#no grimm though

[bafflement]

Deaged Oz AU - The Farming Daze

Oz stretched, moving into a set of warm up exercises that felt as familiar as a second skin. He was still slower than he'd like, but the reflexes were slowly coming back. He glanced over at Oscar, who was watching, sighed and stopped.

"We really do need to source you a weapon, Oscar. At least temporarily. You stated you wanted to learn, after all?"

"Yes, of course I do! But... I don't have anything. You're really certain we can find one?"

"Anything can be a weapon, if you believe in it. However, if we can find something to use as a base, I may be able to alter it for you. It would be better with a workshop, but that can come later. Is there anything in particular you'd be interested in attempting to learn to use?"

"Something with an edge. That or a gun, do you think we could find a gun? Sorry, I know you're more comfortable with the cane, but... I don't think I would be?"

"Different people find different weaponry preferable. You don't have the training yet to use a blunt object as well as you might one day be able to. I do, but... hmm. Maybe we should ask your aunt if she knows of anything? Or at least if she knows of any tools that might help? I rather doubt we could locate a gun, however that's always a thought for the future?" Oz sounded amused, even though it was obvious that he wasn't a massive fan of guns.

"Maybe. Oz? You promise that you'll teach me to be a real huntsman?"

"Of course I will. It would be my honor to help guide you, Oscar, even if you only ever use it to kill the local Grimm."

"I. Okay. Thank you." Oscar looked like he wanted to say something but bit it back. Oz looked concerned, but decided not to press the issue.

Going back inside to find Oscar's aunt, Oz considered. As a farm, there might be something in an outbuilding, but... part of him wondered about Oscar's parents, whether they might have had anything. There was no guarantees that Oscar would want to use something like that, of course, but it might be an option if there was nothing else available.

Aunt Em looked confused for a second. "I... I'm not sure, honestly? There might be something in one of the further barns? Back when Oscar wanted to go to Signal, the plan was always to let him make a weapon there..."

"Understood." Oz said. "Oscar? Could you show me where the barns are located? If nothing else, we could take the time to explore a bit?" A very brief grin crossed his face at the thought and his eyes lit up behind the goggles they'd found as a temporary measure to shield his eyes from the light.

Aunt Em smiled at that. Oz had almost acted like a ten year old in that moment. Almost. Ah well, small steps...

Oscar looked worried as they both scrambled over the rough terrain towards the barns. Oz's limp was more noticeable the further they walked, but he seemed to be coping well enough.

"Are you sure you're okay, Oz?"

"I'll be just fine, Oscar. If I need any help, well, the cane does work as a walking aid as much as a weapon for times such as these."

"You shouldn't need the cane for that child, I'm sorry..." Ozymandias' voice echoed in his mind and Oz froze in shock. He hadn't heard that voice in years, why would he now?

"... Ozymandias?" He thought back, tentatively, but there was no response. Shaking his head, he grinned up at Oscar and kept walking.

"I'll be alright. Besides, I think we can see the barns from here. My, they are in bad shape, aren't they. Maybe you should stay outside, just in case it's dangerous in there."

Oscar stared at him for a moment, visibly comparing their physical statures, a strangely protective look on his face and Oz sighed.

"Then again... maybe not. I am not actually a child, Oscar, I can look after myself, you realise?"

"You're tiny and you limp. Besides, what if there's something on a high shelf?"

"Then I doubt either one of us could reach it, you are not really that much taller than me, after all."

"Hey! I'd still have a better chance than you would!" Oscar sounded wounded, but the smile he gave Oz was fond. "Hey, I wonder if this is what it's like actually having a brother?"

Oz's eyes were soft. "From recollection, it does feel rather similar. Well, well. That is rather interesting, isn't it?"

"If I'm your older brother, then there's no way I'm letting you leave here on your own, okay?"

"You may be something approaching a brother, Oscar, but you do realise you are not, by any measure, actually my elder?" There was a laugh in Oz's voice.

Oscar rolled his eyes and entered through the broken door, turning to quirk an eyebrow at Oz. "Yeah, yeah. Are you coming or not?"

Oz followed him in, watching his steps carefully in the gloom. There was no way of knowing if the floor was entirely level, but thankfully both boys had packed flashlights.Switching his on, he swept the area, looking for the telltale glint of metal. Ahead, Oscar sounded triumphant.

"Hey! Look, I found something!" The scythe he held up, however, was rust pitted and heavily corroded. Oz pulled a face.

"I'm sorry, Oscar, I do not believe that is rescuable without either a replacement blade, maybe the handle, too, or some sort of minor miracle."

"Can't you... you know? Magic it?" The scythe's wooden handle took that opportunity to start leaving flakes on Oscar's gloves and he pouted, seeing Oz's point.

