

...

he joins tumblr, of course.

I wish I was joking. I'm not.

anyways so it was like 4am and I was like "let me join tumblr why the hell not maybe I'll find something there" and uhm. well I didn't find anything initially. and every day was as depressing as the last, and I eventually just. felt like giving up. I ran an askblog and drew a ton still because while it made me unhappy, I felt unhappier just. doing nothing. Lesser of two evils I suppose?

that was until I uh. I met someone really special to me. Even now.

if you're reading this, uh. hi lupi!

This was around the time I found Identity Five at the end of 2020, and began drawing fanart for the game, which restored... some joy to art? Not completely, but, I wasn't so miserable drawing during this time of my life. It felt like a chore still, but, at least now I was having some semblance of fun doing it. Not completely fun though... I was still stuck in a funk. I didn't know why.

And then, I met Lupi. At the time, she was following me through her askblog account (she still does) and I got curious and decided to check it out for myself and. I think if I never checked out Lupi's blog that day, my art wouldn't have taken the direction it did, and, I would have never regained my love for my craft.

Of course, I feel silly even talking about it so... I took a different direction with my art after scrolling through Lupi's art, which sometimes I'll do, even to this day just for fun sake. And this time... I don't know.

It just felt different this time. It wasn't the best, and it certainly wasn't easy either. But for the first time in over a year... I had genuine fun drawing again. No negative feelings attached.

Just... fun.

A lot of fun at that. A lot of things from this era of my style stuck. Like... a looooot. My color choices, my mini style, the flow, a lot of what I learned from this era stuck with me, even now.

it retains so much of the past yet it means so much more. it's still cartoonish, still small and squashed, funky hairstyles, noodle limbs, fun clothing... the whole nine yards.

Of course... this is only 2021 art. My art now, while similar... it's not the same. And it's all thanks to ONE RED HAIRED MOTHERFUCKER. not ginger, red haired. apples are red, not orange. /ref

It was the first time in. several years that I've drawn something just for me. Even if it was something small and silly while waiting for an after-school activity to start. It was something I remember really fondly, a feeling that wasn't just fun but. actual joy.

Not only that but, for as simple as it is, it marked the start of a very, very... very long long of stylization like never before. You take what makes you happy... piece by piece, bit by bit...

you learn... you grow... you improve upon skills you have... body language, expression, detail... all those things. You meet some really cool people along the way... you talk, you laugh, you cry.

you get inspired and you want to show them something new, something cool... and in doing so, you make something you never thought was possible. Not with your skills, and not in a million years.

But, you learn. you laugh. you watch. you grow.

you figure out what you like. cool colors, fun dynamics, shading, lighting, storylines... things like that. you inspire others, and those people inspire you in turn.

you learn some cool new poses, you draw some fun fanart for your friends aus, you try new things and those end up sticking.

sometimes it's just you and one other person, who stuck through, watching you draw until a piece's very end. because they like you for you. and they care. sometimes they never leave your side, and they continue to inspire you to this very day.

you have fun with what youre doing. there's not really any need to rush, you know? you look at new media, you talk to the people you care about the most, you make things to surprise them with. and they're happy. and you're happy.

and you want to keep drawing.

but you can't forget to draw for yourself sometimes. something just for you that others can enjoy, but, it wasn't made for others. it was made because you love yourself and you deserve something special. it's important to draw what you want for yourself.

and sometimes, it becomes your staple.

you put your best foot forward, you give it everything you've got! because it's not a chore. it's fun. it's a hobby.

and it makes you happy. your art becomes recognizable, people compliment it and enjoy its presence. even in passing.

...

I love my art style too, anon. i know its been a long while of me talking. telling my story, my experience with my art. how it built me. how it ruined me. and how I found myself again.

I didn't know how to answer your question when I first got this ask.

Because, I didn't know how I came up with it. In my mind, it just happened. But, I think I have an answer for you now.

For real this time.

My art style is a culmination of everything and everyone I love. Navi, Pins, Beth, Yuu, Tae, Klai, Joe, Rina, Lupi, Four, pretty much everyone I surround myself with on a day to day basis. Bit by bit, piece by piece, my art style is fueled by the love I have for my friends.

Every improvement over the years has all been so I can show them something fun, something new. So I can keep surprising them with each new piece I do.

But, it's not just my friends.

It's you too, anon. Whoever you are. Wherever you are. Every like, every reblog, every comment and compliment. Every ask, every live reaction.

