#I really like mechanical pencils for this kind of thing

[yunyin]

Glad for pencils when I really want to draw but I need to wait for a new tablet adapter!

[bacchuschucklefuck]

[saturnaous]

I never stop thinking about them.

SEND ME ART REQUESTS BOY

[caffeinatedopossum]

I'm still grieving the dreams I lost due to my disability and I just added another one

[phantomrose96]

Sham Sacrifice: Chapter 2

(Sham Sacrifice: Chapter 1)

Chapter 2, because @ciestess voiced an idea that absolutely consumed my entire mind and I could not rest until I made this

...

Danny’s eyes tracked the swing of gunfire raining bullets across the horizon. Tucker reloaded, crouched, dodged left and pivoted, another blast of bullet confetti launched through a gaggle of zombie heads. He tossed the magazine and reloaded. Click. Ching. Danny flinched when a zombie smashed a hammer clean through Tucker’s head.

 “God. Fucking…” Tucker pulled out of his hunch. He unclamped his fingers from his controller like bug legs unfurling. He extended the controller to Danny, bouncing it in his grip. “Your turn.”

“Huh?” Danny asked, as if he hadn’t been watching Tucker’s game the whole time.

“You. You’re up. I died.”

Danny accepted the controller, reloaded the screen, and jogged about a hundred feet forward before the first horde of zombies took him out football-style from the left. The death screen rolled.

“Oops,” Danny said.

“Not your best work.” And Tucker took the controller back. Tucker shot a few spare glances to Danny while the level restart loaded in. “Is it Vlad?”

“No. Well, yes,” Danny answered, flopping back into his normal position on the Foley attic armchair. Tucker’s mom had planned to toss it ages ago, before it became Danny’s chair. “But at least he left when my parents went all zombie mode into the basement.” Danny picked absently at the scabs of leather flaking from the armrest. “It was just weird.”

“I don’t mean this as an insult, but it’s definitely not the first time your dad’s gotten some math wrong,” Tucker said. “He blows up like three things a week doesn’t he?”

“He does. But he doesn’t care when he gets that math wrong. This one was like I broke something important.” Danny’s expression soured, and he picked a leather flake clean off the chair. “Vlad did, I mean.”

“Does any of the math actually work?” Sam offered from Tucker’s desk. She leaned an elbow around the back of his chair, head tilted to Danny. A pencil dangled from her loose fingers, nib-half worn to the History of an Invention report she was actually working on. Tucker had half-assed his earlier in the day about the palm pilot. Danny had not done his. “Like, it’s all crackpot theory, right? Do ghosts even follow math?”

“I think they follow some math. It’s not magic that makes the ecto-bazookas work, or the Fenton-phones work, or—well the thermos DIDN’T work—until I made it work.”

The unspoken thing Danny had been not-quite-saying hung in the air. He said it this time.

“So I’m wondering if I did it. Like the Fenton thermos. And now maybe they’re gonna do the math all over and realize the missing piece of the equation is one half-ghost son.”

“Well the order is backwards, for starters,” Sam said. “Thermos worked because you pumped ghost-energy into it. How would you have done that to the portal? You were human when you walked in.”

“Sam’s right. What do you think you brought to the table exactly? Button-slapping abilities?” Tucker loaded up the next level. “It was their portal, and their math, and it worked. There’s a million-billion kinds of math and they probably just forgot one thing.”

Tucker took a headshot and died. Mechanically, he handed the controller back to Danny.

“Yeah, probably.”

“Ask Vlad. He’s got a portal.”

“Like Vlad’s gonna tell me.”

“Just promise to be his diligent little son minion or whatever. He’s easy. Wait, let me do the next level. You know I like the cyberpunk levels.”

“It’s not your turn,” Danny said, reeling the controller just out of Tucker’s wiggling grasp.

“I’ll let you do two in a row for your next turn.”

Danny knocked Tucker away, distracted just long enough for a zombie cyberbeam to launch from the horizon and take him out through the head.

The screen washed sepia. Danny stared at it. You died.

…

Danny hadn’t really meant to stay the night at Tucker’s place. They’d just gotten really far in Man vs. Zombie, and Sam had gone home, and Danny was just resting his eyes between his turns with the controller.

So when he woke to the bright strip of sunlight beaming into his eyes through the attic skylight, his first thought was Fuck.

He was awake, here, morning, school. Fuck he had not actually done his History of Invention report, despite the stupid amount of grief it had already caused him this weekend. He pulled his face out of the armrest, now pineapple-patterned from the decaying leather, and pawed for his phone fallen on the floor. If it was still early enough, he could maybe still afford to desperately half-ass something before sixth period science.

He flipped his phone open. A text from Jazz. “Don’t come home. Make up an excuse.”

“…Fuck,” Danny whispered, through the sensation of his heart launching itself into his throat.

He scrambled upright, whole body shaking at the mercy of adrenaline shock so soon after being pulled from dead sleep. His mouth was dry, teeth unbrushed, wearing his old clothes from yesterday, report not done, Don’t come home, Don’t come home, Don’t come home.

They knew. He’d fucked it up. Somehow they knew. The math. Something. And it had to be with guns blazing, because Jazz would not send that text if they’d taken the “We accept you” angle.

Were they coming for him? On their way here? Tracking by his phone? Did they like Mrs. Foley enough to not SWAT-slam her against the wall when she opened the door for them so they could come capture the ghost pretending to be their son?

Fuck.

Danny was upright. Danny was standing. Danny was shaking. Danny wasn’t actually sure what the next thing was he was supposed to do.

Tucker’s ball of blankets rustled from the couch. “Mmph?” he asked, articulately.

“I have to. Go deal with my parents, I think,” Danny said, because any plan felt a little better than no plan. “I think they know.”  

Danny was a ghost. Danny was gone. Tucker sat upright, alone, blinking himself awake. He was staring at the You Died sepia screen still displayed on monitor, now burnt into the plasma of the tv.

…

Danny paused with his human hand slick on the Fenton front door. The gears in his mind turned as his plan quickly unraveled into no-plan. He had no plan, right? What was his plan? Handle this Man vs Zombie style—open the front door ready to dodge wide, because both zombies and parents liked to camp behind closed doors with bazookas at the ready?

“—absolutely absurd, and entirely unscientific, with no probability of being true. It goes against everything we know about neurology.”

Oh, Jazz. Was Jazz enough of a bazooka-deterrent? Probably not. Knowing his parents.

Danny turned the knob. His heart hammered. If bazookas, dodge left.

The first thing he noticed was in fact the no-bazookas. It was what he was most looking for. And so it was Jazz’s expression he did not notice until second—whites of her eyes wide, snapped to Danny, with a look that would be accusatory if worry hadn’t won that battle. Her cheeks were pale. Her hair was unbrushed.

He noticed his parents third. Compulsively, he rocked back onto his right foot, still outside the doorway, still outside the threshold of the Fenton family household.

Seeing his parents tired was of absolutely no shock-value to Danny. It was at least a twice-per-month tradition to see them haul themselves up from the basement sweaty and glaze-eyed at 7am, babbling excitement about some new ecto-spectral-hoozy-whatsits whose concept had shimmed into their minds at 8pm and now existed, fully operational, 11 nonstop hours later.

So it wasn’t the exhaustion on their face. It wasn’t the stagnant smell of sweat or the paleness of their faces or the stains on their clothes.

It was the way they looked at him. Like their whole world had fallen apart with his foot passing over the doorstep.

“Danny,” Jazz said, choked, a break in the silence. “Things are…! A little weird here. So maybe, if you wanna just get to school, I’ll finish clearing up—there’s a misunderstanding Mom and Dad have with their math. I am state finalist in Math League and have been studying college-level calculus in preparation for school applications so I’ve offered to help them fix their math, or prove to them—”

“Danny,” Maddie said, an echo of Jazz, but it felt worse. Danny scanned her hands for anything pointed enough to be a weapon. They were empty. “Danny can I just ask you something honestly, just quickly? Jazz is right. I’m just trying to clear up an issue with our math. And I won’t be mad. Whatever the answer is, I won’t be mad. I just want an honest answer.”

She stepped closer. Danny fought the urge to match her with a step backwards. Her eyes roved over him in a starved way, looking for something.

“Were you there when the portal turned on?” she asked.

“No, I wasn’t,” Danny answered. He wasn’t sure what to do with his face to make it look convincing. “It just. It needed some time to boot up, or something, right? That’s what you two said.”

“That was our guess ,but we don’t really know. The security tapes are wiped. We tried to make them EMF-resilient but a very, very strong blast of EMF could still corrupt them.”

“Yeah. I mean the portal’s gonna do that, right? When it turned on? Ripping open the Ghost Zone that’s—gotta be huge EMF.” Danny’s focus bounced between his mother’s eyes. “Just a guess. I really don’t know. I was in bed, already, whenever the portal started working.”

Left eye. Right eye. Why was she looking at him like that? Like she was sad. Was this part a trick? Make Danny let his guard down, go hey Mom need a hug? and that’s when the bazooka-whipping starts? It made his ribs feel scratchy. Stop looking at me like that.

“Have you felt anything weird at all, since the portal started working? Any gaps in your memory? Any parts of you that don’t feel right? Is there any part of you that feels like it’s changed in a way you can’t explain?”

She reached a hand out. Danny instinctively recoiled.

“Uh, yeah. They taught us about this in health class. They call it ‘puberty’ there.”

“Danny,” Jack said, and his voice was scratchy from disuse, from a long and uncharacteristic amount of time spent not speaking. “Did you die in the machine?”

A beat. A moment. Like when the zombie sends a hammer through your head.

“I’M alive!” Danny declared with a crack in his voice, with hands slammed to his chest. “Look at me. What are you talking about?”

“It’s the only math that works,” Jack continued, his words like chalk, his voice too dead. He looked too much at Danny. “If one of you two walked into the portal, and died in it. And I don’t think it was Jazz.”

This was bad. This was weird. Danny had ghost powers, sure. ‘They can’t kill me I’m already dead,’ was a funny joke sometimes. But it was funny as a joke. He was a ghost sham, really. A faker, a LARPer, whatever Tucker had called it. He was a human who was just kind of a freak now. More of a freak than he already was. He looked dead, for someone who was super-duper still alive.

He’d buried that worry, already. They weren’t allowed to bring it back.

“Look… at me!” Danny continued, mouth dry. He threw his arms wide. “Look how super alive I am! I’m awake! Using energy! Eating food and sleeping with my human body. I’ve got flesh and blood and bones and stuff! I’m not a ghost-expert but ghosts don’t have that.”

