#(yes i drew spot art for myself drawing for others is very scary)

[betsib]

A spot art I did for one of my scenes in the @truffyfest Twine 2. Definitely check it out if you like interactive stories and lawlu/lulaw.

Link here.

[100storiesin2020]

Chapter 6: The First Meeting

Come read on AO3!

Blue anxiously followed Renee into the Foxhole stadium. Renee had come by the Raven boys' dorm at 4:30, offering to ride along to give directions and open up the building for them. She had sat in the backseat with Ronan and Adam, and had surprisingly hit it off with Ronan. Or perhaps it wasn't surprising, with that cross around her neck. Blue was still nervous, though. She was about to meet the whole team of Foxes. These were people that she would be playing with, expected to get along with, spending a lot of time with, perhaps even be friends with.

She hadn't had much practice with friendship yet.

Their footsteps echoed in the empty hallways. Renee was ahead of her, softly speaking with Ronan about local churches. "I know of at least one Catholic church in walking distance, and others in town," she was saying. Behind her Gansey and Adam were bickering about who would buy a toaster for their dorm. They probably didn't realize Ronan would just dream one up for them. Maybe she could talk him into making it orange.

They reached a door, which Renee opened, and the five of them filed in. Everyone else had already arrived. Blue checked her watch to make sure they weren't late, and saw that they were actually five minutes early.

This must be the team lounge, she thought. It wasn't a large room, and the three couches and two chairs made it positively cramped. On the left hand side, Andrew sat next to Neil, the third spot on the couch filled by a dark haired boy who could be no other than Kevin Day. Then there was a chair with Andrew's twin, Aaron. Nicky, Matt, and Dan were sitting on the middle couch. The chair next to them was occupied by a beautiful blond girl who Blue immediately disliked (who needs perfectly curled hair for a sports team meeting?). The third couch was empty.

Gansey immediately strode across the room for Kevin, extending his hand. "Hello! I'm Gansey. You're Kevin Day, right?"

Kevin stood and shook his hand, a perfect plastic smile in place. "That's me. Welcome to the team."

Gansey beamed. "Well thank you! You're a history major, right?"

Kevin kept the plastic composure despite seeming surprised. "Yes, I am."

"Then tell me, Kevin Day. What do you know about Welsh kings?"

Blue rolled her eyes as Kevin Day, Famous Exy Player Extraordinare, launched into a passionate speech about the Celtic countries and languages. Based on the startled looks from most of the other Foxes (Neil and Andrew were unfazed), this wasn't a common occurrence. She noticed Renee giving Matt and Dan a significant look before crossing the room to talk to Andrew. Blue stood there for a moment, unsure what to do with herself, but Ronan had no such inhibitions. He stalked over to the empty couch and sprawled across it like he owned the whole thing.

Adam and Blue smirked at each other before joining Ronan at the couch. Adam pushed Ronan's legs over the side, making room for him to sit. Blue didn't bother. She sat directly on his stomach. This forced a loud grunt out of Ronan before he shoved her off. "Fuck off, maggot." Blue laughed again as Ronan sat up straight, leaving her a proper place on the side of the couch.

As she sat, Nicky grinned at her. "Hi Blue!" he exclaimed. He turned to Adam and Ronan and waggled his eyebrows. "And welcome to the team, hotties!"

Adam, who had been sipping from a water bottle, began to splutter. Ronan thumped him on the back, making everything worse as Adam wheezed and turned red. He finally caught his breath. "Hello to you too..." he trailed off.

"I'm Nicky Hemmick! Sorry to startle you. But you two are both seriously hot."

"I'm going to tell Erik you're flirting again," Aaron warned.

Nicky waved him off. "He knows I love him. Anyway, I'm a backliner and the resident gay icon. Who are you guys?"

Adam and Ronan looked at each other for a quick moment, having one of those exchanges that Blue still didn't know how to read. Adam turned to Nicky first while Ronan glowered. "I'm Adam Parrish, offensive dealer."

"Ronan Lynch, goalie."

Nicky whistled. "You look like you eat babies for breakfast, man."

Blue snorted. "You should see him with his pet raven on his shoulder. It really completes the aesthetic."

This drew the attention of everyone besides Kevin and Gansey, who were still avidly discussing history. "A pet raven, huh?" asked Dan.

Ronan didn't respond. He gave Nicky one of his unsettling, menacing grins. "I don't generally eat babies for breakfast, but one of these days I may make an exception." He leaned forward, making an obvious threat.