Thank you.

Thank you for helping me find my joy again. I hope I didn't disappoint.

[knarme-art]

This here represents a typical sketch I'd have drawn at any point in my recent life, - until now.

I will no longer be able to work in a high detail art style like this at all, until the accuracy of my new technique improves. And I can't promise it will.

Why?

I've been drawing with wrist movement for my whole life.

This is infamously unsustainable to the hand. It used to gradually become more uncomfortable until it became so painful that I can't do it at all for more than a few seconds.

I have good steam to work on comms now, but I'm forced to have a break from them because I reached the limit of this "wrist-work". If I keep pushing against my body's warnings, I'll disable myself worse and it'll last me forever.

My ability to draw is the most precious thing I have in my life. Nothing matters to me as heavily besides basic necessities, that I make art. Art is how I find friends and community and express myself in a way that nothing else satisfies that same way. Even in my worst times, this has been the light of my life. Even my best times would feel so devoid of content without making art. Art is my whole life.

Because the stakes are so high, I'm working on a solution.

A common tip for sparing the wrist is drawing from the shoulder and the elbow. This is very difficult for me since I'm not used to controlling my hand movement especially for detail from any other joint than the wrist.

Another is casing your pencil into any material (I just taped toilet paper tightly on it) to make it thicker to hold. It means you need smaller movements for drawing detail and therefore spare wrist work.

My muscle memory mostly has it all for moving the wrist to do all the stuff. See what it costs me now?

I'm practicing drawing in a new technique entirely, and figuring out what I can do.

I have to accept that my art style will not look exactly the same either, because physically I can't produce the same old thing drawn in my incorrect technique.

This is my drawing hand wrapped in a scarf to keep my wrist from bending when drawing, so I encourage sourcing the hand movement to my shoulder and elbow instead! Wearing this prevents the painful motions and helps me learn new motions.

Here are practice sketches in the new technique. I find it hard to draw small detail without moving my wrist to do it, but that accuracy can be trained by continuously drawing small shapes or objects (beans, circles, spirals, hair, fur, little horses...) from the shoulder. (This is advice I hear from professionals btw.)

Some thoughts about these sketches...

- I notice I simplify shapes more to make them easier for my hand movements to get across. I literally can not physically draw any other way, but the result looks kind of good even?

- I'm kinda excited to see where my learning goes from here

- I want to keep practicing hand control

- I was concerned especially about how to replicate my character designs like this, but it's somewhat working I guess?

So yeah... This is lifesaving for my art abilities on the long run. Gonna keep up the practice!

[3moreseasons]

❛ Is it just me or are you, like, ignoring me? ❜

"N-no, that's not true... I know there's not really a point, anyways..."

Jax is hard to ignore when he takes your mask or subjects you to whatever torment he's got planned. You learned a while ago that you can't really ignore him, only endure him. But, you have an excuse this time! You hold up your sketchbook and pencil and wave them around a little before returning them to your lap.

"I'm just drawing the people in the city, trying to... You know, practice. I don't really have much else to do right now..."

Jax slouches in his seat a little. He's probably not thrilled to not be able to command as much attention in Spirale as he did back in the Digital Circus, which might explain why he keeps ending up in your vicinity. Or maybe he's a little weirded out by this weird city and is looking for something familiar, and you just happen to be the only familiar person here. Unfortunately.

"Practice? For what? You're not doing anything with it," he says, drumming his fingers on the table.

"It's just for fun..." you say, drawing the sketchbook closer to yourself. "It doesn't need to be for anything. I just... like doing it."

"Ah yeah? You like being a creep and staring at strangers in public? Thought you were a better person than that, Gangle."

"Y-you know it's not like that! I'm just using references, it isn't creepy!"

"Sure, whatever you say."

Jax seems satisfied with his taunting, and goes back to staring aimlessly at the crowds of people milling about, and you go back to drawing. You're not really sure what's going through his mind right now or what's brought him to your café table in the first place, and you probably never will. He just keeps... hounding you, probably because he knows he can get a reaction. And no matter what you try, you can't help but get defensive when he starts poking at you, so he keeps coming back. If Zooble were here they could probably get him to back off a bit, because they're the only one who seems to have the energy to bite back at him.

A few minutes of near-silence pass. No words, but Jax can't help but tap at the table or bounce his leg up and down. It's not really distracting, but you wonder why he's even here if he's not enjoying himself.

"You ever draw me?" he asks, glancing over.