This was weird. This made Danny feel like something was scratching to get free from inside his rib cage. It twisted his entrails. Sure Tucker and Sam had thought he was dead, for those first horrible few minutes, but then he changed back to a human and the nightmare ended there. Jazz never called him dead. The ghosts called him freak and halfa and whelp, but never ‘one of them.’ That was his whole thing: being different from the ghosts who became ghosts by something so normal as dying.

He was not dead.

“If you died in the portal, your ghost wouldn’t have been ripped out of your body. It would have been allowed to stay, and then you’d be…” Jack hesitated. “I don’t know what you’d be, but you wouldn’t be alive.”

“Dad,” Jazz said, and she stood herself bodily between Danny and Jack. “What an absolutely messed up out-of-line thing to say to your son! You don’t know that! Dad you’re tired, and just because you weren’t able to solve your math problem in one night doesn’t mean you get to treat Danny like this! I said I’d help you with your math! Now apologize to Danny.”

Jazz looked over her shoulder to Danny, her expression falling at the sight of Danny’s face.

Danny backed up over the door threshold. He shook his head. “I’m not comfortable with this. This is weird. I’m gonna go to school now.”

“Danny, I promise they’re just—”

Danny turned on heel. No backpack, no change of clothes. He took to the street without a single school supply and moved, and moved.

It was supposed to be guns-blazing. Molecule by molecule. Headshot you died. He’d prepared for that this whole time, in the shower, in his dreams, in his daydreams in class. He’d duck and dodge and explain himself over and over until they understood him.

Danny wasn’t sure he was capable of explaining himself anymore.

…

Danny knocked the heavy iron knocker. He was in ghost form, as a threat. He wondered if he still smelled like yesterday’s sweat now that he wasn’t wearing yesterday’s clothes. Now he was wearing the clothes he died in.

No one answered the door. Danny phased himself in.

“Vlad!” he called, and his words echoed along the slope of the two elaborate winding staircases that twirled and met at the top like caduceus. Gold-plated banisters. A security camera buried somewhere in the ceiling, no doubt.

Danny phased into the library. His eyes roved the three stories of bookshelves wrapping the perimeter like a sheath. Gaudy. Audacious. Like Vlad would ever read that much. Danny racked his brain because some something in here was the secret to opening Vlad’s laboratory. Jazz had told him. Some gold something to be touched, and pressed down, or pushed up? Or it opened to a button. Or a keypad, maybe.

Danny spat a curse. He was being stupid. He was frazzled. He wasn’t thinking straight.

He dove into the floor below. Intangibility was the only key he needed.

The sheetrock was cold, even when he wasn’t touching it. The darkness was so piercing it made static jump in his vision, some weird trick of the brain Jazz had explained where, in the absence of all light, the brain hallucinates its own. It came with a sensation of pressure against his eyeballs, and a complete disorientation of direction, and he simply just kept going down.

Danny emerged into a wash of cold air. Cold like metal was cold. The low lights of dials and clicking machines were bright to his eyes previously dunked into the pitchest nothing. He drank it in, eyes grateful for light no matter how little, inner ear grateful for orientation that had left his head swimming and his stomach tight.

His feet tapped down to the stone ground, and the air that breezed past him was chilled.

“Vlad!” Danny called again.

Nothing.

He moved by the floor lighting, which ran in trim along the perimeter of the laboratory rooms. It lit things from beneath, made machines gaunt and specimens into sharp geometries of darkness and flesh. It made the Fenton lab feel warm in a way Danny had never considered it warm.

His feet clacked. His breath puffed.

“Vlad!”

He followed light, followed a wash of green miasma percolating from some far room and catching on the particulate of water and dust that disturbed with the air currents. Danny disturbed it too, walking through, wearing its shade of green which his shadow robbed from the wall behind him.

“Vlad. I swear to god Vlad.”

He crossed the threshold of the portal room, where the dusting of green ambience became a medallion wash of golden-green coating, painting every surface of the room. The Fenton lab was one single expansive room, portal anchored into the far wall and facing all the dead and empty air in front of it. This was different. A much smaller room, walled on all sides save for the simple doorway, and each surface reflected the color back deeper and heavier. It was like a fishtank in the wall of an aquarium lit radiant aqua-blue by all the lights within, but green instead, pure ecto-green.

Danny approached the open portal. He stared into its placid swirls, mesmerized, and scared of it, in a way he hadn’t previously felt about the portal in the Fenton basement.

“Ah, seems the cat is a good mouser after all, it dragged you in my boy.” The words came sing-song. They came spine-shivering for Danny, who felt them like hot breath on his shoulder and reeled back, pivoted, fire crackling to life in his palms.

Vlad stood at the doorway, a solid 20 steps from Danny.

“Vlad.”

“So I’ve been hearing.”

“I need you to explain the portal.”

“Ah, I see you’ve spoken to your parents.” Vlad stepped in, washed in the ecto-green which muddied his ruby red eyes. He held his hands behind his back, cape trailing, a smirk on his fanged face. “Last I heard they weren’t taking the news very well.”

“What news. What did you tell them?”

“Me? Nothing. In fact, very kindly for your sake I even tried to drive them away from the answer but… We know how stubborn your parents can be.”

“What answer?”

“That you’re dead, Daniel.”

Shock washed like ice down Danny’s spine. It sent prickles like spider legs across his skin.

“Well, I suppose there’s still chance for some doubt. It could be Jazz. She could take the fall for you, if there’s any benefit to that at all.”

“I’m a halfa. We are halfas,” Danny said.

“A silly made up word by a silly child,” Vlad mused, and the light smile left his lips. “We are dead.”

“I’m not dead,” and Danny’s words were small, and they were childish.

“You are. I am. Embrace it. It’s nicer this way.” Vlad took a few steps closer, lionously tall in his saunter, feet clacking the ground. “It’s very freeing. After you’ve died already what is there left to fear?”

“I’m alive.”

“You’re a dead body with its soul still stuffed inside it like a Christmas goose. A lot of things in your body don’t work anymore, but ghosts don’t work right anyway and it is, for all its defiance of nature, a perfectly symbiotic relationship.” Vlad’s smile brushed his lips again, warm. “It’s nice to share this with you. Isn’t it nice to share things with people?”

Danny’s heart was beating too fast in his chest, and it was a human heart, a human beat. “I’m not dead,” he declared.

“Your wounds heal quickly because the ghost piloting you only needs to remember form. It stacks cells back into place and calls it good. You’ll endure fatal injuries as you no doubt have many times in your fights, but they’re trivial because physical trauma is not what kills a ghost. It’s what creates one. You’ll necrotize in places but it’s okay, because you’ll carry on, and it will bother you only if you let it bother you, if you’re too sentimental about the puppet you’re still inside.” Vlad closed in closer, neck craning to appraise Danny. “Ghosts love a facsimile of life so you will keep your heart pumping, your lungs breathing. You’ll eat and you’ll sleep but you’ll find you won’t perish if you don’t. It just won’t be a good time if you want to keep occupying your flesh form. Take better care of it. You won’t get another.”

“You’re psychotic. And you’re wrong.”

“I have all the math to prove it.” Vlad leered from over Danny’s shoulder. He circled the boy, knocking Danny’s balance, who still on a hair trigger stood ready to fight. The light from the ghost portal painted Vlad’s face like the phases of the moon as he moved. “Did your parents explain that part to you properly?”

“No, because they didn’t get the math right.”

“Oh they’ve gotten it right. This time. It only took them two decades longer than it took me.” The portal rolled like static, and its fizzling pattern crashed like an ocean wave across Vlad’s cape. “No amount of man-made power is sufficient to drag the entire fabric of the Ghost Zone up against our own, tear a hole through it, and anchor it to a stable frame. It requires something with a pull on the Ghost Zone, a strong pull, and that thing is a human life at the moment of an extraordinarily violent death.”

Danny backed a step away from the portal, from Vlad, but the walls boxed him in. He swam in its green light.

“You stepped in and you turned the portal on, that’s what you thought, right, Daniel? Pressed a careless button on the inside and now here we are. Silly parents for not finding that button first.” Vlad’s face hardened. “No. Jack and Maddie knew about the button. Maddie explained it to me over the phone. What engineer designing and building their own portal would forget the location of the on button? They’d pressed it from the outside. It didn’t work. And so you pressing the button was not the important part. It was you dying to the electrocution that clicked everything right into place. And while your ghost should have been torn from your lifeless corpse and pulled to the Ghost Zone you instead pulled the Ghost Zone here. Your ghost got to stay put. You opened the portal. You became the undead freak you are. And now we’re here.”

Danny’s eyes bounced between Vlad’s. His cheeks felt hot, like he was enduring an accusation of wrongdoing. And he had none of the knowledge to refute what was being said.

“You’re messing with me. You’re wrong,” Danny shot back. He thrust an arm out, drenched in the fog of the portal. “If the portal needs a person to die in it then explain your portal! Are you so casual about it? You killed someone? You’re admitting to murder and you think I won’t do anything about it?”

Anger flashed like a storm across Vlad’s face. His aura swelled, pressing down with a pressure on Danny as Vlad halted and cast his shadow clear across Danny, coating the back wall. “The killing of other people with the wanton carelessness of half-baked machines is the domain of Jack and Jack alone. I’ve brought no such harm onto anyone else.”

“Then how do you have this portal?”

“This portal? This portal that I’ve had for 20 years? Which I opened when I solved the piece of Jack’s broken math that he was never able to solve until this morning?” Vlad stalked closer, hunched, imposing. Danny stepped back. “My boy Daniel you’ve had it so easy. You had it so simple. A truly clean break. So clean so lucky. A single lethal dose of electricity and it was already over. I’m jealous. You never even suffered.”

Vlad stepped closer, striking distance, arm extended. Danny flinched, but Vlad only swept his cape around, clenched in his fist, and pivoted to approach the portal.

“Put out of your misery before it even started.” Vlad slammed his fist against the portal rim, and the explosive metallic clang bounced through the rooms. His laugh belted out. “I should have been so lucky.”

19. Vlad Masters was 19. A sophomore in college. A man actively in the midst of sabotaging his social life to chase a woman who was already deeply in love with Vlad’s best friend who he hated more every day. He wasn’t sure what he ever enjoyed about Jack’s bumbling ineptitude, or his loudness, his brashness, his poor social skills, his bad breath, his mullet. Maybe Vlad had gravitated to Jack because deep down he loved how superior it made him feel to surround himself with the likes of Jack Fenton… And now, he hated how enraged it made him to watch Maddie’s eyes skip past his to focus on Jack Fucking Fenton again and again and again and again.