"Magic cannot fix everything and, even if I were to use it on that, I doubt it would stand up to any serious usage. No, we need to keep looking. Maybe one of the other barns may be in better shape?" He glanced up at the roof, or more accurately the hole in it, looking doubtful.

"Yeah, maybe." Oscar left the barn, Oz in tow and went to look at the next one. At least the door to this one seemed more sturdy, surely a promising sign? It was also locked. Oscar looked discouraged but it was Oz's turn to raise an eyebrow. He also raised his cane and proceeded to open the door via the other route. The way the hinges creaked definitely made them both think this barn was certainly a better option than the last. Shining their torches upwards, they could find nothing wrong with the roof and though it smelled musty in there, at least it didn't smell damp. Definite improvements.

There was a sound in the corner and Oz went into a fighting stance. He relaxed it a few seconds later as what was probably a cat streaked past them, obviously startled by their entry. That made both of them chuckle a bit, though they might need to work out just how it got in, since the place had been locked up.

Moving along the walls, they could find plenty of tools. They were even still in good shape, though most of them were just hammers, screwdrivers, spanners, that sort of thing. Maybe, if they could find enough other items, they could build something? Again, though, that would depend on Oscar. Whose sudden excited yell ahead sounded rather like a very good sign.

Moving to join him, Oz watched as Oscar happily swung a short axe, unlike the scythe in the other barn it looked spotless and more than sound enough as a practice weapon. He wouldn't necessarily recommend using it to kill Grimm any time soon, but at least Oscar was happy with it.

"Do we wish to keep looking, or will that do for now?"

"It's perfect! Maybe a longer handle later, but... I have a weapon all my own now!"

"I wonder if we should inform your aunt as to this barn and the state of the other one? There are things here that she would probably have mentioned had she remembered them, I'm curious as to just how long this has been here?"

"Ages! The farm's old, been in the family for generations. I thought Aunt Em told you that? But yeah, it's full of places like this. There's a well and old farm buildings and all sorts of things scattered around. We can go look at some other stuff tomorrow, maybe? If you're my brother now, that makes this your home, too!"

Oz looked poleaxed at that statement. "Oscar, you... you even sound like you mean that."

"Of course I do! I've always wanted a brother!"

Oz was mostly quiet on the journey back, Oscar's words had given him a lot to think about. If he couldn't stop him from going with him and, he was beginning to suspect the futility of that, then how would he ever protect him, out on the road? There had been so many things, even in the barns, that were too high for him to reach. What if he was too small, now, to fight the Grimm properly?

What if this war was one he really could never win?

[bluegekk0]

✨

[speaking-riddlish]

Thinking about how Riddlish is handled in cannon and in fics. I've seen people just put random things that happen to ryhm anytime they want someone to be speaking Riddlish and it's like, a minor pet peeve of mine? But every time we see Riddlish spoken in cannon, it kind of makes sense in a way? Like, if you think about what is said, and try to piece together any symbolism based on context, you can kind of understand what they're saying. Like Maddie said, "Riddlish is not an exact language". Putting together the metaphor and symbolism gives you the general idea of what they're getting across. And whenever a fic does this well, it's like an instant favorite.

Let's look at and dicect some cannon examples (I've always kind of found these facinating):

"Feathers and Friends, together alone!"

"Feathers" could refer to Raven, since she's named after a bird. She also has feathers fairly prominent in her character design, so it'd make sense for Giles to say this even though he doesn't know her name yet.

"and Friends" probably refers to Maddie, since she's known him for a while and is presumably his friend. It could also refer to their friendship, and maybe even be a way of including Raven in.

"together, alone" They're here with him, joining him in his solitude.

Putting it all together we get "Raven and Maddie, you're here! You came to visit me!" Which lines up pretty well with Maddie's translation of "he says it's nice to have us here!"

"Can a musical chair change its tone, when the tablet of granite is inscribed with a bone?"

"Can a musical chair change it's tone" The music in musical chairs is integral to the game, yet the song played does not come from the chair, but from the people playing. The tone of a musical chair is something fundamental about itself, and also something imposed by something outside itself. Can it change? Can something change something about itself that someone else has decided is fundamental?

"When the tablet of granite is inscribed with a bone?" A tablet of granite inscribed with something is literally that thing being written in stone, another reference to destiny and inevitability. And what's written on that stone is a bone, is death. Death is what is written in stone. Death is supposedly inevitable here.

From Raven's tone and terrified body language when asking Maddie to translate for her, it's fairly clear that the thing that wants to change is referring to Raven.

Putting it all together we get "Can Raven change from what others have said she's supposed to be, or is death the inevitable consequence of that like we've been told it is?" Which lines up pretty well with what Maddie was asked to translate: "What'll happen to me if I don't sign the book, am I really gonna disapear?"