"Uh, yeah, once or twice. I've drawn everyone in the Circus," you say, keeping your eyes on your sketchbook. "I mean, everyone looks so unique, so it's fun."

"Well, now I'm curious. Since we're talking about me." Jax leans in, a grin on his face. "Lemme see, Ribbons. I wanna know how you captured my chiseled features."

You wrap your arms around the sketchbook, leaning away. "N-no, that's okay! I mean, it's just you, you know what you look like!"

"C'maaaaahn, what's got you so nervous? You're not drawing anything weird, are you?" he says, reaching out for the book.

"I-I don't draw things like that! Everything in here is totally normal!" you say, your tone little more than a squeak.

"Yeah, that's convincing. Just let me take a look, I'm not gonna do anything to it."

Jax grabs the edge of your sketchbook, but you hold tight. When he realizes you're not going to let him look, he starts to pull.

"What are you trying to hide, Gangle? Just give it!"

"N-noooooo! It's embarrassing!" you say, pulling back.

"So you are hiding something!"

"Stop trying to guess!"

"Is it really that embarrassing?" He suddenly leans in, voice dropping. "Is it more embarrassing than the thing with the anime figures-"

You yelp, letting go of the sketchbook as you flinch back. Jax falls backwards out of his seat with his own yelp, the sketchbook falling on the ground behind him. You stew in your embarrassment for a few moments before realizing you need to grab the book before he does.

Springing out of your chair, you hop around his seat. "Uh I just realized I gotta go Jax so let me just grab that and I'll be on my way don't worry about-"

Jax picks himself up, frowning. "It's just a drawing, Gangle, what's the big-"

Both of you freeze when you see what page the sketchbook has fallen open to. It's just your luck, really. You probably shouldn't have drawn it in the first place, but sometimes your drawings can be... indulgent. Which you don't think is a problem, it's just that it's meant to be private.

Jax whirls on you, his face flushed with a rare mixture of embarrassment and anger. "WHAT THE #?$& IS THIS? THE MAID OUTFIT, AGAIN? IS THIS FUNNY TO YOU?" he shouts.

"A-a little!" you say, shying away. "I just thought you looked cute, so-"

"I'm burning this."

Jax reaches down, but you're quicker. You scoop the sketchbook up in your ribbons and take off down the sidewalk, screaming panicked nonsense.

"GANGLE! GET BACK HERE!" shouts Jax, running after you.

You really wish the others were here right now, you could really use a distraction.

[xelbleedsglitter]

Hi, Xel! How are you? How are you feeling? What have you been up to? Best of wishes

Hi!

I am okay! There's always a weird THING I have to deal with, but it's not feeling like life shattering now like it's been in the last 9 months or so haha

I've been working at an insanely convenient temp job since January. I have something resembling health care now, but it's so confusing I haven't used it yet. My crazy spine thing is way way better. I still kind of lock up when carrying things up stairs, almost no matter the weight of them, but it's getting better all the time! I can go up the stairs looking like a normal non-broken person like 60% of the time, it's pretty freaking sweet.

Being able to walk is great, I recommend holding onto that ability as long as possible.

I'm weirdly embroiled in a bunch of anime junk in case you haven't noticed a trend in the things I've been reblogging. Having a Sailor Moon flare up in the middle of my Tokyo Ghoul is a real Experience. I'm rewatching the sections with my favorite characters, who are mostly villains, turns out.

Also making a little series about characters who had an effect on me and my own Gender feelings. Most of them are queer male characters, even though I am definitely not a man and am definitely just None Gender With Left Lady-flavored nonbinary. I wish I could be the same kind of gender you get on amab folks doing 'girl' things, though. My body shape means a lot of things are just out of reach for me and it makes me feel like I'm in flesh prison so I try not to think about it a lot so I don't flip the fuck out.

Doing things with a lot of markers in a new marker sketchbook and red pencil sketching.

Button/print shop has been closed while printer was down, but now that I have one that is alive and functional, that can open up again once I make sure the colors are all calibrated properly. I'm going to add some designs after I mail any that were outstanding when the printers sputtered to death.

Got to see the full total solar eclipse this week, am rerooting a doll for lameass highschool nerd reasons, am going to have to rearrange a bunch because of the real estate the printer took up...

Had like a full week of emotional breakdown about a person I care about who seems to have just kind of given up on a number of things and got real existential about that for a bit, but I am still Fine, which is cool.

After so long of terror and insecurity and misery and pain, Fine is Great.