Nicky looked terrified. "Oh, okay, cool cool, okay, nice to meet you, I think I'll let these guys introduce themselves." Nicky turned and tried to insert himself into the history conversation, which clearly went over his head. Blue laughed.

"If you find Nicky amusing, then maybe your sense of humor is better than your fashion sense," said the tall blond.

"Excuse me?" asked Blue. "Do you have a problem with my clothes, princess?"

"Well, yeah. You look like a rainbow vomited all over you, and not the way that Nicky usually does."

Blue spluttered. "Just because I don't buy into the patriarchy's dictation of how I should present myself -" she began heatedly, but she was cut off when Ronan stomped on her foot and Renee plopped in to Allison's lap.

"Blue, this is my girlfriend, Allison." Renee gave Allison a soft, but disappointed, look. "She is one of our roommates and I am hoping that you two will get along."

Blue glared at Allison, and if looks could kill they would both be dead. Renee cleared her throat. Allison sighed, seemingly quelled for now, and moved on to the next person on the bench. "So how about you, scary boy? Lynch, was it? You sure have a menacing grin."

Ronan gave her one of those grins. "Is that right?"

"Yeah. It's even creepier than Andrew's lack of emotion, which is saying something."

He scanned the other seats. "We're referring to the midget with the arm bands?" he drawled. Andrew looked back with apparent unfeeling, but Blue wasn't fooled. He'd been watching them this whole time so far, categorizing every move they made, probably weighing them to figure out how much of a threat they may be. She wondered if he thought Ronan was more dangerous than her, or less so.

Blue snorted. "You should know. Hasn't Gansey read you all his notes yet?"

"What notes?" Dan asked.

"Gansey really likes to make detailed notebooks," Adam said.

"He's a major nerd who likes to research anything important to him," Blue added. "You should see the journal. It's a work of art."

"Hey, Dick!" Ronan called, making Gansey wince a bit. "Where's the notebook?"

"Oh, I've got it right here," Gansey said, pulling it out of his backpack. He always carried a backpack these days. He handed the notebook to Ronan, who passed it to Blue, who passed it to Dan.

Dan opened it up and flipped gently through the pages. She turned so that Renee and Allison could see without moving, and Nicky and Matt peered over her shoulder. "You weren't kidding," she said. "This has our heights, our majors, our particular strengths on the court." Andrew stood up from his couch and came behind them as she continued to turn the pages. "Look, it's got newspaper clippings. He's highlighted some comments. Oh, this is the time Neil roasted that reporter."

"Interesting," Andrew drawled, startling everybody on the couch. "Your stalker binder wasn't nearly this pretty, Neil."

Neil laughed and came over to see. "It wasn't intended to be pretty."

Kevin and Gansey finally wandered over, and Dan handed the journal to Kevin. Kevin flipped to the section on himself, of course. Blue knew that it contained official stats, details of the chess piece tattoo, evidence for Kevin's implication that Riko Moriyama broke his hand, and Gansey's own observations of Kevin's playing style. "It says here," Kevin said, "that you think I'm too predictable with my shots."

"I did the math. You aim for the same place about 75% of the time. It's always-"

"The top right corner," Andrew finished, drawing looks from everyone in the room. Neil grinned. Andrew returned Kevin's searching gaze until the taller boy backed down.

"Well, if two of you say that, it must be accurate," Kevin muttered. He turned back to Gansey. "What other observations have you made?"

The team collectively groaned, but Kevin was fortunately silenced by the timely arrival of Wymack. "Nice to see you all again. Anybody dead yet?" He looked around the room and eyed Andrew a bit. "Have a seat, everyone." Everyone resumed their former seats. Blue shoved Gansey onto the couch and sat on his lap, turning sideways to put her feet up on Ronan's lap. He promptly pushed her feet onto the floor again. "Alright, let's keep it this way. Foxes, this is Adam Parrish, Ronan Lynch, Blue Sargent, and Richard Gansey the Third."

"Just Gansey, please."

"Just Gansey it is. Did y'all introduce yourselves?" The team gave a chorus of yes, coach. "You all know how the schedule works, and there are no surprises this year. We have practices at 8 am for the next few weeks before school starts. Any more questions? No? Good. You know the drill: physicals and paperwork tonight, practice tomorrow morning." He handed a stack of papers to Dan, who proceeded to pass them out. "Practice tomorrow is at the gym. Do not come here, go to the gym. If you miss practice because you came here, I will kick your ass into next week. That includes you, Freshmen."