"The king that sings with pages of sky fears too much the dawn that rises with lies"

"pages of sky" is in reference to the book, and maybe the fairytales themselves. The sky is often used to symbolically reference heaven and the divine. The book, determining people's destinies, fits fairly well into that category. It's almost like he's referring to the book as being from above.

"The king that sings with pages of sky" would then be Headmaster Grim. He's in a position of authority over the students like a king is to his subjects. He "sings with" the book/the stories with his constant insistence that people must sign the book and follow their stories, speaking in unison with them.

"fears too much" this part is fairly clear, Milton's paranoid. The consequences he thinks are inevitable aren't as inevitable as he claims.

"the dawn that rises with" would mean something like "the consequences of" or "the fallout from". Then there's one of two ways the rest could be. "lies" could refer to that which is contrary to what the stories say will happen. If you take the stories as "truth" then changing the stories would be "lies". Or, "rises with lies" could mean the consequences coming from Milton's lies being brought to light. The dawn rises as Milton's lies rise.

Yet the whole thing sounds rather foreboding, giving the impression that something is seriously wrong.

Bringing it all together, we either get "Headmaster Grim told you to follow your destiny because he's paranoid about what'll happen if you don't. But those fears are unfounded. Also something is very wrong." or "Headmaster Grim told you to follow your destiny because he's afraid of what will happen when people find out why you don't need to (and its emplied that that reason is something very bad)" This lines up fairly well with Maddie's translation of "There's something wrong with the book, and if you don't sign, your story will continue... I think". I like the touch that Maddie wasn't as confident in this translation, since the last phrase is more ambiguous. It's not really clear how the foreboding tone integrates into the message without more context than Maddie has, so Maddie doesn't really know what it means.

"The baby bird flies. The snake, it slithers. But the cage holds both, to die and to wither."

"The baby bird flies. The snake, it slithers." The baby bird and the snake are two very different creatures, they move and interact with the world in two totally different ways. Most people also would look more favorably on the baby bird than on the snake.

"but the cage holds both, to die and to wither." the cage doesn't care what is inside of it, it will indiscriminately hold them both captive. The things that make the baby bird different from the snake, and the adorable charms of the baby bird will not free the baby bird from the cage, nor will they protect the baby bird from the grisly fate that awaits it in the cage.

The context is also relevant, since she's talking to Alastair and Bunny, two of her subjects who have just been arrested, but also two of her daughter's friends.

Putting this all together we get "Yes, you enjoy privileges that others do not have, but my affection for you will not compromise my judgement. You are not above the law. I am not above punishing you like I would anynother citizen." While we don't have a cannon translation to compare this to, it seems to make sense. Its immediately followed up with her letting them off with a warning, and despite this interaction, Bunny later tells Lizzie that her mom really is a good queen, but that the curse has stressed her out. I think the Queen of Hearts probably made exploring illegal to protect people from the curse. If she really is a good queen, then this type of objectivity ("I don't care if you're my daughter's friends, crime is crime") would make total sense.

[steelart]

Mini-Comic: Candela Obscura, Tide & Bone

everybody go get on this man's freak level right now

[keymintt]

rummaging through my files

[everlastingfable]

I actually believe leo's curse was broken when they were in that cave/valley, because grimm told him to take out his sword when they saw the monster but leo didn't. also grimm absolutely threw himself in front of the arrow out of love

[horrorgoof]

Hot bug.

Literally, he's on fire

[moux-xe]

baz art style study that i struggled with SO FUCKING HARD 😭😭

[talentpiper11]

Carry On Countdown Day 10: Dinner

In my mind, this shot takes place a bit before Simon arrives to Hampshire. Baz is ready for Christmas Eve dinner with the rest of the occupants of Pitch Manor, and is taking a moment in the library to be quietly soft with baby Swithin.

A huge thank you, as always, to @larkral and @monbons for the support and advice, and to @carryon-countdown for facilitating!

[green5quirrel]

TL;DR: I think Monroe's striking and chiming clocks were underutilized for truly hilarious interruptions when the hour strikes and 5 or so clocks announce it in sync.

I think we've all looked over a very important detail in Nick having stayed over at Monroe's for a time. I feel like I REALLY want someone to explore this in a fanfiction of some sort.

Monroe has several "striking" clocks in his house. A striking clock (or just clock for those who differentiate clocks as striking and timepieces as non-striking) makes sounds every hour, half hour, or can chime every quarter hour depending on the number of mechanisms.

Monroe obviously has a grandfather clock (or grandmother clock as I'm not sure the height of it) thanks to him telling Hap not to touch it. So that is definitely a striking and chime clock. Or has the potential to be as such if it's not silenced. He also has potentially more than one cuckoo clock.