AND THAT'S HOW AND WHAT I AM DOING, TA DA.

[bastardsblood]

um hi hi hi so um

i know ur like, super inundated with reqs rn but see

my friend gave me an idea for a req and!!!

would u maybe be able to write for it?

i feel like,,, it'd be hot if lucius forced himself on viktor yk?!?!?! super hot!!

I'm so sorry for such a long wait!! I hope you enjoy this imagine. It is not beta-read, so there might be many mistakes. I apologize in advance!

Characters: Lucius & Victor

Scenario: Lucius forcing himself onto Victor

Content Warnings: Dubious consent, depravity

Frustration was not a nice feeling.

It wasn't a novel feeling by any means, of course. He couldn't help but let the tendrils burn hot in his veins anytime something wasn't going his way, or whenever there was a last missing puzzle piece to a solution to a problem he's been mulling over. Still, despite his annoyance, he prided himself on the fact he'd rarely ever let his emotions get the best of him. 

Though, his frustration wasn't often focused on a single person for so long it'd become a recurring problem in his life. 

—

Victor's appearance was plain. From a man's perspective, he was the type of a person one wouldn't feel threatened around, someone who was easy to underestimate and make a lackey of. His ginger hair would look terrible when slicked back, and unruly if kept messy. His small habits ranged from mildly amusing, to outright impolite. He'd circle his lips around and leave bite marks all over a pencil that didn't even belong to him, and only offer a feeble apology in return. He'd show respect to their noble visitors anytime they'd visit Lucius' family, and then completely forget about their existence until it was convenient for him. Despite acting like a good boy, he was incorrigible in his greed and ambition. 

Lucius thought of him to be rather unsightly at first. He was an opportunistic suck-up to both him and his parents who held his cards close to his chest while acting the role of an innocent yes-man. He let others underestimate him, for appearing harmless and interesting would further him in his goals.

Yes, he was unsightly. Still, Lucius found himself intrigued. 

—

Lucius wondered whether he'd turn out to be the same way as Victor had he been born to the lower class.

Alchemy was one of the only things that made him feel alive, and no doubt he'd pursue it even if the odds were against him. Like a moth to a flame, he's certain he'd find his way to alchemy no matter what.

And so, maybe a part of him was glad to have found a kindred spirit. Victor wasn't dumb, he knew Lucius saw right through him, and yet continued with his façade of being unable to hurt even a fly nonetheless. Though, with a bad personality like Lucius', he couldn't help but provoke him here and there. 

A clever mental trap, occasional humiliation tactics and annoyingly oblivious behaviour. Victor eventually learned how to deflect each and every one of these. Lucius found it rather exhilarating and exciting; this unspoken yet mutual game of theirs. He wanted to find what would make Victor tick to the point he'd even consider rather low-brow methods. 

It wasn't anything severe at first, just a teasing touch. Lucius barely remembers what kind of excuse he came up with, it most likely had to do with just how bony Victor's hands were. He took hold of them, and circled his thumb and forefinger around each one of his digits, squeezing them as he went. 

Victor looked flabbergasted at first, until his eyes showed slight irritation after darting to look at Lucius' expression. He immediately understood it was a part of their 'game'.

Ever since then, Lucius would invade his privacy when in a particularly petty mood. Victor would never chicken out despite every fibre of his body wanting to relent and pull away. It was an easy victory for Lucius, or at least, that's how the point system in his head worked. 

He was ticking his victories until Victor cunningly adapted. While uncertainty would still occasionally flash on his face, he now leaned closer and acted oblivious to anything Lucius attempted. Once, Lucius noted with both amusement and bitterness, he repeated a suggestive sounding line that Lucius sneeringly said exactly as two servants were passing by. It was intended to make Victor's hair stand on end, and yet it backfired tenfold. 

What a difficult opponent this mischievous boy was. 

Ah, how fun it is. 

—

Lucius thought he was crossing a certain line. 

Their shenanigans continued alongside their studies and duties, and maybe they even increased in frequency. For someone as careful as Lucius, he shamefully had to admit he went overboard when it came to Victor. Still, he didn't think he did it so much it'd start circulating rumours about him. 

It was at a dinner party held by his parents' friends. Fine décor and expensive clothes were a given at these events, as only the best of the best gets presented at nights like these. The behaviour was supposed to be proper and respectful, even through the occasional playfulness. 

The nobles hosting this family knew the etiquette and rules well, all for the exception of one of their sons. 

