library-of-cronos

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Evening Call

Happy Holiday Truce, @littlebadger I'm the backupgifter who loved your prompts. I wished I could get them all in but had to be satisfied with GrayGhost, Martial arts, and Battle scars/wounds. I hope you will enjoy this little comic.

Canon typical violence and gore under the cut.

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rb for sample size if you'd like to!! * _ * i hope that the green on phantom would glow in the dark. let me know if you're interested more in tail!phantom or legs!phantom too , tysm

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Little Farm Boy

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Stars!!! I thought this was cool lol, I have other pictures but they're so grainy T-T

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Pour one out for a real one.

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Nahhhh not a therapist saying this what do you think you get paid for

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He’s sort of kind of not really okay

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Here's a legal PSA:

If you've committed a crime and a detective gathers everyone involved in the room, especially if he's not actually a detective and is instead a novelist, puzzle-setter, psychic, fake psychic, dog, chess grandmaster, etc. ...

YOU SHOULD NOT CONFESS.

Every year, hundreds of people are put away by non-traditional "detectives" who have either inserted themselves into the case or are working with the police in a dubiously legal capacity as advisor. In 99% of these cases, the murderer gives a full confession even though the evidence against them is circumstantial at best and often requires a long just-so story which can only guess at motive.

If this happens to you, stay quiet, do not attempt to defend yourself or talk your way out of it, only say "I want a lawyer".

Now if you find yourself being investigated by a boy genius, magician's assistant, anthropologist, classics scholar, or philosopher, it's likely that refusing to talk to the police (or investigator with no legal authority) is merely the end of the second act, and by the end of the third act they will have you dead to rights.

YOU SHOULD STILL NOT CONFESS.

Make them take it to court. Force the eccentric detective and his straight-laced police partner to take the stand and explain their methods to a jury of your peers. Have your lawyer look at the chain of custody on the evidence, especially if you believe it to have been handled by someone who has only bumbled into detective work through their natural charm and/or unique set of skills and outsider perspective that come in handy more often than they should.

Know your rights. Don't let eccentric detectives put you away.

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My (extended) family decided several years back that everyone purchasing gifts for everyone is too expensive, so we decided to start doing a family white elephant gift exchange every year instead.

This year, I decided I would buy a tortilla blanket as my gift after seeing them online many times. This turned out to be a very fortuitous decision on my part.

We start the gift exchange, people are opening gifts, etc and its all normal until it gets to my brother's girlfriend. She picks a gift, opens it, and lo and behold it is my tortilla blanket I brought. She loves it. On the next turn, my cousin steals it from her. She's devastated but picks another gift to open.

It's another tortilla blanket.

She is, of course, elated at this turn of events. But now it is mine turn, and I decide I shall steal the blanket from her. Everyone thinks this is hilarious (except for her, she's absolutely devastated again). She picks another gift and opens it.

It's a third tortilla blanket.

As it turns out, three of us, completely independently of each other, decided to purchase a tortilla blanket as our gift to bring to the exchange.

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following weird horny furries who are into shit like pooltoys and transformation and stuff is enrichment. the vitamins and minerals of posting

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What if the ecto acne really did eat away at part of Vlad's face? The first thing he would have learned how to do with his powers would be to alter his appearance, so he's always on guard about keeping the secret of his face hidden from the rest of the world. and thEN WHAT IF DANNY DISTRACTED HIM SO MUCH THAT HE LOST FOCUS AND DANNY SAW WHAT VLAD REALLY WAS.

Holy fucki love that idea

Oh geez i know it’s not pretty but you don’t have to go vomit on his shoes

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⋆⁺₊❅. —— HAPPY HOLIDAYS! —— ⋆⁺₊❅.

Some fluff—lighthearted.

———————

You were walking home, the snow falling gently around you, when you saw him—Phantom.

His white hair glowing faintly in the dim winter evening, his eyes like emerald embers in the cold. But tonight, there was something… different. A bright crimson Christmas hat sat askew on his head, and his entire body was wrapped in twinkling green lights, reflecting off the falling snow.

You paused, unsure whether to approach him or just keep walking. But something about the way he floated with legs crossed neatly, just inched above a bench—slightly hunched, murmuring to himself—made you stay. He didn’t seem like the invincible ghost boy everyone talked about. He looked… almost human.

“I’m so adorned, it’s ridiculous,” you heard him mutter, the words carrying a touch of sarcasm. “Like hanging twinkle lights on a wreck and calling it cheerful.”