The door opened and a very nice looking woman entered. "I see you all survived the summer." She smiled at Blue. "I'm Abby, the team nurse."

"She will be doing the physicals tonight," Wymack said. "You four freshmen are new, so you're up first." He addressed the whole room again. "Don't leave without seeing Abby tonight or you will not get to play this season. Does everyone understand?" He was answered with a chorus of yes, coach. "Good. Who is first?"

Blue got up, since she was on top of Gansey anyway. "I'll be first. Adam, don't let Lynch here pick any fights."

"Shut up, maggot," he replied as she slammed the door behind her and followed Abby down the hall.

*********

Once the freshmen had done their physicals and left for Fox Tower, Nicky turned the conversation to the new people. "So," he began, leaning back on the couch, "Who wants to bet that Adam kid is gay?"

"No way," Allison said. "He was totally checking me out. My money is on straight."

"He could be bi," Renee offered.

"I'll take those odds," Nicky said. "Also, I want to bet that the girl and the history boy are dating."

"Bet pool is closed," Dan said. "Blue already confirmed they are."

"Pity," Allison said. "He's cute." Renee raised an eyebrow. "Hey, I was just looking."

Aaron groaned. "At least I'm not the only straight person on this team anymore."

"What am I, chopped liver?" Dan joked. Aaron rolled his eyes to the sound of laughter from around the room.

"Twenty bucks that Lynch is gay," Andrew said suddenly. Renee matched it, and then others took sides on the pot.

"Time for the big question," Matt said. "How long do we think it will take any of them to figure out Andrew and Neil?"

Bets flew in from around the room. "All year!" (Nicky) "3 months!" (Allison and Kevin) "Christmas!" (Dan) "Spring break!" (Matt and Aaron)

"Two weeks or less," Renee said, smiling sweetly.

[silverquillsideas]

Salmon and others were openly discussing rape and talking about drawing rape and there were people in the replies talking about how seeing a “rape drawing” changed the way they consumed content and shipped things (they meant that they liked the rape btw). If she hasn’t gone back to private, you can probably find those for yourself since they’re pretty recent. I thought you seemed nice but I’m really disappointed in you. Will be unfollowing and blocking.

Hello! I was debating on how (if at all) to answer this, since you seem to have already made up your mind to not hear anything further about this issue altogether.

But I do have a few things to say, regardless, because I found specific phrases you used, to be sketchy/unclear at best.

Warning tho : this is going to delve into a discussion of "rape and sexuality" from a real life perspective, since the fandom seems so bent upon drawing parallels to reality and compare fiction and irl examples. If you find that uncomfortable, block the tag "tw:rape" and scroll past.

_____

So, my first point of discussion : "Salmon and others were openly discussing rape and talking about drawing rape"

Putting aside the issue of the subject matter of the threads for a second, I'll focus on the other part : about *posting publicly*. I talked to three separate followers of the twt artist, who also happen to be my tumblr mutuals, and they basically confirmed the same thing : there was no "open discussion", in the sense, that, they did so either on Privatter (assuming you know how it works) or they did in the comment threads on their *personal twitter account*, and only those who were willing to engage in such a discussion, went ahead and joined. They did not encroach on anyone's space and invite them in forcefully.

I'm putting the screenshots of conversation I've had with one of my friends regarding this, and as you can see, none of it was *open for public viewing*

Also, here's the artist's own message that's pinned to their account :

Let me put this in perspective : suppose you're not into kpop (I picked a random example, btw) and find it weird and flamboyant, and you generally avoid it altogether. While scrolling through tumblr, you stumble upon a hardcore kpop blog, you're totally put off by the contents and you complain to your mutuals about how ABC person indulges in kpop and you found it weird and unappealing.

But my point is, there was nothing public about the said blog or account, because, by nature, every blog or account is a person's private space for expression of ideas. Yes, tumblr, twitter and other social media platforms are all *public* in the sense that they are hosted on public domains and anyone with an access to the Internet can stumble upon any website or blog listed therein. But, you, being a responsible, well discerning person, willingly stepped onto a personal blog or acc on which the owner was likely to present their own views, and started complaining about what you found there. Your statement implies, that you willingly browsed through the comment threads until the point you spotted these uncomfortable discussions and you voluntarily exposed yourself to the same.