But surely there was hope still. Surely it was a matter of time before the rose-tinted glasses fell away and Maddie saw bumbling and inept and every such word in the basket when she looked at Jack. There’d come the day she tested the waters with Vlad to complain about one of Jack’s little quirks, and they’d find solace together in all the things Vlad was that Jack wasn’t, and all the things Vlad had that Jack didn’t. And he’d be gone, back to bumble elsewhere, and it would be just them.

The day didn’t come. It wouldn’t come. And maybe Vlad needed to change himself for Maddie. If he listened to her and Jack’s ghost ramblings, if he could put Jack in his place and solve the things Maddie couldn’t, it would show her. She’d understand.

Because that was the thing about Jack. His math was never right. Enduring Calculus 1 with Jack was all it took to prove this to Vlad. How many times he’d caught a single error on a single line for Jack, like a dropped stitch that would unravel the whole sweater. Every problem, without exception. Jack only passed on his homework grade with Vlad’s help. On his tests, he failed.

So Vlad was staring at Jack’s equation, full of bogus math, which Vlad knew was wrong because Jack had penned it, and Vlad had not yet fixed it himself.

“I’m telling you Jack, it won’t work.”

“Bogus V-man it totally will!”

It wouldn’t. But Vlad wouldn’t fix it for him. Not yet. Vlad would let Jack embarrass himself first, fully in front of Maddie, watching on, judging. Vlad would solve it for her. After. Once Jack had made a fool of himself for the hundredth time since college began.

He leaned in to study the portal frame. The gears were turning in his head already. He didn’t hear the whir of the power source catch.

…

19. Vlad Masters was 19. A tube ran down his nose and into his lungs, supplying oxygen for lungs which were failed by a diaphragm sloughing itself away. He was poisoned from the outside-in. Irradiated by ecto-energy none of the nurses or doctors could fully understand. It damaged his DNA. First obvious in the skin of his face where the blisters of his ecto-acne drained and sloughed. “Acne” was the wrong word. An unkind word. They were boils where the blast had cooked his skin, microwaved his cells. The skin on his body blackened over time. Organs decayed. Vlad Master read a lot about radiation sickness. He knew everything he had to expect.

Jack and Maddie had stopped visiting. They were dating now. It was on their last visit they’d told him, and Vlad hadn’t taken it well, and he’d perhaps burned a few bridges with the words he chose. It was deserved. Considering what Jack did to him.

He’d found the error in Jack’s math, by the way. Errors, but all the rest paled in impact compared to the lambda. The ecto-energy. The necessary ecto-potential to pull the Ghost Zone here. How stupid. How idiotic. For Vlad to die to a machine so botched in its construction.

When Vlad was released from the hospital, it was not because they’d cured him. It had been because there is a certain cruelty in making a 19-year-old live the last of his days bedded down in a white-walled room with just his books, his equations, and no one coming to visit anymore.

He was released with bedrest instructions. Vlad did not heed them. In his beater car, every cell of his body aching, he drove. At the materials lab, he disconnected his oxygen tank and moved through the lab space with the tube dangling loose from his nostril. No one was Vlad Masters’ friend. No one cared to stare long at his ugly boil-ridden face. No one stopped him as he hauled sheet metal, and supports, and bolts and wiring and resistors and power tools, checked out with a valid student ID, from the lab. The lab inventory room would not be seeing these back.

It was a prep bunker, buried beneath a vast lot of empty Wisconsin land, that Vlad hauled his materials. He and Jack had discovered it as freshmen. Poked through its bowels with flashlights and quipped and laughed over how eerie it was. Deep beneath the sheetrock, boxy rooms carved out of walls of stone. Shelf upon shelf of dusty canned foods, and shotguns sealed in cases fastened to the walls. The locks had rusted with water damage.

His arms ached until they throbbed, dragging beams of metal across the stone floor, scratching chalk-mark stains into the ground. His skin sloughed, inflamed, burning to the touch. Vlad didn’t bother to rest, because these injuries would never heal anyway. He hauled, and welded, and wired up his circuitry and resistors with a care and caution Jack would never have bothered to practice. He checked it against his math by flashlight. He took naps on the cold stone floor and woke with deep purple bruises on every part of his body that had pressed against the ground.

His appetite left him. His lungs filled with mucus. The boils on his face had spread down to his chest, his shoulders. The touch of his shirt chafed them, so he worked without one, a figure of skeletal rib ridges jutting from tight skin that bloomed with the projection of his shadow against stone walls.

He knew why Jack’s math was wrong.

A silly mistake. A stupid mistake. Anyone with half a mind for the paranormal should have realized the Ghost Zone was not so easily at your beck and call. Not without chumming the water with something it would rise to feast on.

And in that violent death, what would happen to the ghost? It would stay, wouldn’t it? If it successfully anchored the Ghost Zone to the portal it stood inside, then by definition the ghost would stay?

And was that death? Yes, in a way. But it was a death one would get to keep living. As opposed to the death Vlad was headed for, whose coldness and finality scared Vlad more than anything he could put to words.

He’d fixed the oxygen tank back to himself. He couldn’t work without it, hauling it about on a little dolly with him, back and forth, while he fetched and affixed the last of the plating he needed to craft the frame of his silent soulless portal.

He’d stolen a generator from the sports storage shed. It was meant to be enough to power the portable stadium lights they hauled onto the fields for late games, an absolute obelisk meant to cast light across an entire football field.

Surely, it contained enough power to kill one simple human.

Vlad fixed the last bolt in place. Jumper cables clamped generator to portal wiring. It was a pure skeleton. A paltry thing, like the bones of something already picked clean. Built in haste, sloppy, by a 19-year-old whose fingers were too inflamed to clutch a wrench any longer.

He could have asked Jack for help. Maddie. But he wouldn’t let them have this. They had to solve the portal on their own. They didn’t get to know his hard work. They did not get to save him.

Vlad would save himself.

A ghost anchored to a body. What was that? What monster was that?

Vlad moved. He coughed mucus from his lungs. It made it hard to breathe. So he moved slowly, and crouched, bony jutting angles, painted blotchy purple, all bruises and skin, sloughing away.

He crouched, because the portal he’d constructed was not large enough to hold him standing up. He bowed inside it, a small thing, a pathetic man of little life. He wheezed. He hurt. His eyes burned.

And he held in his hands the remote to flip the generator switch, and connect the circuit, and bring to life the math Vlad had so kindly corrected out from under Jack’s grip.

Vlad did not. Because throwing the switch would kill him.

Deep in his animal brain, his dying brain, he knew this intimately. It filled him with a drowning fear like paralysis. He did not want to die.

He would die if he did nothing.

It would be this one throwing of the switch which could save him. Which would burst the portal to life right through his heart. Electrocute it out of its rhythm, slaughter him like a pig on spot and… maybe… hopefully… drag the Ghost Zone here. And whatever he was, dead, would stay.

And whatever he was, dead, would be better than this.

Vlad held the remote in his clammy hands.

And from within the humming skeleton of his portal, his fingers caressed the on button.

…

The portal sung its happy contentment, mused in its healthy green aura, staining all the slabs of rock wall. Danny swiveled his head, recognizing now the bunker this had been before it had been a laboratory.

“I’ve harmed no one, Daniel,” Vlad concluded, his voice too measured for the horrors it had spilled forth. Too calm against the blossoming terror its words had wrought across Danny’s face. “I opened the portal to save myself. You’re lucky, Daniel. It was because of my fast thinking that your father is not a murderer. I took that honor from him.” Vlad’s head tilted to the side, suddenly sympathetic. “Although, you’ve maybe made the title whole for him.”

Vlad reached out, Danny shot away.

“Dad didn’t kill me,” he choked. “I did this to myself.”

“How lucky Jack is, to always dodge responsibility for his actions.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Of course you don’t. If you believed me, you’d have to accept you’re not wriggling out of this. There’s no denial you can bring home to your parents. If you believe me, then this is reality.” Vlad smiled, a playful glint to his fangs. “I suppose I should have more sympathy. I quite like being this way. It is so much nicer than wasting away to death, like I was. But you. You were healthy before this. This killed you, and it didn’t save you from anything.” Vlad cocked his head. “Such tragic fates, both of us, due to the carelessness of Jack Fenton.”

Danny shook his head. His heart beat—his human heart beat—all too fast in his throat. It made him sick. It made him feel like the walls were closing in around him. This was Vlad’s doing. Vlad’s trap. Vlad’s prison he’d been forced to join.

"That's not true. I'm not like you."

“Of course not,” Vlad said, sweetly. “How sweet denial is. Deny it if you like. Call me a liar. But if you ever want to come to terms with what your father did to you, consider coming to me. I understand you in a way no one else will.”

Danny gave no response. He gave no acknowledgement of Vlad’s words. He took to the air, phased himself up through the sheetrock that had been packed atop the doomsday prepper bunker. Up through the mansion, which had been built atop the portal beneath it, and not the other way around. Into the open sky, he breathed fresh air not stagnant and damp beneath the ground, bathed in light pure white from the sun and not tainted green like the bowels underneath him.

And he flew back toward the portal that made him, leaving Vlad with the portal from which he’d made himself.

...

(inspiration post from @ciestess)

[hqbaby]

eighteen — just wanted you know to know

mess it up — gojo x reader & sukuna x reader

⁀➴ when i told you i’m fine, you were lied to. when the love of your life falls for someone else, you decide to move on—by pretending to date your best friend, the campus fuckboy.

previous — masterlist — next

word count. 2.4k content. profanity, everyone’s bad with feelings

Satoru was having a lovely day. Although “lovely” would be a relative term considering the fact that finals season has descended upon the general student population and he is one of its many victims. Still, he woke up on the right side of the bed, he managed to find some clean clothes, and the barista at the coffee shop down the road wasn’t as mean to him as he usually is.

Overall, his day had gone fairly well. As he walked over to the library, he didn’t dread finishing the mountain of papers he had to write or the problem sets he had to review. He even texted Suguru to come join him in his study session so that they could compare notes—something he usually steers clear from because the man always distracts him.

Overall, Satoru was having a lovely day.

Until that asshole showed up.

There he goes, with his usual lazy smirk, walking over to a table with his friend. They’re chatting—about something shitty, Satoru suspects—and laying their books out on the surface, pulling laptops and notes out of their bags. Satoru wonders what would happen if he just walked over, grabbed the guy and—

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Satoru looks down at his hand where a pencil has already snapped in half. You should really just get a mechanical one, your voice echoes in the back of his mind, the hint of a laugh bubbling beneath your words.