A smile tugged at your lips despite yourself, though your heart ached at the sadness in his voice. You took a cautious step forward, the faint crunch of snow beneath your feet drawing his attention. His head snapped up, and for a moment, his glowing green eyes met yours.

“Oh! Uh, hi,” he said, startled, before giving you a small, sheepish wave with his left hand, which was tangled in the lights.

You froze.

His voice was soft and echoing—it made your heart flutter. You couldn’t say a word. You just stood there, feeling nervousness with a touch of shyness.

He tilted his head, studying you, and his expression softened into something warmer.

“Even though I hate Christmas…” he started, his tone playful but still tinged with something heavier. “I still wish you happy holidays.”

Those words made you smile, and you finally managed to respond.

“Yeah, for you too, Phantom.”

He smiled back, but there was something fragile about it—like it might crack if you looked too closely. He lowered his hand and fiddled with the lights, his gaze falling to the snow laying on the ground.

You took another step closer, your curiosity overtaking your nerves.

“Are you… okay?” you asked softly.

“I’m fine,” he said quickly, but his voice wavered, the faintest crack giving him away.

“You don’t really look… fine,” you said gently, feeling a pang of concern.

The burden in his expression, the way his fingers nervously twisted the lights—it sent a faint ache through your chest, a quiet kind of heartbreak.

He looked up at you again, his brows pulling together.

“Why would you think that?” he asked, his voice defensive but not unkind. “Is it the glowing lights? The festive hat? Or maybe the whole ghost thing?”

You laughed softly, his sarcasm breaking through some of your nervousness.

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “It’s just… I don’t know. I can see it. It’s like you’re carrying something. And because you said… you hate Christmas.”

He stared at you for a moment, his emerald eyes searching yours. Then, with a quiet sigh, he glanced down again.

“It’s not a big deal,” he mumbled, his voice softer now.

You took another careful step closer, closing the fragile distance, that you could see the faint glow of his aura reflected in your breath.

“It seems like a big deal,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

For a little moment, he didn’t say anything.

Then, slowly, he lifted his gaze to meet yours. His glowing eyes, catching the light of the falling snow, were so close now—brighter than you’d ever imagined, as if they could see straight through you.

“Why… why do you care?” he asked quietly, his voice soft but hesitant, almost vulnerable.

You felt your cheeks flush, the question catching you off guard.

“I uh—I just… I do,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “I guess I just care because… it’s you.”

A faint smile touched his lips—not the trembling, fragile smile from before, but something more real.

“Thanks,” he said softly with an unfamiliar warmth.

You smiled back, your nerves melting away as the snow continued to fall around you.

In that tiny moment, it didn’t matter that he was a ghost—a hero. You felt like you really saw him—not Phantom, the ghost boy… but just… him.

“Why are you even out here?” he asked suddenly.

The echo of his voice still sent a shiver through you, but his tone wasn’t accusing—just curious, maybe a little wary.

“I… I was just heading home,” you said, your words coming out in a rush. “Family dinner. You know… holiday stuff.”

He nodded faintly, though his gaze dipped to the ground again, his fingers resuming their absent twisting of the lights.

“But… what about you?” you asked, the words rolling over your lips before you could stop them. “Why are you here, all… weirdly dressed up?”

His lips twitched into a half-smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Thought I’d try something new,” he said, his tone wry. “Blend in, maybe. Turns out, I’m still just… me.”

The quiet way he said it made your chest ache again. You hesitated, then spoke softly. “I think it suits you.”

His head shot up, his eyes widening slightly.

“What?”

“The lights,” you said quickly, feeling heat rise to your cheeks, your pulse quickening. “The hat, the whole… thing. It suits you.”

He just stared at you, and you worried you’d said something wrong. But then his expression softened, and the faintest color seemed to bloom across his pale face.

“Oh, right. Thanks, I guess,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

The short silence wasn’t awkward—it was warm, like the snow around you had suddenly stopped being cold. You didn’t know what possessed you, but you found yourself reaching out, your right fingers brushing against the strand of lights tangled around his wrist.

“Can I…?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

He blinked, looking at your hand, then back at you. Slowly, he nodded, and you gently untangled the strand, careful not to tug too hard. His skin—if you could call it that—felt cold and you couldn’t help the way your breath caught.

“There,” you said softly, holding up the freed strand. “That’s better.”