My second point : "there were people in the replies talking about how seeing a "rape drawing" changed the way they consumed content and shipped things (they meant that they liked rape btw)"

I find it highly confusing how you generalised something as sensitive and complex as psychological behaviour on behalf of a bunch of strangers you never actually interacted with (or confirmed their views on the said matter) and proceeded to label them as "people who liked rape".

What does the statement "liking rape" mean anyway? And, does anyone who talk about or discusses rape, in the context of fanarts and fanfiction, and that too, "rape fantasy" in this case, (but I'll get to it in a moment) automatically becomes someone who likes the act? Or condones it happening in real life, to real people or situations? I'm curious as to which aspect of rape they talked about 'liking' (since your statement implies they explicitly stated so) : was it the pain, the trauma, the physical and psychological stress, or the violence and the sense of dominance over a helpless, real life person?

If you do have an answer supported by evidence, let me know, I'll modify my response gladly.

It brings me to my third point : these artists or the people who commented, were discussing, not about real life rape, but a fantasy situation in which they put two fictional characters together and made a fanart of them (the composition of the art in question is described in the conversation above).

Deriving pleasure from the actual act of rape or sexual violence is a pathological condition and needs medical or psychiatric treatment.

Deriving pleasure or indulging in paraphilic sexual fantasies, however, is not uncommon. I'll redirect you to @iamtrashforash 's post here that describes this issue more coherently. I'll also point you to articles written on PsychologyToday, based on research done on this specific topic of "Rape Fantasy" that I found, and I think everyone should have a look at them :

Article 1

Article 2

If I remember correctly, the actual comment I saw in the screenshot circulating around, regarding the controversy, went something along the lines of "I love seeing Ash's pained face in this situation", and that's what made people lose their minds. There was outrage over "How could you do that with Ash, a CSA survivor? It sends a bad message to them, it's triggering, it's disrespectful, you are disgusting, etc etc."

But, my own conversations with three people who are in real life CSA survivors, two of them who reached out to me in my DMs over the last two days, have given me a very different idea about what these people actually think regarding the art. Here's the hot take : they did not find it disturbing or offensive to themselves personally.

In fact, they pointed out, that they saw it as a fictional scenario, were well aware of the differences between the artist's intent and their potential real life behaviour (FYI, none of them drew the conclusion that either the artist or the people discussing it, "liked rape").

The fact that the comment threads were openly talking about indulging in such a fantasy is what seemed to baffle the more outspoken and outraged people, who proceeded to harass and send hate messages to the creators. But here's the fact : these fetishes have existed for as long as humanity has, and will continue to do so, regardless of whether you crucify a handful of people in a small corner of a fandom or not.

If you're familiar with the yaoi manga genre, or any adult erotica games (I can't cite any examples bc I don't have enough details, but I do know they exist), you'll find a plethora of works where all sorts of fantasy situations are presented : rape is fetishised, there's shape-shifters (vampires or otherwise), A/B/O dynamics, even bestiality. In other words, a major prevalence of themes like dominant, aggressive behaviour contrasted with helpless, passive behaviour as far as sexual situations go. And they are thriving. They have a huge pool of audience out in the world.

Whether these fetishes are "morally right or wrong" to indulge in, is not a question I have any authority to debate, because I'm not a clinical psychologist, or a behavioural scientist.

Personally speaking, I happen to be a demisexual person. Any discussion of sexual situations or scenarios outside of my own very narrow comfort zone or mental compatibility scares the shit out of me. And I find all of the above scenarios I described, as plainly unappealing and downright weird or scary. I will never, as long as I have my faculties in control, go out seeking any of them voluntarily, in either fanarts or fiction.

My point is, this is a complicated issue, I fully acknowledge that beforehand. We, as a fandom, got attached to Ash as a character, for so many different reasons. We all love him, respect him for standing up against all odds, and fighting against his fate all his life. That's the reason why the back-lash against these depictions got so violent, I think. People are more willing to see him heal, to see him make peace with his scars and move on. The general consensus with this line of thought was so ingrained in our minds, that people lashed out as soon as something "against the norms" and "potentially harmful" came to their notice.

But, the thing is, both these outcomes, are fictional. The fandom's biggest purpose is this : we weave fiction out of fiction itself. That's why we have fanarts and AUs and headcanons and a hundred other things. And different people will find different aspects of said fictional scenarios appealing. It's why we have so many ships on one hand and unfortunately, *ridiculous* ship-wars and toxic discourses on the other. But, it's okay to accept that there'll always be differences in such a wide space where everyone is coming together. It's okay to find content you don't agree with, and simply, move on.