“Satoru.”

He looks up.

Shoko.

“Hey,” he says, flashing her that grin of his. As if he wasn’t just trying to stare your boyfriend to death. “What’s up? Wanna join me?”

The girl rolls her eyes, obviously seeing through his nonsense. “Why are you looking at that guy?” she asks, glancing over at the table where Sukuna is gesturing frantically as he explains something to Choso. “You into him or something?”

Satoru scowls. “That guy is dirt,” he says. “Worse than dirt actually. He’s the scourge of the earth.”

Shoko watches him with an amused look as he directs his attention at Sukuna, sending daggers at the guy that he obviously can’t feel at all. She’s known Satoru for a while, since they were freshmen. He’s usually the kind of guy who tries to be nice to everyone. He calls it being a nice person. She calls it being a people-pleaser.

She doesn’t think she’s ever seen him look at anyone the way he looks at Sukuna. He usually hides his disdain until the other person is out of his general vicinity. So this, him looking at the poor guy like he wants his whole family dead, is both ridiculous and completely strange.

“What did he do?” she asks, sitting down at the table. She takes a sip of her coffee as Satoru wills himself to rip his gaze away from Sukuna. When she realizes it might take a while, she busies herself by digging through her bag to grab the things she needs to study. “Did he steal your girlfriend or something?”

The silence that her question meets leaves Shoko curious, glancing up at Satoru as he turns away looking a little defeated.

“Oh shit,” she says. “Really? That’s why you broke up?”

“No,” Satoru tells her. He groans, slumping onto the table. “I don’t know, okay? All I know is that one moment she’s breaking up with me, the next she’s with that guy.”

Shoko looks back at Sukuna, waiting until she finally recognizes the man. Her eyes widen. She didn’t know who he was before, but now she definitely does.

“That’s the best friend!” she whispers to Satoru like it’s some big secret. “He’s the one you told us about!”

Satoru sticks his tongue out. “Yeah. Duh.”

She swats his shoulder. “Don’t be a fucking brat,” she says. “I can’t believe she jumped ship like that. What a bitch.”

“Don’t call her that.”

“Well, I’m a bitch, so I know when someone else is being a bitch.”

“Shoko.”

She raises her hands in apology. “Fine, fine. Sorry,” she says. She takes one more look at Sukuna then sighs. “You know, at least you’re free of all that now. You and Kimi seem great.”

That seems to cheer him up.

“We do, don’t we?” he says, beaming. “She’s just the best, you know. Lights up every room she walks into.”

Shoko curses herself as Satoru launches into a whole spiel about how great and wonderful Kimi is. She knows that she brought this on, she knows that the best way to distract her friend from his melancholy thoughts of you is to get him to talk about his new girlfriend, but fuck does it make him annoying.

“She does this little thing when we kiss, where she takes her hand and she—”

“Holy shit, please stop!” Shoko says. “I don’t wanna know about that!”

Satoru smirks. He knows just how much this annoys Shoko. It’s half the fun.

“She grabs my butt.”

He gets a well-earned smack on the arm.

“Hey, why are you starting the violence without me?” Suguru slides into the chair beside Satoru, beaming at Shoko as she glares at him. “What did he do?”

“He was being annoying,” she tells him, slouching in her seat. “I brought up his girlfriend once and off he goes on a whole tangent. ‘Oh, Shoko, you should see her eyes! You should smell her hair!’”

Satoru shrugs. “Not my fault you’re painfully single.”

“I’m pre-med, I don’t have the time,” she says like she always does. “I’d also like to point out that you fall in love way too easily. It’s gross.”

“I do not!” he gasps. “I’m very careful with my heart, you know.”

“Nah, I have to agree with Shoko on this,” Suguru chimes in, oh-so-helpfully

“You have to agree? You don’t have to do anything!”

He pats Satoru on the back. “Why don’t we just study like you said we would?” he says. “Take your mind off your fickle heart.”

“I’m gonna throw you into a dumpster,” Satoru says, glaring.

“After my finals, buddy. After my finals.”

It takes a while, but they do manage to get Satoru back on track and start working on his papers.

At a table a few feet away from them, Sukuna is trying to focus too. And failing miserably of course.

“Shut up,” Choso says without even looking up from his laptop.

“I haven’t even said anything.”

“But you were going to.”

Choso sighs. “Dude, I swear I’m gonna leave if you don’t let me focus.”

Sukuna pouts, trying his best to put on the best whole “woe is me” performance of his life. “But I have something really important to ask.”

“I have something really important to study for.”

 “You don’t want me to fail, do you?” Sukuna asks. “If I don’t get this off my chest, I may just flunk out of here.”

“Okay,” Choso nods. He waves at Sukuna. “Bye, dude. It was nice having you here.”

“Choso!”

“Seriously, man! We can talk all you want after we die from our exams, okay?”

“Fine,” Sukuna says, clearly not fine at all. He gets up and grabs his belt bag. “I’m gonna go take a smoke.”

Choso raises his brow. “I thought you quit.”

“Yeah, well, I’m stressed,” is all Sukuna says before he marches out of the library, completely unaware of the fact that he’s just walked past your ex-boyfriend who has not only noticed him but decided—against his friend’s wishes—to follow him outside.

Technically, no one is allowed to smoke around these parts of campus. But technicalities haven’t seemed to stop the group of distressed students camped out behind the library, heads in their hands as they all ignore each other and take their misery out on the ozone layer.

Sukuna leans against the brick wall, fishing a pack of cigarettes out of his bag. He’s just about to light it when someone scoffs at him. Now what piece of shit would do that?

“She hates those, you know.”

Oh, that piece of shit. Of course.

“What do you want?” Sukuna says, his voice as cold as steel as he meets Satoru’s eye. He lets the cigarette dangle from his fingers. Yeah, you wouldn’t like this at all. “Come to beat me up? Your little girlfriend not around to stop you?”

Satoru doesn’t budge, just continues to stare him down. “Have you told her?”

“Told her what?” your boyfriend spits. “That you’re a creep who can’t seem to get out of his ex’s life?”

“If you don’t, I will,” Satoru tells him. He runs a hand through his hair and crosses his arms over his chest. What is he doing? He knows that Sukuna’s right. That he should just let you live your life. Make the mistakes you want to make. It’s not like you didn’t cause them.

But he can’t do that. He could never do that to you.

“Listen, I don’t know why she chose you,” he says, the venom dripping from his tongue. “But the least you can do is not treat her like shit.”

Sukuna rolls his eyes. He lets the cigarette drop to the ground. “How do you know how I treat her?” he asks. “This is getting pathetic, man. You have a girlfriend, don’t you? Why don’t you just move on like any other sane person would.”

“You fucking ass—”

“She doesn’t want you,” Sukuna whispers. His voice is low and threatening. Any other man would be scared shitless.

But not Satoru.

His lips curl into a smirk. All smug and cold and heartless. “She misses me, you know?”

Sukuna sneers. “Oh, yeah? Who told you that? Your fucking delusion brain?”

“No. She did,” Satoru says simply. “I ran into her a few weeks back and she told me.”

“Oh, please.” Sukuna tries to maintain the stoic facade he’s put up, but that bugs him. Did you really tell him that? Why? “You’re insane.”

He pushes past your ex and heads back into the library.

When he plops back into his chair, Choso shoots him a confused look, but he just ignores it, turning back to his notes. He tries his best to read through his scribbles about something, but he can’t help his mind from drifting to you.

He knows he should tell you about the party. It’s not like the two of you were actually together yet, and you did tell him you didn’t mind if he kept fucking seeing other girls. You’re not vindictive. You’d be just fine with it—all he has to do is tell you.

He reaches for his phone and stops short of calling you.

You wouldn’t care. You would be fine. The two of you would be fine.

But would you? Things between you are so new. So fragile. You’ve barely just crossed the line between friends and an actual proper adult relationship. Everything is still hanging in the balance. Sukuna knows that one wrong move could wreck it all. He just doesn’t know what that move is.

And then there’s Satoru.

“She misses me, you know?”

What would possess that man to say something like that, Sukuna will never know. Maybe he’s just jealous. Maybe he’s just trying to get in Sukuna’s head. Maybe he just wants to mess with your relationship so that you come running back to him.

But maybe he’s right.

You wake to the feeling of your phone buzzing somewhere on the floor of your living room. It’s the middle of the day, but you, Maki, and Nobara have managed to pass out in the middle of your studying. Figures. If you had the choice between sleep and school, you definitely know what the three of you would pick.

You lift your head and pat the space around you until it finds your phone. Your eyebrows furrow when you see the contact name on the screen. You answer.

“‘Kuna?” you say, voice a little hoarse from sleep. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah!” he answers immediately. “I just wanted—were you sleeping?”

You chuckle, placing a hand on your forehead as you rest your head back on the floor. “Yeah, we needed a break,” you tell him. “Why are you calling?”

The other line is silent for a moment. You can already picture the way he looks right now, rubbing his thumb over his lower lip as he considers his words carefully.

“Sukuna, what is it?”

You hear him exhale. “Nothing,” he tells you. “I just wanted to let you know that I miss you.”

“We saw each other yesterday,” you say teasingly. You wish you could leave the conversation there, but you know there must be some other reason why he’s decided to call you out of nowhere. You know Sukuna. You know that there’s something going on. “What did you really call me about though?”

“Nothing,” he says again. You can tell that he knows he’s not convincing you. “I just thought… you remember when we snuck into that reservoir?”

You groan at the memory. The two of you were stupid back then, trying to escape the realities that you lived in. But you have to admit it was fun.

“Of course I do,” you tell him. “You called me just to remind me of that?”

He laughs, the memory apparently just as fun for him as it was for you. “That was when I knew.”

“Knew what?”

“You’re really gonna make me say it?”

You frown. “Sukuna, what are you talking about?”

You hear him sigh. Hear him ruffle something. Probably his hair. “That’s when I knew that I loved you,” he tells you softly.

You nearly drop the phone. “Oh.”

“You don’t have to say it,” he says. “I just thought you should know.”

Now, it’s your turn to be all jumpy. This is just like Sukuna to drop something on you like that. To drop the fact that he loves you, just like that. The fact that he’s apparently loved you for a while now.

“I love you too.”

The words hang in the air for a while. You’ve told him you loved him before, but that was always different. Always spoken beneath the cover of your friendship. Never something that meant anything important.

But is it really different this time?

You try to keep the thought out of your mind.