“Thanks,” he said again, his voice just above a echoed whisper.

When your eyes met his again, there was something different in his gaze. The sadness lingering in his reflective eyes was still there, but it was softer now, edged with something you couldn’t quite place.

“You’re not what I expected,” he said suddenly, his voice thoughtful.

“What do you mean?”

“Most people would’ve screamed. Or run. Or tried to… I don’t know… fight me.” He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “But you… you didn’t.”

“Well,” you said, your voice trembling with nervous warmth, “you’re not what I expected either.”

He tilted his head, his gaze curious.

“How so?”

“You’re, uh…” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “You’re more… human than I thought you’d be.”

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. But then he smiled—a real, genuine smile this time, one that lit up his face almost as brightly as the aura around him.

After that, he softly chuckled.

“Maybe,” he said, still smiling. “But… you’re the first person who’s ever noticed.”

You felt your cheeks flush, your heart skipping a beat as his gaze lingered on you. It felt like the rest of the world had faded away.

You shifted slightly, watching as Phantom tilted his head back to glance up at the falling snow, soft—wistful.

“It’s funny,” he murmured, his voice so quiet it felt like he was speaking more to himself than to you. “Snow looks so… peaceful. Like it could cover everything bad in the world and make it go away. But it doesn’t. It just hides it for a while.”

The sadness in his voice tugged at you again, a hollow ache settling in your chest.

“But maybe,” you said softly, “even if it doesn’t make the bad things go away, it can still make things… beautiful. At least for a little while.”

He glanced at you, his glowing eyes narrowing slightly in thought. He said nothing, and you wondered if you’d overstepped. But then he smiled—a small, crooked smile.

“You really think that?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

He held your gaze for a long moment, and something in his expression shifted. It wasn’t just sadness anymore—it was something gentler, something vulnerable.

“You’re really… different,” he said finally, “In a good way.”

You felt your cheeks flush again at his words, a warmth spreading through you despite the cold.

“So are you,” you murmured, barely loud enough for him to hear.

His smile grew slightly more, but before he could say anything else, a sudden gust of wind blew through the air, carrying with it a flurry of snowflakes. You shivered, pulling your jacket tighter around you, and Phantom’s expression shifted to something almost… protective.

“You’re freezing,” he said, frowning slightly. “Why are you even out here in the cold anyway?”

You hesitated, glancing down at your feet.

“I told you—I was heading home. But then I saw you, and I just…” You trailed off, unsure how to finish that sentence. How could you explain the pull you’d felt when you saw him, the way you couldn’t just walk past?

Phantom’s frown softened, and he glanced down at the lights still tangled around his arms and hands.

“Well,” he said after a moment, his voice lighter, almost teasing, “I guess I’m lucky you stopped. It’s not every day someone saves me from my own bad decorating skills.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound weaving through the flurry of snowflakes dancing in the air.

“I don’t know,” you said, grinning. “I think you pull it off.”

“Yeah?” He raised an eyebrow, his smirk playful now. “You think the ghostly Christmas tree look is working for me?”

You nodded. “It’s definitely… unique,” you said, your voice warm.

He just looked at you, and the playful smirk softened into something quieter. “Thanks,” he said, his voice gentle. “For… you know. Staying.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” you replied, your words coming out a little softer than you expected. “I wanted to.”

Phantom’s expression grew thoughtful again. He landed with his feet on the ground and took a small step closer.

“I should probably let you get home,” he said, though he didn’t move to leave. “It’s freezing for you out here.”

“It is,” you admitted, though you weren’t ready for this to end. “But… I don’t mind.”

He smiled at that, it felt like the weight in his eyes had lifted just a little.

“Me neither,” he said quietly.

As the snow continued to fall around you, you realized you could stay in this moment forever.

“But really, you should go home,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “I don’t mind the cold—it’s kind of… my thing. You know, my core stuff.”

He didn’t mean it as a joke, but something about the awkward way he said it made you laugh anyway, the sound slipping out before you could stop yourself.

Your laughter rang out, catching him off guard. He blinked at you, his green eyes wide, and for a moment, he looked almost shy.

“What?” he asked, his lips twitching as though he might smile again.

“It’s just… the way you said that,” you managed between giggles. “Core stuff? Really? That’s what you’re going with?”

“Hey!” he said, his voice lifting, kind of mock-offended. “I thought it sounded cool. Ghostly. Mysterious. Y’know?”