But, I'll repeat myself : I'm not going to persecute people, who have carefully tagged, classified, and filtered their content, being mindful of the others in the fandom, and barge on their doors demanding "why they liked what they liked" and "how could they like such a thing??". Especially because it is fiction, involving fictional characters, separated from reality.

Had it been a real life discourse, involving actual people, I'd have definitely spoken out against it.

Also, to anon, if you find my views or ideas unpleasant, or find my completely sfw multifandom blog a safety hazard, then you're more than welcome to unfollow and block me. Your mental peace is all that I ask for. :)

[bluegreenamber]

The Artist (1/4)

My younger brother found it in his room. It was stuffed in the drawer of the bedside table that had been left behind by the previous owners. A picture of four smiling boys in a plain wooden frame. I recognized them as the previous residents who must have forgotten this picture. Seemed normal enough. But when my klutz of a brother dropped it face down from where he was trying to put it on the top shelf of the closet, it appeared that the picture was less normal than it seemed. A lot less normal. The glass front had shattered, and the picture was hanging out. When I tentatively picked up the frame, I saw what had been hidden behind the photo. It was a picture with the same four boys, much like the first. But it had been… tampered with. Someone had taken a pencil and marked all over the boys. One now had horns growing out of his head. One had giant black holes for eyes. One had fangs emerging from his mouth. The last was scribbled over completely. It was creepy, to say the least. My dads had no idea what to do with it. They agreed that it shouldn't be kept on display for young eyes to see, but they weren't sure whether to keep it hidden or dispose of it. They weren't exactly the superstitious type, but it seemed way too “stereotypical horror movie” to burn it and have angry ghosts start haunting the place because of it. In the end, they never told us what they did with it. After that initial incident, we continued unpacking like normal, and the thought of the photo faded from everyone’s minds. Until it happened again. I woke up one morning. And there it was. On my ceiling right in front of my eyes was a portrait of me. “Portrait” being a polite term. It was more like a caricature. Something disfigured and exaggerated. I froze, fear rising in my chest. I stayed like that for a good few moments, listening for the inevitable sounds of my oncoming demise. But there was nothing. Just the sounds of the AC running and my older brother snoring. I glanced over to my bedside table and nearly froze for yet another few minutes. The pencil I had laid out there last night was reduced to a messy stub. My dads almost grounded my brothers when they found out. They thought that it had been a prank. But it was obvious that they hadn't done it. So they dismissed it as a form of sleep-walking. What else could they do? But I knew better. I talked to my brothers about it, and while they were of course skeptical of my ghost stories, they agreed to do a few simple “experiments” for me. My older brother left a pencil out on his desk that night. And true to my theory, the same thing that had happened to me happened to him. We were astonished. My parents not so much. They were not impressed with what they thought was our messing around. I'm pretty sure they only tolerated it because it was slightly amusing to them and encouraging to see us finally getting along well enough to plan this sort of thing. Typical. My younger brother tried it the next night. But that's where my theory failed. It was like seeing a floodgate burst from a hairline fracture. All my brother had to do was leave one pencil out, and his room was… completely wrecked. His desk was ruined. Drawers had been dragged out of their places, and art and office supplies were scattered all on and around it. Most of the pencils were so small as to be unusable. That wasn't even a fraction of it. Not only was there a portrait of him on the ceiling. All throughout his room, on the ceiling and walls and furniture… There were portraits of the rest of our family. There were portraits of friends and family who had never been near the house. There were portraits of people none of us even recognized. There were drawings of random objects, some of them unrecognizable. And then there were words. In a messy and vaguely disturbing scrawl, there were ominous writings. Classic scary messages like “Get out” and “Leave me alone” and “You shouldn't be here” and “I'm warning you” and equally creepy but more specific phrases like “The perfect picture” and “I need to draw” and “The perfect artist” and “The one I need to find the one.” In addition, there were several names, but four of them were written repeatedly. Edd, Tom, Matt, and Tord. It didn't take a genius to figure out that those were the names of the boys in the pictures. There were also several labels that I couldn't quite understand. Things like “The Artist” and “The Prince” and “The Blind” and “The Pair” and “The Neighbors” and “The Greeter” and “The Girl” and “The Scientists” and “The Soldier” and “The Mirror.” I guessed that some