“‘Kuna? You there?”

“I’m here.”

You clear your throat. “Is that really why you called?”

“Yeah…” he says. “I just—yeah. I just wanted you to know that I love you.”

notes. me while writing this: *just sweats profusely*

[emry-stars-art]

Question: how long does medusa neil takes to grow?

Like, taking the hands as Andrew's, is it more of a "whiplash because I was petting this baby a month ago and it's now Big" situation or "wait what you're telling this hot mer is that tiny cute thingy I'd found around as a teen?" one

Ok ok so I had just put out “Andrew finding baby jelly neil would be really cute” as like a fun little side thought but now I REALLY LIKE IT AND I WANT TO PUT IT IN THE TIMELINE

so to answer this question: physically? A Sea Nettle mer like Neil I’m going to say takes about 17-19 years to reach physical maturity/full size (which in jellies is pretty far removed from mental and emotional maturity, jelly brains take a good while to develop because they start with so little)

So this. This is what I’m deciding thank you so much @snazzy-jas-z-is-a-fan-of (which counts as your second option, dear galacticvampire)

And it looks like this:

@exy-is-sexy medusa admirer 🥰

So Andrew always comes back to the beach (fisherman’s son, they’re there a lot) and always gets distracted going to a specific tide pool housing this little thing he found. Aaron thinks it’s really cool too, their dad is too busy with work down the beach and is happy his kids are entertaining themselves while he gets ready for the day. Of course, yes, he tells them. Very good, finding such a mer in these waters. (He thinks it’s kids being kids. No one’s seen a jelly mer, they’re kind of believed to be extinct if not simply legends. But a little imagination is healthy.)

Then one day, Andrew checks the tide pool and finds it empty of the tiny jelly. It’s nowhere in sight, he looks all over the nearby waters and in any grass or rocks it could have gotten caught in. Nothing at all.

Maybe by the time he’s taken over his family’s fishing business, Andrew has convinced himself it really was in his imagination. His memory serves him well but if he’d convinced himself it was real back then, that would be what he remembered now.

Until he finds a monster washed up on his beach.

(A shot of the process under the cut)

IT DOESNT COME ACROSS IN THE PANEL. BUT I CANNOT PROPERLY EXPRESS TO YOU HOW TINY THAT SECOND NEIL IS. literally I think that is the single smallest thing I’ve ever drawn. Look at this

That’s me sharpening my 0.3 mechanical pencil to get it small enough to draw the eyes. I just need everyone to know this because I think it’s so stupid and funny. And we all love tiny baby jelly Neil and it doesn’t get ANY tinier than this folks

[puzzled-pegasus]

On the ADHD demigods' stim habits (headcanon list)

Percy

He talks and mutters to himself a lot and he also paces around his cabin

Restless Leg(TM)

He used to chew on things a lot but adults told him that he was Not Allowed to bite pencils or shirt sleeves or paper or anything so his outlet is mostly snacks, chewy candy is the best for this

Someone get him a seashell chewy necklace please

Oh you know what they should have stim toys at the CHB gift shop for all the ADHD kiddos

He also probably cracks his knuckles and joints a lot

He hums when there's a song stuck in his head and it's really annoying but he can't really stop it cause he doesn't notice until someone gets mad at him and then hes like ??

Annabeth

Annabeth tends to chew up her pencils a lot

She also compulsively daydreams and builds designs of buildings in her head and reviews lists of stuff she wants to remember

She finds herself doing random math while she's supposed to be paying attention. Like if someone is telling her something and her brain drifts off more often than not she's looking at something around and being like "let me just calculate how many bricks are probably in that stack over there" or "hmm i wonder how many gallons of water are in the canoe lake"

She also gets distracted if there's any other social interactions of people around her and she just people watches and makes inferences about what people are feeling and whats going on in their lives

Also she chews her hair and sometimes puts little braids in it

She picks at her skin too a lot and sometimes pulls out strands of hair

Piper

Piper flaps her hands a lot especially when she's excited

She flips and braids her hair too

If she has feathers on her she will sometimes take it out if she's bored and either preen it with her fingers or use it to tickle someone to annoy them

She sings a lot but mostly to herself and sometimes she can be heard humming or softly singing without noticing

If she has any kind of paper available, like notebook paper or napkins or maybe candy or gum wrappers, sometimes she'll make little origami things

She also picks at her nails quite a bit

Leo

Leo has the most stims that he's unable to mask, as we know already.

He taps on surfaces and messes with his clothing a lot

He also whistles sometimes which can get annoying to people around him so he tries not to do that but if he's alone or really concentrating on something he will

He will also play with pretty much anything he finds on the ground like paper clips and those office clamp things and he'll take apart mechanical pencils and pens and put them back together and if he finds a tack or a safety pin or something there's a 90 percent chance he'll stab it through the skin of his finger(s)

If he's outside he'll pick up leaves and flowers and shred them or pick up sticks and break them

He was also probably one of those kids who would put glue on his hands so he could peel it off

Jason

i wasnt sure if Jason had ADHD but I looked it up and it said he did so oh well lol

Hes like. Freakily good at masking stims and it kinda creeps everyone out especially the CHB demigods

BUT he still has them

He have the restless leg

He also does like random stretching sometimes

When he's standing in one place for a while he kinda stands on one leg or bounces his heels

Sometimes he'll pick up objects from the ground or something and play with it like Leo does, especially if he's outside and there's like rocks or something

He does a similar thing to Annabeth too but instead of math he'll try to identify any animal noises or animals he sees like birds in the sky or like if he hears a dog bark he'll try to figure out what kind of dog

Hazel

Hazel's stims are the least obvious but they are definitely there.

If she has a view of outside she will gaze out of the window or look around her and figure out how many types of trees or whatever that she can see

She will also mess with the seams or edges of her clothing

If she has paper around she'll draw horses or other animals or sometimes people or she'll practice her cursive letters and make them fancy

She picks at her skin and her hair as well

Frank

Frank does not have ADHD. He sits there quietly and everyone thinks hes weird. Sometimes he gets wiggly if he's nervous but otherwise nah

[eosofspades]

quick n easy list of gentle coping mechanisms for bad mental health days / neurodivergent understimulation episodes!! some are more applicable to one or the other but when i'm feeling particularly like a tiger in a too-small enclosure i find doing at least a couple of these things helps me so much

drink water. basic, but annoyingly effective

eat a snack. same as above

stretch! even just some laying down stretches like pulling on your arms and knees (in fact, here's a great tiktok series for "depression stretches" and workouts/physical stimulation you can do laying down/without much movement)

music/podcasts/video essays. your favorite playlist you haven't listened to in a while, a podcast you like/have been meaning to start (i listen to podcasts while i'm drawing!)

draw/color! if you don't wanna draw, a coloring book is always fun. i actually prefer kids' ones.

read a book. i prefer physical books bc i know i'll get sucked back into the social media scrolling for hours if i try to read on my phone. i also recommend a nice tea/hot chocolate/juice with this one.

video games. this can be anything from minecraft to destiny 2, but i usually never give myself time for these, even when i have it (stuck in that phone scrolling). a more action-packed game for mental understimulation, maybe a more mellow one for a bad depression episode.

shower. i am fully aware this tends to take a lot of spoons but even just sitting under running water ALWAYS makes me feel better when i can manage it. it also helps me with adhd overstimulation!

clean/organize. this sounds counterintuitive but i actually do enjoy organizing stuff for understimulation, and cleaner workspaces help with the depression. even if it's something as simple as "put all the pencils on the desk back into the pencil cup."

puzzles/brain games. this one is almost exclusively for mental understimulation but once i get going it makes my depression SO MUCH BETTER, TOO. my niche is getting myself some algebra sheets but this can be anything from math to jigsaws to crosswords to word searches!! some kind of problem solving that engages your brain and requires focus. this one is my favorite because i find it really grounding.

playing an instrument. this is in the same vein as the last one! again, my personal niche is the piano, but this could be any sort of thing. in fact this could even be substituted for some kind of alt hobby all together, like knitting or crocheting or something! again, mostly for understimulation, but gives me the serotonin boost to get through the depression stuff as well.

this is all i have for my list, but i'd love for anyone to reblog and add their own stuff!!

[twig-gy]

so mind was repainting his walls last week. he dragged me in his room as if it was some kind of intervention, but he just wanted me to watch. what? him painting the walls? seriously? it was silly. even if you disregard how WRONG it is, for him to do that, for him to throw that little bit of whole away, it was just silly! like, the walls didn’t need to be repainted! there were a few scratches, a few places where the paint peeled, dents and stuff, but like. not enough for such a practical thing like the mind to bother repainting it when he has so much better to do! he was working on a song. i think be born? i don’t know why he chose be born, we don’t like be born, as you would expect from every tally hall fan ever. anyway, so he was working on a cover of be born, i saw the sheets. he uses these really tidy sheets, mechanical pencil. it fits him. such a minute detail, it seems to fit. of course he would use a mechanical pencil. a normal pencil isn’t dignified enough, i guess. and a pen isn’t erasable which sucks when you’re doing something like music. why is he working off of sheet music anyway? it confuses me. i got sidetracked.

so he has better things to do, and yet, he was repainting the walls? he didn’t even ask me, just kind of snatched my hand. it was really like something heart would do. he was getting into my space, just kind of arranged me on his bed, and i didn’t go. i don’t know why i didn’t go, i could’ve. i’m far stronger than him - that is to say, he’s a weak motherfucker who loses in any kind of fair fight. but i just sat there, staring as mind’s blue slowly overtook whole’s color. it felt like a metaphor, and not a pretty one.

did mind want to eradicate whole so thoroughly? fucking fool’s errand, but heart and mind are fools, mind’s just a bit more subtle about it. usually, when he’s not forcing me to watch him repaint his room. his room. it’s whole’s room, truly. whole’s walls, and it was whole’s color. mind doesn’t get it. he thinks he can do whatever he wants. even heard heart calling him dawn the other day. i detest it! like, truly detest it. it’s so stupid. dawn? what was he saying, he is the dawn? when the sun rises? beginnings, golden light spilling through his window? oh, look out your window and see me? HE DOESN’T DESERVE A NAME. AND CERTAINLY NOT ONE LIKE THAT. GOD FUCKING DAMMIT. that is not the beginning. what about whole? what about Him? it’s as if heart doesn’t care. and maybe he doesn’t. i’m SORRY i tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. cause i looked at his feathers and thought, just for a little halfsecond, oh. maybe there is a chance after all. but no! those two are so obstinant i want to claw my own skin off. so arrogant? you think you deserve a name? wearing stolen faces.