Lucius mingled with many a person during these occasions, building up relationships and strengthening bonds with people that his parents failed to charm. In fields that his parents were lacking in, he excelled at—and surely, the noble society had gathered as much. Thus, it was a rather unpleasant encounter to hear words being spoken of him that weren't praise or the prickly comments born from envy. 

The younger nobleman had people flocking around him, listening to his every word. To say he was subtle would be an overstatement, as he'd glance at Lucius any chance he'd get as if to convict him to something. Thinking of it as curious, Lucius invited himself to the conversation as well. 

He'd eventually wish he didn't. 

—

Of all of the preposterous rumours the noble society could come up with, theories about his inclinations were not ones he thought he'd ever find himself in. 

The noblemen he's been acquainted with struggled to keep conversations with him that weren't purely small talk, acting as if just being in Lucius' presence was a transgression. Although Lucius found the situation rather hilarious, he didn't like the feeling of being rejected. These people are valuable stepping stones, and yet they're shying away from him as if he's filth. 

Victor would eventually reveal he's been in the know through the means of a lighthearted joke, most likely due to the rambling of some servants. It was a lighthearted comment, emphasised by a huff of amusement and disbelief, and Lucius merely raised his eyebrows in a silent show of exasperation. It's become an inside joke of sorts, acting in ways that'd surely serve only to exaggerate the rumours, all the while passing the comments as ridiculous blasphemy. 

And maybe, Lucius let loose a bit too much. As much as he liked putting effort into his appearance and image, doing whatever came to his mind had its own charm. From painting Victor's nails with black ink that one time he fell asleep in his room, to tickling the man with a feather after winning a game of chess. It was childish, it was improper, but it felt exciting. People's reactions eventually grow boring and stale, but with Victor and his many variables, it felt like trial and error to get a specific reaction from him that he'd want. Additionally, the ginger became irritably good at guessing what he was going to do next, and although Lucius' chest brimmed with pride at this smart boy whose ownership he unofficially held, it also made him prepare plans and games instead of sleeping peacefully. 

Still, a moment of impulsiveness was what led to Lucius seeing an expression he wasn't going to forget anytime soon. 

Victor was in a particularly giddy mood that day, a clear indicator that something was going his way a lot more easily than he would've thought. Their banter was quick and witty, their hands animated and alive as they acted the part of stereotypical noble couple's courting. Lucius thinks it was due to Victor asking about how dating worked in the noble society, with himself exaggerating the details until they started playing a bit. He remembers laughing at Victor for using a ruler as a makeshift fan, and then leaning closer towards the man so quickly that their teeth clicked together. It wasn't anything he did with intent, but once he found himself in a spot like that, his tongue slid its way up Victor's upper lip. It was merely playful behaviour, and Lucius already had a line of an innocent maiden's first kiss prepared, until it died in his throat at the sight of Victor's expression. 

Immediately, Lucius felt like he had made a mistake. It wasn't often that he felt unsure about his actions, but with Victor looking at him with wide eyes and an expression that betrayed discomfort rather than mischievousness, his smile fell and he stopped himself in his tracks. As soon as his smile disappeared, Victor's rose again, but Lucius felt little to no satisfaction from it. It was a smile he'd show to strangers, someone around whom he had to keep his guard up, and although he didn't leave, Lucius nearly wished he would've. It felt like Lucius found himself in a new, unknown territory than the one he's gotten used to. Or rather, found himself in a territory in which other people were settled in, but never him, for he was much closer to Victor than the rest. 

And maybe something bothered him about it with intensity a bit too strong for his liking. Victor was putting on the face of an unbothered man so shamelessly that it made Lucius tick. Still, if he pointed it out, he'd be acknowledging what just happened—including their 'game'. In a sense, it'd immediately count as his loss, and Lucius couldn't afford that. And so, the rest of their time together was spent without a speck of authenticity. 

Still, he could've sworn his cheeks had been a brighter colour than before. 

—

One thing that stayed constant throughout the years was that Victor followed him everywhere he went. 

With the exception of places where seeing a noble's son and their commoner neighbour would turn them into laughingstock, Victor would easily tag along despite not being invited. By some, it'd be regarded as cheeky, but by Lucius, it was merely another part of his incorrigible personality. Lucius would joke about him being his stand-in knight, or maybe a manservant in case he went shopping, ready to protect him from the dangers of the poor society. Despite the jab at his station, Victor would usually laugh it off and give a dramatic response that'd make even Lucius' eyes roll. 