You shook your head, still smiling, and he crossed his arms over his chest, pretending to pout. But then, just as you were about to reply, a gust of wind rushed past, carrying with it a drift of snowflakes.

A sharp cracking sound echoed harsh through the air, and your gaze snapped upward just in time to see a large branch, heavy with snow, splintering above you.

“Look out!” Phantom’s voice was sharp and urgent.

In a blur of white and cheerful lights, he rushed forward, his arms wrapping around you as he lifted you effortlessly off the ground. The world tilted, snow swirling around you in a dizzying haze, and you felt the rush of cold air as he carried you higher, away from the falling branch.

It crashed into the ground below with a dull thud, sending up a puff of snow, but you barely noticed. Your breath caught as you realized you were hovering in midair, his arms secure around your waist, his bright aura wrapping you in soft light.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice so close now, his concern evident as he looked down at you.

You nodded, your heart pounding from both the near-miss and the sudden realization of how close he was. “Y—yeah,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

The snow continued to fall around you, catching in his white-snow hair and glowing faintly in the light of his aura. His green eyes searched yours, and you felt warmth bloom in your chest despite the freezing air.

“You didn’t have to—” you started, but he cut you off with a small, crooked smile.

“Of course I did,” he said simply.

The honesty in his voice made your breath hitch, and you realized how much he cared—not only about saving people, but also you.

Slowly, he descended, lowering you gently back to the ground. His arms lingered for a moment longer than necessary before he finally stepped back, his aura fading slightly as he smiled down at you.

“You should really go home now,” he said softly, his tone teasing but warm. “Before I have to rescue you from something else.”

You laughed, your heart still racing, and nodded. “Okay. But… thank you.”

He shrugged, his smile turning lopsided. “It’s what I do.”

You hesitated, your gaze lingering on his for a moment longer, and then, impulsively, you reached out, brushing a bit of snow from his shoulder. His eyes widened slightly, and you swore you saw the faintest hint of a blush on his face.

“Happy holidays, Phantom,” you said softly, your voice filled with warmth.

“Happy holidays,” he replied, his voice quiet and echoed, but sincere.

And with that, he shot up into the air, disappearing into the swirling snowflakes. You stood there, your heart still fluttering, and smiled to yourself.

Maybe the holidays weren’t so bad after all this time.

——————— ⋆⁺₊❅.

🎵 “I want you to know, that I’m never leaving, ‘cause I’m Mister Snow, ‘til death will be freezing. You are my home, my home for all seasons, so come on, lets go. — My snowman and me.” 🎵

———————

Some fluff? I don’t know. First time trying the you-POV (second person). Written in the quiet hours when I should’ve been sleeping… insomnia is kicking hard.

———————

Single shots from the art:

I was a bit lazy with the line art again… but here we are. I think I might be getting closer to finding my style—though I’m not entirely sure yet. If I weren’t feeling so lazy and depressed at the moment, I know this could’ve turned out better…

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that's how the circus gothica episode went right?

(original img under cut ^^)

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Gendered parenting is so weird. As a little kid I was a total daddy's girl, I was told I would always try to sneak into the garage, I was always very interested in everything he was doing and would follow him around while he was working, but while my family was never the type to outright say "you can't do that because you're a girl", they simply didn't entertain the idea that I could possibly be interested in cars. Then when my little brother was born, it was just assumed he would become a mechanic like our dad because he was a boy. Even though he, unlike me, didn't like being in the garage much and wasn't all that interested in what dad was doing. Once he got to a certain age, dad started making him help and would drag him away from his actual interests for it, which lead to a lot of arguing and not much actual learning.

Gendered expectations sort of create doubles of children. There's the real child with their actual personality, interests and behaviors, and then there's the Gender Child.

My real brother hated soccer and team sports. The Gender Child that existed only the minds of the adults in his life needed to play soccer because that's what a Boy Child does.

Growing up, I always felt like adults didn't actually know me as a person and they weren't interested in getting to know me. Because they felt they'd already learned everything there was to know about me when they were told "it's a girl".

When I talk about how I never got gifts I actually liked from my relatives (to this day I still don't like getting gifts that aren't something I picked out myself), it isn't actually about the gifts themselves. I don't even remember them. What I do remember is the feeling of being given gifts that were seemingly not bought with the real me in mind. They were for the Girl Child™️ version of me. The me that adults wanted me to be, not who I actually was.

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Ghibli TUE