{what are you trying to show me,} i had asked mind, cause i know he would be doing that - that’s just what the mind does. nothing without purpose. he tapped the paintbrush on the wall. the paintbrush splattered a bit. it struck me. not as neat as he usually is. in fact, that’s something the heart would do. regardless, i was sitting there, just waiting. maybe he hadn’t logicked this out after all. maybe he just wanted to see me? ha. i hope not. [change.] is what he returned. [i can change these walls.] there was a breath. i’d say He was taking one too. it doesn’t quite make sense, in those words, but that was the feeling i had. i could hear Him. and mind was shutting him out. [and you can too.] he was obviously really hesitant with it, immediately turning back to the wall as if avoiding my expression. what did he think i would think? {oh, you’re so right mind. thanks for showing me this.} HA. i tried to leave. his desperation surprised me. [just hear me out. just hear me out,] and he was barely skirting around the please, as if i wouldn’t notice. [you’ll see.] something in it convinced me. he was pleading to something that would never listen, and yet he went on pleading. it doesn’t matter what it was about it, cause next time i’ll make sure i’m not convinced by it again.

but it was just him and me and his little art project, so i sat down. of course, i wasn’t convinced. but a smile was twitching at his lips, as if this was a little win. war of attrition. but i refuse to break down - pity for him, isn’t that.

[corvus--rex]

Lance and Keith started dating early in high school, even before Keith came out and started his transition, and it's now just after college and they're engaged. They've been with Lance's family for the day, Sylvio and Nadia included.

The kids are 6 and 4 and have known Keith literally their entire lives. They were too young during various stages to understand what was going on, but they both know Keith's trans.

Needing a break, Keith is curled up against Lance in the living room, while Sylvio and Nadia are sprawled on the floor with a book each. Nadia's only just learning to read, but she already loves books. She's turning the pages, mostly looking at the pictures, when she looks up, interrupting Keith and Lance's quiet conversation.

"Tío Keef, why aren't there families in my stories like ours?"

It's been about 15 years since he's read a kids' book and doesn't understand where's she's going with this. "What do you mean, munchkin?"

Nadia puts her book down, turning to face him in all the seriousness a 4 year old can muster. "They all have a mami and a papi, but not - not -" her face scrunches as she tries to find the right word.

She doesn't need to find the right word, the realization of what she's asking hits him at full force. He sits up, leaning forward to meet her eyes. "You wanna know why there isn't anyone like me?"

She nods. "It's not fair."

It's an innocent question, but she asked it with such naive sincerity, genuinely upset that she didn't see her own family in her favorite books. It gave Keith an idea. He had a new sketchbook in the backseat of his car, a very recent art degree, and the few creative writing classes he'd taken.

Nadia's books didn't have her family in their pages, but maybe they could.

"Y'know what? I'll be right back."

He ran out to his car and back with the sketchbook, plus the mechanical pencil and ballpoint pen from his bag, and sat down on the floor with her, meeting Lance's confused look asking what the hell he was doing with one that said "trust me".

"Ok, munchkin," he said to Nadia, "If your stories don't have our family in them, how about we make a new story?"

Nadia's face lit up. "We can make a new one? With our kind of family in it?"

"We can, but I'll need your help."

Sylvio was pretending to read his own book, but Lance could see him listening in and sneaking looks at the rough sketches. That didn't last long, the book quickly forgotten in favor of throwing out wilder and wilder ideas for the story with Keith gently reeling him in. Sylvio was not one to be reeled in, and Lance soon joined them on the floor to help wrangle the kids' enthusiasm. They stayed there for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, neither one wanting to leave when their parents came to tell them it was time to go. They only stopped fighting it when Keith promised them they'd work on the story again.

He kept that promise, taking the kids out every few weeks, showing them what he'd done in between when he had time, and them continuing the story and illustrations.

After it was finished, he left it for a while, not forgotten, but resting. Eventually, he pulled the illustrations and their companion sheets of text from the shoebox-like storage box he'd gotten just for this, matching art to words.

Lance came home from work to their apartment that evening to find Keith on the living room floor, bristol board and printer paper in an organized chaos around him.

"Think it's really done?" Lance asked.

Keith sighed and leaned back against the sofa. There was one thing about the book he hadn't told anyone yet, but after the email he'd gotten earlier in the day, he finally could.

"Yeah I do." He paused and looked up, a little bit guilty, but mostly trying to contain excitement. "I found a publisher for it. They're a queer-owned company. I actually sent it off about a month ago and I finally heard back today. They love it."

It had started as a picture book, but evolved since then into something a little bigger. Nadia wanted cats - all different colors, and not little kitties, no she wanted lions. And the lions had to have knights to ride on them. Sylvio was the one to insist on a princess and that she had to be their honorary Tía Allura. Gradually, all of the knights and princess ended up based on people the kids knew, Keith and Lance included. It made sense and Keith loved it and the idea of family including the one you make for yourself.

When it came time for a name for this story of found family and adventures, Sylvio yelled "Defenders of the UNIVERSE!" at the top of his lungs in the middle of the park. Nadia had been taking a break from the playground, sitting next to Keith with her coloring pad. She'd drawn the lions from their story, facing out in a vaguely star shape, their tails meeting in the middle.

Keith asked for her opinion on a story name and also what she was drawing and without looking up from her coloring, she said "Its name is Voltron."

Keith put the two together, and when the book was published, its cover was the lions Nadia had drawn that day, only by Keith's hand this time, framed on top and bottom by the book's name: Defenders of The Universe, a Voltron story.

No one had seen the dedication, not until Keith got the advance copies, giving one each to Sylvio and Nadia in the same living room the story had started in. Nadia climbed into Keith's lap with it, Sylvio squeezing himself in between Keith and Lance on the sofa.

Looking over Sylvio's shoulder, Lance read it aloud.

"For Sylvio and Nadia, the original Defenders, this book wouldn't exist without you. Don't stop reading or dreaming."

[tayrussfangirl]

You’re Out Boy-scout. Part-3

Your last interaction with Felix was about two days ago in class. You realized you have a few of the same courses, and he plopped himself down beside you that day. He leaned over and asked “Do you have a pencil I can borrow?” Not to disrupt the lecture you quietly nodded and began digging through your bag for one. You pulled out a 0.7 gray mechanical pencil and placed it in his hands, your fingers brushing against his. “You can keep it.” You say. “Really?” He leans over once again and whispers in your ear. “That’s kind of you, I’ll have to return the favor some time.” The warmth of his breath sends a shiver down your body to your core. “No really, it’s okay. That’s the least I can do considering how kind you’ve been to me these past few days.” He smiles. Little does he know you spent the rest of class imagining all the ways that he could return the favor. You watched his fingers fidget with the pencil, spinning it around, tapping it on the desk. When did that become so hot?

As you cross your arms and lean out of your dorm window, you feel the warmth of the sun kissing your skin. You lay your head on your elbow and close your eyes. As gorgeous as Felix was, you were too. As he walks by your building he sees you out the corner of his eye. He stops and admires your beauty from afar. Glowing skin, long soft eyelashes, plump lips. Simply stunning. He doesn’t stop until he snaps back to reality when you open your eyes. He waves and calls your name. You smile and wave back. “Hey Felix.” you say softly. He likes that about you, your pleasant nature, the way that you carry yourself. It’s very alluring to him. “Would you like to join us tonight? Some sort of party, like a small thing.” he asks unsure of how you’ll respond. At this point he knows that you aren’t a fan of large gatherings but he’s trying to help you out of your shell. “Yea, I would actually.” you say with a smile. You can tell by the look on his face that he’s pleasantly surprised. “Great, I’ll message you.” he says before he continues on his way.

You haven’t been struggling in keeping up with your schoolwork yet, but that’s because you try not go out too much. You’ve been trying to let loose a little, as that’s what you told yourself you would do once you got to college. Though you’ve never been the most outgoing person, being around Felix makes you feel different. You look forward to every moment you get to spend with him.

-“I’ll meet you in the corridor again around 9 yea?”

-“Sounds good, I’m just getting ready now.”

-“I trust you’ll look great in whatever you wear ;).”

You feel your cheeks growing hot and a wide smile across your face. Now you really have to find something nice to wear. Something sexy. Or not. You still don’t know how you really feel about Felix. It’s feels as if there’s something between you too but neither of you are sure what. You decide to go with a form fitting silver sequined dress. Low cut, but not too low. Just enough for your jewelry to perfectly drape over your chest. To make it more casual you decide to toss on a black leather jacket and some black boots. Lastly you do your makeup and your hair. A soft yet sultry smokey eye and pinky nude lip with brown lip liner. You keep your hair down. This time you beat Felix downstairs and see him as he opens the door to look for you near the stairs. He sees you and his eyes widen. He reaches for your hand and you walk outside to meet everyone else. “You look.. stunning y’know.” he says with a grin. Annabelle gives you a slightly dirty look. “Looks like someone didn't get the memo about the dress code.” she says dressed in a tight black tank top and a mini skirt. “I think this is just fine actually.” Felix interjects. The whole walk you feel Felix’s eyes on your body, now thinking that you should have chose the other option as opposed to the sexy one. The problem is not the way he’s looking at you, it’s the fact that you like it. Arriving at the party you see a few familiar faces from other gatherings you gone to with Felix. He and Ollie plop down on the couch. You find your eyes drifting towards him as he spreads his long legs. Annabelle and India walk over to the drinks and you follow closely behind. Somehow you find yourself with a beer filled cup making conversation with some other guy across the room from Felix. He notices and doesn’t like it. You’d be able to see it on his face if you were paying attention. Gesturing towards Annabelle and India, Oliver suggests that Felix “eenie meenies” one of them and takes them home because they look miserable. Not too long ago Felix had been hooking up with Annabelle and India off and on, which you knew but it still bothered you everytime you would notice them leave with him. Felix notices that you look more uncomfortable than anyone else in the room which concerned him. “Eenie, meenie, miny, moe, catch a tiger by his toe, if he squeals let him go.. errr.. you’re out boy-scout.” he says gesturing towards you. Oliver sits there surprised. Felix stands up and walks in your direction. The man you’re talking to stops to look up at him and Felix takes your hand. You stand up a bit confused but happy regardless. “What do you say we get out of here?” You nod with a soft smile on your face. You begin walking in front of him when you feel his large hand plant a soft smack on your butt. Your heart nearly skips a beat but you continue walking with him as if nothing happened. Annabelle looks pissed which delighted you.