Though, Victor's presence currently felt more akin to a second shadow than a companion. He'd walk in a pace deliberately slower than Lucius' and wouldn't let himself get caught in his thoughts anytime Lucius slowed down to get him right by his side. An invisible wall was built between them now, and Lucius could only mull over who had been the one to build it. Anytime they'd see an acquaintance of theirs, Victor would go back to his usual self and converse as usual, even going as far as to set up jokes for Lucius to take advantage of in order to give a witty reply. To a bystander's eye, they were the same as always. 

And that's why it annoyed Lucius. 

—

Lucius had a strange dream that night. 

Everything around him felt soft like cotton, and yet addicting as candy. The air smelled sweet enough to make him dizzy, and no matter how hard he tried, his knees always failed him whenever he tried to stand up from his luxurious bed. There were other people in the room, naked shadows of attractive people that he had seen in passing, and they mingled with one another. Despite being without company, he still felt as if he was the birthday kid of this party, as if everything they were doing was for his entertainment. 

—Care for a heart? 

An androgynous voice rang beside him. There stood a tall shadow that felt different from the rest, its clothing being similar to his own white blouse and vest. Lucius opened his mouth to ask about what it meant by that, and yet his body merely nodded. It felt less like he was in control, and more so that he was at someone's mercy. Despite the shadow not having any facial features, he could feel it confidently smile. 

The shadow extended his hand and crossed it over his chest to respectfully bow to Lucius, and the black-haired boy could only watch as the shadow's hand turned into sharp claws that he nonchalantly dug into his sternum. Lucius could hear squelching sounds coming from the inside of his chest, until a bloody heart got pulled out. Blood oozed from the shadow's wound, and yet it barely showed any signs of pain. Rather, the shadow loomed over Lucius and almost teasingly pushed him by his shoulder until his back was fully placed on the bed. Then, after a soft caress to his cheek, the irregularly beating organ was forced into his mouth. 

It seemed to melt in his mouth, a fleshy sensation being replaced with fluid. It travelled down his throat and into his belly, where he felt himself connecting with the shadow. Despite the peculiar situation, he felt strangely sated and excited for something. He wasn't sure for what—until the shadow hummed with glee. 

The shadow's appearance turned more human with each passing second, the black that was covering it until now being washed down like mud. The part of the shadow that he swallowed sounded like it was singing his praises for accepting him, for wanting to see the true self of the dark husk it was before. It drummed in his veins with anticipation, for he was becoming one with the one longed for. 

The shadow's features became clearer, and Lucius could see half of someone's smile. It looked precious, and Lucius couldn't help but smile back. He felt himself being pulled closer to the shadow, and he closed his eyes in contentment. He felt sticky liquid run down his clothes, but not a single part of him minded when his heart was beating for the two of them so beautifully. The shadow kissed his ear, and Lucius stifled a laugh at the tickling sensation. 

Pulling away from the embrace, his smile faded when he caught sight of red hair. 

—

Whatever Victor was doing to him, he hated it. 

He'd reel him back in exactly as Lucius was starting to accept the wedge in their relationship, and then pull back right away when Lucius began to stabilise himself. Was it still a part of the game, or was Victor merely tormenting Lucius for the fun of it? If this was some sick idea born from the want to have them on equal footing, Lucius would sneer and say he was overdoing it. Lucius didn't see anyone as his proper equal, but Victor was the closest thing to it. 

Victor wasn't a pet. Victor wasn't a servant. Victor wasn't some entertainment to him like he was to his parents. Victor was a… Friend, as strange as it was to call somebody that and mean it genuinely. 

But, Lucius was beginning to think he wanted him to be more. 

—

Their conversation was the same as always. 

Victor traced the edges of a rare gem while he only half-listened to what Lucius was saying, while Lucius was filtering through pages and pages of useless information in the books he's been handed. They joked and they theorised, despite the awkward air still making itself present here and then. 

Despite that, Victor never broke the occasional silence with questions of why the door was locked. 

Lucius' chest swelled with a small sense of pride at that. Victor was equally as adamant as him when it came to this game, a sore loser through and through. He'd back off when at a disadvantage, and strike back when his opponent was unsuspecting; a nice strategy that Lucius never grew tired of despite his occasional anger. Victor's presence was like honey; sweet and relaxing at first sight, but troublesome when you realise you've latched yourself onto him and can't pry yourself away. In a way, wasn't this all Victor's fault? With a good heart and clear conscience, he made people feel comfortable around him and confide in him, but only so he'd secure himself favours. Maybe Lucius was like a jackpot to him, and so he stuck around long enough to make even a tougher target such as himself get soft. 