of them went with the names, but I had no idea which ones went with what. Except for “The Artist.” I had a pretty good idea what they were like, though no clue who they were exactly. No matter what we tried to tell them, our parents didn't believe that the mess was anything but our explicit fault. The three of us were grounded for two weeks and forced to clean off every mark made by the pencils. For once, we didn't grumble or argue with each other as we cleaned. Instead, we conspired together. We theorized about every detail of the drawings, making sure to capture pictures of them with our phones for evidence. If I weren't so worried about the obvious spirit haunting our house, I'd be beaming with joy that we were finally getting along so well as siblings. We, especially my younger brother, were very careful to leave all drawing utensils stored away for the next few nights, and no more incidents occurred. But of course it had to get even worse. My younger brother was in the living room doing his homework while I was reading. And midway through a problem, his pencil started floating. He let out a yelp, and I looked up to see the offending thing fly across the room and nearly impale itself in the wall. I stood, slowly approaching as I put myself between it and my sibling. It started writing jaggedly on wall. S… T… O… P… I froze, barely blinking or breathing. The spirit was actually talking. It started again just below where it had been writing. LEAVE. I shook my head. “We can't just do that.” Could it hear me, understand me? It didn't reply, so I took another step forward. “You're The Artist, right? What's your name?” EDD. Ah, I recognized that name. I tried to conjure up the photograph of the four boys in my head. “Which one are you?” It drew a picture of one of the boys, the one with flat hair and a bright smile and a can of Cola in his hand. It was actually a really good drawing. “Why do you want us to leave?” IT’S MY HOUSE. I shook my head again. “I'm really sorry, Edd. But you're… not actually here right now.” I had no idea if this was an actual ghost, if Edd had died. “This is our house. We bought it and moved in a couple weeks ago.” GET OUT. Okay, so reasoning with it wasn't working too well. Questions… Questions seemed to work better. “Why? I saw that picture. I know you don't mind sharing your house. Why do you really want us gone?” YOU’RE NOT THE ONE. I remembered that from the writings. “The one?” THE PERFECT ARTIST WHO WILL DRAW THE PERFECT PICTURE. “Why do you need this perfect artist and perfect picture?” THAT’S HOW I WILL MOVE ON. Move on… I assumed he was talking about some kind of afterlife or something, move on from being an angry spirit trapped in the living world. “Do you know who is?” HIM. Everything turned into slow motion. The pencil dropped to the ground, lifeless. My brother cried out, and I turned back towards him. He flew off the couch and down the hall, as if dragged by invisible hands. He ended up in his room, and the door slammed behind him and locked. I felt frozen to the spot, but I had to go after him. Time returning to normal speed, I sprinted to his room and tried the doorknob as if it would be magically unlocked somehow. I yelled at the spirit to “Let him out!” but there was no change. I could hear the soft whimpering of my baby brother, and I swore I was going to lose it. “Please,” I pleaded to the door. “Don't hurt him.” A sniffle and he softly called my name. I slid down the door as if sitting was going to bring me closer to his level, to him hearing me. “Yes? What is it?” “He wants me to draw for him.” His voice trembled fearfully. My brain was in overdrive trying to make sense of everything and figuring out what the best thing to do was. It was obvious that my brother had been chosen by Edd as the “perfect artist” or whatever and that the only way to get rid of the spirit would be to have him draw the “perfect picture.” “Is that all? Then draw. Draw your best picture. You're such a good artist. He's never going to ask for any other piece of art after this.” All jokes aside, my brother had been showing signs of phenomenal artistic talent from a young age. As horrifying as the results were at the moment, it actually made sense that he was chosen. “O-okay.” The following silence was almost unbearable, time dragging on at a snail’s pace. I was just glad that my parents and older brother were out. The click of a lock startled me out of my anxious thoughts. My brother stepped out, looking perfectly fine if a bit scared and shell-shocked. I immediately wrapped him in a hug, pulling him away from the room. “He started crying when I was done,” he murmured. “He took the picture and told me ‘Thank you’ and ‘Goodbye.’ And then he was gone.” “What did you draw him?” I wasn't sure I'd ever let go. “A cat. I think he called it Ringo.” That night, I left a pencil out on my nightstand, testing if Edd had really left us. To my surprise, he wrote one last message. On my ceiling, there were the two things he had told my brother. “Thank you” and “Goodbye.” And under the slightly used pencil was the picture of the four boys. Only, the boy that had been completely scratched out was now clear of marks. Edd was grinning up at me, a pencil clutched in his hand and a cat’s muddy paw print on his jeans.