Felix wraps his arm around your waist as you walk back towards the dorm. You can feel the warmth of his body against yours and you almost melt. “Where are we going?” you ask as you look up into his eyes. “Where do you wanna go?” he asks with a smirk. Before you can answer, you hear the sound of thunder striking. Rain starts to pour and before you know it you and Felix are both soaked. His button up clings to his chiseled figure, your eyes may pop out your head if you looked any closer. He uses his height to your advantage and almost curls over you to protect from the rain the best he can. You both pick up speed and you reach his building soon. He opens the door for you, and you go in. He follows quickly after you. When you reach his room he unlocks the door and gestures toward his bay window. You plop down on the cushion as he closes the door and takes off his shoes. You pull both your boots off and lay them to the side. “We’re dripping.” he says as he chuckles. He walks towards his dresser and pulls out two oversized shirts. He places one in your lap. You hold it up with confusion plastered over your face. “What am I supposed to do with this?” you ask. “Put it on of course, what kind of guy would I be if I let you sit there all cold and wet?” he says as if it’s obvious. “Alright but you have to turn around.” you hesitantly agree. He playfully cover his eyes and spins in the other direction. You quickly slip the shirt over your dress and then pull it off from underneath. It was a bit short but it will do for now. “Finished?” he asks. “Yea, you’re okay now.” He turns back around and begins to unbutton his shirt. “Oh but you have to turn around!” he laughs as he mocks you. You roll your eyes, which he likes. You’re not sure if you start drooling or not when he take off his shirt but you know for a fact that didn’t look away once. “Enjoying the show?” he asks. You quickly break eye contact with his abs and look away. He can tell that your embarrassed. “I’m only joking y/n, y’know I like to give the ladies what they want.” For some reason hearing him reference “giving the ladies what they want” stings. Probably because it forces you to remember that you’re not the only girl he’s ever given any attention, which was dumb to think anyway.

You start putting your hair into to two braids still not saying anything. He pulls his pants down and slips on another pair of shorts over his boxers. You start fidgeting with your necklace after you finish your braids just to have something to do with your hands. Felix then comes to sit next to you. He notices your necklaces and extends his hands out to hold them, his knuckles grazing your chest as he observes them. “I got most of these for Christmas last year.” you say not knowing how to fill the silence. “Yea.. they’re nice.” he says still playing with them in his fingers. He looks up to meet your face, slowly moving his gaze from your eyes to your lips. “You’re gorgeous y’know?” he says, eyes almost twinkling. You smile and say “You are too.” He looks away shyly, which you’ve never seen him do. When he looks back you admire his features just like he did yours. His pink lips, his downward deep brown eyes, his sun-kissed skin. You reach out your thumb to feel his lips, softly rolling over the bottom, then the top. You can feel his lips curling into a smile under your touch. He raises his hand to grip yours. You both sit like that for a minute before you place your hand back in your lap. “Well we should get to bed.” you say. “Right.” Felix says looking slightly disappointed. Before he can stand up you lean forward and press a soft kiss against his lips. You pull away for a moment before he pulls you closer by your waist. This time the kiss doesn’t stop for at least a two minutes. You find yourself running your hands under his shirt and over his perfectly sculpted body. When you finally do stop you both smile at each other before stands up and gestures towards his bed. At first you’re hesitant. In high school you never had a boyfriend so this was the most physical intimacy you’ve ever had with a man. Thankfully Felix had pure intentions and only wanted to go to sleep. You lay down on the inner part of the bed and he follows behind you laying right next to you. You both lay forehead to forehead, eye to eye. He wraps his arm around you and your wrap yours around his waist. “Goodnight.” he says before planting a kiss on your nose. “Goodnight.” you say back with a smile.

[edwad]

a few weeks ago i saw a video on twitter thats of some guy talking about how amazing it is that all these people make a pencil and then you can buy it etc. is this the type of stuff you/cordelia mean when youre talking about how some people actually take domination to be a great thing (not only consciously but as an actual articulated value, i mean)

i assume the video was friedman's "i, pencil" riff, which does get at some of those points (and which other socialists have responded to on similar terrain, doing the thing i talk about of merely describing the same processes but with different moralizations), but also at a more general level in the sense that the impersonal mechanisms of capitalism are seen as nondiscriminatory, which for liberal theorists is a major advance over the more direct forms of coercion found in pre-capitalist societies. the benefit here is that markets don't really care about your background, your money is as good as anyone else's, and there's a certain universalizing tendency which comes out of the formal equality which is baked into this logic.

this is echoed in the writings of plenty of classical liberal thinkers like walter e williams that argued segregation would've dissolved on its own if free market forces had been left to run their course, unhindered by racist laws upholding the forced separation of people. eventually, certain business owners would've put their profits before their potential racism, and other firms would've been forced to similarly accommodate in order to stay competitive. williams (who was black) actually criticized some of his friends at the time for spending their money in white businesses that they'd been previously barred from, because in their attempt to stick it to the shop owners that the day before had refused to service them, they were unintentionally enriching racists instead of giving their business to firms that would've taken their money all along, had it been legal and easy to do so. this particular problem (and its market solution) are sometimes dealt with in the context of things like the sears catalog during the jim crow era, which was a big talking point a few years ago as an instance of this market anonymity/impersonality delivering a certain form of economic fairness.

for a lot of marxists, this nondiscriminatory element isn't acknowledged for the merits of not caring about your background, but in some sense for not caring about you at all. everything is reduced to the merely economic. marx pretty famously says as much in the manifesto when he writes:

"The bourgeoisie, wherever it has got the upper hand, has put an end to all feudal, patriarchal, idyllic relations. It has pitilessly torn asunder the motley feudal ties that bound man to his “natural superiors”, and has left remaining no other nexus between man and man than naked self-interest, than callous “cash payment”. It has drowned the most heavenly ecstasies of religious fervour, of chivalrous enthusiasm, of philistine sentimentalism, in the icy water of egotistical calculation. It has resolved personal worth into exchange value, and in place of the numberless indefeasible chartered freedoms, has set up that single, unconscionable freedom — Free Trade. In one word, for exploitation, veiled by religious and political illusions, it has substituted naked, shameless, direct, brutal exploitation."

this is also what's at stake in the formal equality of the worker in marx's capital, who, as a newly emerged legal subject with all the rights that entails, discovers their double freedom -- free to work or free to starve. and as he says there in v1, "between equal rights force decides".

what i think is significant here is that these aren't really two different accounts of how the system works. for people like smith and hayek, this impersonal mechanism (the invisible hand, etc) is understood as a kind of coercive force which pushes firms toward particular ends which are independent of the wills of any singular capitalist (and in fact express the whole of human economic activity in the aggregate) and which result in the universal generalization of particular principles throughout society, increasingly undermining lingering prejudices (eg smiths capitalist arguments against slavery). marx's analysis is pretty much identical (and this is the point), except in its normative angling. the totalizing character of capitalist production which recreates the world in its own bourgeois image and strives to constantly overcome its own self-imposed limits is similarly impersonal and indiscriminate, but this is presented as a problem to be overcome. hayek, even moreso than smith, recognizes this aspect of the price system which gets at the exact issue which marx is trying to highlight with his analysis of value.

both are aware of the historical uniqueness of the social formation and have no illusions about it via cliche appeals to "human nature" etc, and as i've mentioned above, its not really a difference in analysis, or even really in results (as cordelia has said, the strong form of the marxian complaint isn't that capitalism is doing something poorly, but that these are the effects when it is working well/asserting itself fully). so the point im making and have made repeatedly is that what's at stake here is a set of underlying normative commitments which marx and marxists have basically left unjustified. the usual claim is that marx was too scientific for that sort of thing, but i don't think that's really a possible reading (and if it is, it's not a good/internally defensible one).

if anything, the immanence of his analysis to the liberal theory which constitutes his object sets the limit on his ability to express himself fully, but it also provides the only adequate place to ground his normative account. his notion of contradiction is supposed to do a lot of the heavy lifting here, but to the extent that these contradictions are located in liberal theory itself, they *necessarily* don't go unaccounted for by liberals. he's not saying or demonstrating anything which hasn't also been posed as a liberal political problem. if you don't like crises, then very well, you can be a keynesian (maybe even a radical one). you don't think that works? well, your argument probably sounds a lot like hayek's. what is marx able to contribute here that isn't already understood as a careful balancing act -- if not a definite limit -- in liberal theory? the potential salvation of communism, which is supposed to overcome the problems (whatever they are taken to be) of capitalism, necessarily stems from some set of normative commitments that can't be written off. if his critique is tightly immanent, as it arguably was, then what marxists need to justify isn't really the account of the system (you don't even have to be a marxist for that!) but the case for its abolition.

if your problem with it is "domination", you need to be able to demonstrate what's wrong with the mechanisms that word is intended to describe, and it can't just be that they're impersonal or coercive. liberals feel the same way about these things and all of us experience gravity that way. you have to be able to say something more than that, but contemporary marxist accounts tend to only go as far as calling it "domination" and getting away with it because the marxists nod along, knowing that domination is naughty, otherwise why would we call it domination?

so, although cordelia can surely speak for herself, this is part of the project that i think she and i have sorta been picking away at in different ways for a while, with me catching on a bit later (maybe too late tbh). when i expressed my frustrations on this point, directed at chambers, i was in some sense admitting that she'd won me over on this style (if not the specific line) of questioning.

all of this aside, this is of course not a defense of liberalism in the liberal sense, but it is a kind of "defense" of liberalism as a project which has to be taken seriously and can't be written off or dreamed away. in this sense, i am merely following in marx's footsteps, who i think felt very strongly about the need to grapple with liberalism on exactly this kind of terrain, but i am turning the ruthless criticism on the ruthless critic, because i don't think he or his contemporary disciples in the value-as-domination literature have done a good job of navigating this problem. probably though, like nearly everyone else, i'm simply left waiting for cordelia's book.

[foxglovefaun]

Hey yo!! I was just lookin over ur sketchbooks stuff, which is,,,,so grand and soulful I can’t put much words to it and wanted to ask do u use a specific type of pencil? Or any special thing like that?

thank you so much!! <3 ;0; my sketchbook is my safe place rn, so this means a lot. and i do! i have a lot of specific pencils. i have a series of tools that are in my everyday artbox, and i've narrowed down a collection that's been pretty reliable for me. i can introduce you! :) ...ok but r u ready for a infodump because

ok this is my everyday Graphite Mechanical Pencil Squad. I always have them in my box and i use them for just about every pencil drawing in my sketchbook.