Still, Lucius was as ruthless as ever when it came to competition. 

Victor was at a point where he could school his expression into a neutral one despite the occasional touches. He didn't react to Lucius trailing his finger around his earlobe, nor did he speak up when Lucius' hand started pulling down at the collar of his sweater to reveal his collarbone. His eyes remained pointed forward, stubbornly refusing to grant Lucius a reaction. Maybe if he had slapped Lucius' hand away when he flinched at the contact of his knuckles against his bare stomach, Lucius wouldn't have gotten greedy. 

Lucius continued the pointless conversation, and Victor replied in kind. He was quieter than usual, which could easily be chalked up to not wanting to let out an embarrassing sound. His sweater was rolled up on the floor by now, and his unbuttoned shirt didn't hide much by this point. His fists would clench harder with each pump of Lucius' hand around his cock, and yet the man would still refuse to acknowledge the situation beyond that. Lucius' other arm was slung over the ginger's shoulders, his body so close to him that his hand could reach to grope his chest. Still, even as his finger kneaded his nipple, Victor would still only look at his reflection in the glass-like gem. 

The room started to smell of perspiration and the emphasised scent of Victor, and maybe Lucius enjoyed it just a little bit. His own breathing became somewhat laboured, and his words held a sultry tone he hadn't heard himself use before. This was wrong, and Lucius scoffingly thought to himself that he didn't care anymore. Victor occupied too much of his brain to care about morality or about what's 'right'. Just as Victor was using him, he'd use him back and take everything he wanted, for Lucius was equally as gluttonous as him. 

The pink that went from his cheeks to his ears, the teeth that bit into his own lip to keep himself silent, the fluttering eyelashes, the squeezing of his thighs—it was all so novel, all so mesmerising. 

Lucius wanted to see more, and more, and more.

—

When he finally climaxed, Lucius couldn't really see his eyes. 

He didn't push Lucius away, nor did he pull him closer. He merely waited for Lucius to get his fill of him and retract his hand back to his side. Then, after a couple of shaky, unsure breaths, he quietly asked where the keys were. 

Lucius handed them over to him without protest, a hint of a grin on his face. He bid him a goodnight, even as the older man struggled to get clothed through his shaking body. 

Despite everything that's happened, Victor still stopped by the doorstep. He didn't face Lucius, almost as if he'd crumble if he did, and merely wished him goodnight back. 

Lucius smiled. 

Neither of them acknowledged the game today either. 

[forthesanityofsome]

Ykw I was just gonna reblog it but if it helps someone:

If you're taking from the family pantry, the best time to do so is when the contents are about halfway down. With a lot of items it's harder to tell if something's been taken if you're snatching one or two items at a time and it's at the halfway point. Too close to the top of the box and it's easy, and the same with too close to the bottom. Halfway was always my sweet spot.

Screens always face away from the door with your cover video/music/window/text at the ready, and if at all possible keep the door closed and have your excuse at the ready.

If you can't have it closed all the time, try for specific times (studying, sleeping, praying, etc) and use those times to your advantage.

I found that folding wrappers and using my fingernail to crisp the edges instead of crushing them helped them to take up less space, and I was able to slip them out easier by stuffing them inside my socks/shoes right as I was about to leave the house or sliding them behind the bands of bottled drinks or sticking them inside other forms of trash that were harder and didn't bend or twist easily. A great way to learn this is origami. The basics help a lot with getting pliable wrappers into tiny shapes.

On trash, when I used the kitchen trash to dispose of my wrappers I waited until it was mostly full (within a few days of being taken out), and I slid the wrappers down the side and as close to the middle as possible. If they weren't wrappers I would physically move the trash around until I could get to the middle and place it there; if caught and asked what I was doing, my excuse was that I was looking for something and couldn't find it, didn't know if it got thrown away. If you do this, it has to be something that you feasibly could have lost track of like a common eraser or a travel-sized pencil sharpener.

Know your excuses by heart, have them at the ready before you set out. Don't use the same excuses too close to each other.

Hide and seek is a great way to practice ways to hide (yourself or your stash) and to practice quiet breathing. I found it best to use my mouth slightly open at all times and releasing an exhale slowly was best. Try not to hold your breath if you're sneaking.