(I added a post break because I didn’t think about it before :3 )

from top to bottom: - Steadtler: Mars Technico 2.0 -> used for longer pencil studies and anatomy stuff, as well as experiments with comic-style hatching. has a tiny built-in sharpener! I like using this for drawing the base for portraits coz it's got a real consistent value - Sakura: Sumo Grip 0.7 -> comfy. :) big. :) - Tombow: Mono Graph 0.5 -> my current baseline. I've used this pencil since 2021 when i first started recovering from burnout. I really like its weight balance, as the feed end is quite heavy. This pencil was engineered for writing though, so while it has a "rotating lead mechanism", it doesn't activate while I'm drawing. Apparently it's supposed to rotate the lead as you write so it stays sharp. :0 - Uni: Kuru Toga 0.3 -> very lightweight, sometimes feels fragile but is durable as hell. I use this for really fine lines, like details in the eyes or hatching around the nose in really small portraits. I used to use this size more in college, but I use it less nowadays.

speakin of that damb MonoGraph, i have S e v e r a l

I have six currently, which feels like a bananas number of mechanicals to carry at one time, but five of them carry different color leads that i use super regularly so i ignore this.

you probably are familiar with my multi-color sketches with blue and red and pink n stuff, and these are what i use for that. sometimes i use light blue to sketch, then clean it up with the dark blue, and then add portrait details with red. Other times i sketch with pink and then define everything with purple. anyway

i load them all up with Uni Nano Dia color leads. Historically I've used Pentel red leads and Prismacolor Col-Erase wood pencils, but these are my favorite now. They are all erasable and erase pretty well! (The lavender does not specify that it is erasable, but i assure you, it will submit to an eraser.)

speakin of erasers. This has actually been the most difficult squad to narrow down, as erasers are all super different from one another, even within the same brand. Sometimes they smear my shit, sometimes they rip up the paper, sometimes they lift okay but still leave a ghost. not these. These guys are reliable. They help me move. They text me back. - Muji: plastic eraser, hard type, black -> this was my biggest most recent surprise. Muji has very affordable minimalist materials that can look cheap on the surface level, but tbh I've never had an eraser serve me so well. When it comes to erasable marks, it lifts EVERYTHING off of my Talens sketchbook. I wish it came in a stick format for more control, but the brick will have to do for now. - Tombow: Mono Stick, plastic eraser -> bless. Soft to the touch but doesn't need a shit ton of pressure to lift stuff out and clean up. Performs consistently and creates a super clear surface. My favorite standard-sized stick eraser, hands down. - Tombow: Mono Knock -> badass. I've had this thing in my arsenal since 2008. I found my first pink one in Japantown San Francisco and carried it all the way to QC with me in 2020. It was finally put to rest after it broke in 2022, and was immediately replaced with the green one. It's kind of hard for an eraser, which is good because the skinny ones can tear under pressure, but it's precise, clean, and usually lifts everything out. Excellent for portraiture. It's also great for drawing on its own and I'll draw highlights or carve out shapes in big smudgy fields of grey. I highly recommend this tool. - Tombow: Mono Zero, elastomer eraser -> weird. so smol. does cool shit tho. This is my smallest eraser ever, and it took a while to find one in stock. It is so very fine that it has its own refill method and part of it is reinforced with plastic. It's clean tho, and so goddamb precise. - Kneaded eraser, brand ???? i dont remember, probably Mars : I love my kneaded eraser. I've always used it to press and lift when it comes to sketchbook stuff, but i recently learned that you can just kinda ROLL IT across your surface and it will lighten EVERYTHING, EVENLY. I lost my shit tbh, nobody ever told me I could use it like that and now I get legit excited to use it. Very satisfying. But also very sticky and sometimes Bad Texture, so I keep it in a little tin. along with the whole series i described, I also carry these with me in my box. Just misc tools that also live here. Tiny sharpener, blenders, supplementary erasers and pencils.

I also have a small frame-style box that I keep my basic wood drawing pencils in, as well as the tiny eraser and the 2.0 pencil because they fit. :)

Everyone lives in here, and i like that the box can sorta serve as a work surface too, using the lid like a lil table. It's also easy AF to just toss everything in there, so cleaning up my workspace takes less than a minute now.

i use all of these whenever doin sketchbook stuff. I always keep them in my newest travel box, which has served me very well when going down the avenue to draw outside. :)

i hope this gives u some feedback for choosing your own tools! :D I get my materials from all over the place, but when I was picking up the Mono Graphs en masse I was getting them from Stationery Pal at a pretty significant discount.

thank u for ur interest. :3 I have been wanting to assemble a post like this for a while and it felt good to just sit n think about my tools for a little bit. anyway. :3 take care. thanks <3 Hope this answered your question! (and hope it wasnt too much lmao sdfjkgskdjhfkjshd)

[nothingunrealistic]

1, kleinsen

1. “I love you, please don’t go.”

“And as soon as the new car gets delivered, the minivan is mine for good.” Jared flops onto his back so that he’s lying across the entire foot of Evan’s bed, legs dangling over the side. “The Jaredmobile is gonna hit these streets harder than —”

“Are you really calling it that?” Evan has ridden in Jared’s mom’s minivan, soon to be Jared’s minivan, and it is mobile, but that’s kind of a low bar. It probably shouldn’t be hitting anything hard.

“Haven’t decided. But I know what bumper sticker is going on there first.” Jared sticks his phone in Evan’s face. “Check it.”

“‘Caution: This vehicle makes frequent stops at your mom’s house.’”

“It’s gonna be true. Especially at your mom’s house.”

“You mean my house?”

“Is your name on the property deed? I don’t think so.” Jared grimaces, wriggles around, and nearly whacks Evan in the face with his phone as he pulls out a mechanical pencil he was lying on. “And when, after I’ve spent another week chauffeuring your sorry ass around, she invites me to stay the night —”

“Mom works nights.”

“— is it gonna be you saying ‘please, I love you, please don’t go’ in the morning?” He rhythmically raps Evan’s knee with the pencil. “I. Don’t. Think. So.”

“You’re gross. And that’s my pencil.”

“Finders keepers, bro.”

“Boys?” Mom knocks on the door and opens it half a second later; in that half second, Jared shoves himself upright and slaps the pencil into Evan’s hand, and something that sounds a lot like Jared’s phone hits the floor. “Everything okay? Is that project coming along?”

“Going great, Mrs. H.,” Jared says, over top of Evan’s “Fine, Mom.”

“Good. That’s good. Well, I’m heading out to work.” She already looks as frazzled as if she just came back from a shift. “There’s money on the table so you two can order dinner. I think Domino’s is doing their half off deal again, but make sure you check. Jared, will your mom be able to pick you up? I’ll be back too late to give you a ride home.” And suddenly Evan is terrified that Jared will say some stupid thing about Mom giving him a ride, and she’ll get mad and tell him to go home now, and Evan will have to finish this English project on his own, and he’ll probably get a terrible grade, and Jared will be mad at him even though it’ll be Jared’s fault in the first place, and —

“Won’t be a problem,” Jared says, perfectly polite.

“Great. Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow, Evan, I love you.”

Mom walks back out, but she doesn’t shut the door, so Evan counts to five before he says, “Thank you for not saying anything weird.”

“To your mom? What, do you think I’m some kind of male chauvinist pig? Thanks for nothing, Billie Jean.”

“Is that what that song’s about?”

“What — no. Never mind.” Jared bends over and retrieves his phone from the floor. “I’m hungry. Let’s get some shitty half-price pizza. Which is a ridiculous deal, by the way.”

“I think it’s a March Madness thing.”

“In April?”

“Maybe it’s an extra-long deal.”

“Madness is right. How much money are we working with here?”

“Probably twenty dollars.” An engine starts outside; Evan shifts over on the bed to look out the window, watching to confirm that it’s Mom’s car, until it turns left and vanishes from sight. “But, uh, when the pizza gets here —”

“Yes, I’ll get the door so you don’t have to have a breakdown about it. Never fear.”

(angst/fluff prompt list)

[love3velyn]

♡ My revision tips ♡

Hi everyone! I've got my first A-level exams in the next couple weeks, so I've been focusing on revision and I wanted to share some of my revision tips! I used to find exams very stressful but I have some ways to make exam season a bit easier so I hope this can help •ᴗ•.

1. Create a good study environment

When you start a study session try to create a calm and focused environment. Try find a a quiet place where you will not be disturbed, if this is hard to find try using noise cancelling headphones. Make sure everything you need to study is within reach. I also like to light a candle to feel relaxed and I have a blanket to stay cosy! Creating a good environment can help you get in the mood to work and focus.

2. Plan your time effectively

Find a way to plan every topic you need to cover before your exam. Some people find revision timetables useful for this. I like to create a revision list based on my confidence levels with each topic and work my way through the list going from least confident to most confident. I will usually focus on one or two topics a day depending on how close I am to the exam. I will also write a few goals for the revision session in my Notion which helps me to stay on track.

Another tip to plan time effectively is to plan the how long you would like to revise each day. Don't feel pressured to work for hours straight! I know it is easy to compare yourself to others but find a balance that works for you. The goal is to work smarter not harder and revising for long periods of time can be damaging. As an A-level student I try to revise in one hour sessions with 15 minute breaks and I try and do 4 hours of work. I have found this is enough time to get what I want done without feeling burnt out. Remember it's a personal choice and you need to take care of yourself.

3. Use cute stationery!

I personally love cute stationary! I find it really helps me to keep motivated and excited to revise. It doesn't need to be expensive, just find some stationery that motivates you. Some of my current favourites are the Stabilo swing cool pastel highlighters and my Sumikko Gurashi mechanical pencil.

4. Try to avoid just taking notes

While note taking is effective in class and when first learning the content, I have found it less useful when it comes to revision. Re-reading notes or textbooks can be helpful to jog your memory but it can be boring after a while. One of the best ways to revise is through active recall. Active Recall is all about retrieving information to make it easier for your brain to make connections between things. This can be done by using revision cards to test your knowledge, or on websites such as Seneca or Quizlet that help you to learn content, then test you on it.

5. Treat yourself

Revising is difficult at times and it can be tiring. Be sure to look after yourself and treat yourself with kindness. If you are having a tough day it's okay to leave revision for that day. It is better to rest than push yourself too far. I like to treat myself by having self care baths, taking time for my hobbies like gaming and reading and by spending time with friends and family.

I hope these tips are helpful to someone and make revision a bit easier. Good luck to everyone taking exams, I believe in you! ♡

Love, Evelyn x