If at all possible, spread out your stash. I kept a small bit of food tucked away in a secret spot at my church but only after I was sure no one, not even maintenance had found after trial and error. By this I mean that I took small things - wrappers I had marked, a bit of pinecone I found, a thumbtack that had a funny dent in it, anything that would look like trash to the ordinary eye and couldn't be linked specifically back to me - and I stashed them in said spot. When I checked said spot (and always had an acceptable excuse ready if someone caught me in the location) if the trash was gone, it wasn't safe. If the trash stayed for a month without being moved, I would remove it and store something a little more useful. I made sure never to stash in the same spot more than a few times within several months. So while I had a location or two in my room with my stash of food, I also had some food in places we visited regularly that I could grab and either sneak back home or sneak out to the playground or something similar.

Telling yourself that because your situation isn't as bad as someone else's so therefore it's not abuse isn't right or helpful. If you have to take precautions like these, it doesn't matter if you're situation is 'not as bad' as someone else's. I didn't get hit like my brothers did, but that didn't stop me from hearing keys in the door, realizing I didn't have enough time to get to a safe place, and bolting into the nearest hiding spot which was the coat closet, huddling behind suitcases and praying I wasn't found until I thought it was safe enough to get out and get back to my room.

I'm in my 30s now and no longer do these things. My situation did, indeed, change. There's no shame in doing any of this in order to do so. Never let anyone try to tell you different. Your first priority is to survive. Absolutely get out if you can.

hey so protip if you have abusive parents and need to get around the house as quietly as possible, stay close to furniture and other heavy stuff because the floor is settled there and it’s less likely to creak

[aesaris]

Quest: New Beginnings

This is the world of Aesaris.

A fantasy passion project bringing together the familiar likes of humans, elves and other fantastical people with original creatures and locations to boot.

I needed somewhere to track this nonsense process I have. It is a constant work in progress, but I would like to start documenting this journey as best I can. I have a lot of messy notes, it would be nice if it were organised a bit better for self reference.

I am approaching this in a sort of 'bottom up' way. I have a character which started with some basic traits I wanted to include that I find really interesting, and the story and world has evolved from there.

The aim is to build up 3D models and rigs to be able to animate some cool little sequences and shots. A big task for certain.

Ava (Avariel Elys)

Ava is the main character, or well the focus character for building Aesaris. I would like to explore some other POV characters, but the story has not expanded to that point yet.

This illustration is my first exploration I did after getting most of her design down.

Brief introductions. Ava is a fighter working for the royal guard of Dolari, Dolari being the overarching kingdom of Aesaris. She is a dexterous, spear-based elven fighter who is extremely skilled in combat working her way through the ranks. She is tasked by the King to complete assignments and quests around the kingdom.

She may or may not have access to a certain bit of 'magic'.

A lot of her design choices were made around 'what can I draw or animate cool', so there is that.

---

Personal Introductions

Hi, I'm Libby. Art is my whole life. I'm very fortunate to be employed as an artist, and most of my free time is also dedicated to art (alongside some gaming of course). I find myself to be more of a generalist for the most part as my focus flits from different mediums. However, I have been drawing since I could hold a pencil, but picked it up digitally 2011. I then went on to study animation at university (heavy 3D focus), and now I'm a professional 3D lighting and compositing artist for animated films. Truly I feel like I'm living the dream and I do not take it for granted. I'm not a professional when it comes to most other roles, but I am fortunate enough to be exposed to the whole process when I'm at work. I'd like to think I'm absorbing a lot of general knowledge while I'm at it. Obviously having a full time job means solo projects are slow, but it doesn't matter how long it takes. Finally I feel I have the ability to start bringing to life all of those cinematic shots and stories I have playing in my head. My younger self would be so excited.

---

Inspirations

I'm pretty heavily inspired by World of Warcraft as an overall genre. The depth and complexity to that world is so fascinating and so truly fantasy. It's the best source of whimsy (very important term to me) that I've ever found.

The story, and specifics of the world and the magic, has recently been very inspired by Mistborn. I'm only halfway through the second book and I'm very slow to read (mostly schedule), but that has been a huge influence for building my own magic system.

Other references that have popped up as I go, RWBY, ATLA, Healer series (Maria V Snyder), Arcane, Dragon Prince, Monster Hunter, and the hundreds of artists I follow on instagram. There are countless things I draw ideas from but those are some of the big players for this particular project.