Can you imagine the absolute terror of a person who has never been in a house with more than one striking clock as it hits the hour or half hour for the first time.

Now, ideally Monroe will have silenced most of his clocks. I don't know. I don't have any working clocks. I don't know how most horologists do things at their private homes. If they find the striking nostalgic or welcomed. But let's err on the side that Monroe has been living alone for a long time and actually does find a few chimes and striking nostalgic after growing up with it as his dad seemed to also be into clocks.

Let's layer this with the fact that Nick has very sensitive hearing (though I'm not sure when that happens. I could have my timelines wrong). Despite that, you're just getting to sleep at around 11pm or midnight and for some reason have been oblivious to or accepting of the chimes during the day. Or this is your first night in your friend, Monroe's, house and suddenly the first floor below you erupts in various chimes and tunes.

Can you imagine?!

I'm actually kind of astounded that this was never properly explored in the. In not one scene does any of Monroe's clocks strike despite how long everyone is at his house. I mean, if I had clocks I'd at least appreciate one of them striking.

The point is, I really want to either write or read a fanfiction where either Rosalee or Nick or Hank experiences the sound of an hour in the most unexpected way and grumpily complains to a completely and adorably oblivious Monroe.

(It would also have been a great gag if in the middle of a dramatic conversation it struck the top of the hour and Monroe patiently waits for his clocks to sound off before continuing. And Nick/whoever he's talking to is just like "Seriously dude?" And he's like, "What? ...fine! I'll silence them. Jeez! I didn't ask you to be here anyway, man!")

[bluegekk0]

A glimpse of the past

[evilfloralfoolery]

Nothing Like a Hot Shower

Just a short bunch of indulgent porn here. Grimm is soaking wet from the rain and suffering. Indigo has a few ideas for a cure.

Before Grimm was a mercenary of sorts, he was a cop. He retired early, but every now and then, he goes back to help out with things. I started writing an arc where that happens. Maybe I just like hot buttered cop porn.

Indulgent NSFW purple prose nonsense.

_____________________________________

“Indy.” 

An insistent knock upon the door and a tired declaration.

“I forgot my fucking keys.” 

Of course he had. Given the way Grimm had dashed out into the creeping grip of impending evening, it was a wonder he had remembered anything at all. 

“Coming!” Indigo calls from the living room. 

He hurriedly shuffles to the door, nearly losing a slipper in the process.

The audacity.

After unlatching the useless chain, he forces the deadbolt open with a grunt. Damnable wooden door. Grimm really should fix the thing.

“My apologies, I was reading in the. . .”  

His words trail into stunned silence. Grimm isn't just wet. He's positively soaked, his dark length of hair a pitiful reminiscence of a ponytail that clings to his back in listless disarray, uniform saturated to near black.

“My goodness, come inside this instant!” Indigo grabs him by the utility belt and all but jerks him across the threshold.

“Fucking useless tracking that guy in this shit.” Grimm gestures to the pelting rain, annoyance creasing his features. 

Indigo nudges the door shut with his foot and it creaks into compliance. “Indeed.” 

He stops fighting with re-engaging the wretched lock when Grimm's shaky but sharp catch of breath diverts his attention. 

“Huuuh. . .! UHCHISSH! UHSSCH! UHCHIISSCHHU!!” 

Grimm's broad shoulders shudder and flinch, one hand half-heartedly clamped over his mouth and nose.

Oh no. Oh no, no, no.

Indigo lays a gentle hand upon his back, wincing at just how cold the fabric is to the touch. “Bless you, love.” 

“Thank you.” Grimm's gratitude is intertwined with a weary exhale, softening the words to a near whisper. 

“Off with those wet clothes immediately.” Indigo tugs at one dripping sleeve.

That delectable mouth curves into a smirk. “Can't wait to get me naked?” 

“Honestly, Grimm.” 

He unbuckles the heavy utility belt laden with multiple guns and other hardware and hands it over to Indigo, who does a double take. The thing must weigh fifteen pounds at the very least. Hard to imagine sprinting through the city streets with such a monstrosity.

The uniform follows, accompanied by the Kevlar concealed beneath it. Boots and belt. And the pants, after a brief struggle to practically peel the things away from Grimm's thickly muscled thighs. 

Great gods, the man is stunning, even when spent and freezing.

“Hhh-huuuh! UHSSCHU! –GKSSSHH!!” 

And even more so whilst doing that. 

“Bless you,” Indigo says with such nausea-inducing sweetness, he nearly rolls his eyes at himself. “Shower. Now, Grimm.” 

“Fucking bossy,” Grimm says, but the words are affectionate rather than chastising. 

He also does as Indigo requests (or orders) and saunters into the bathroom, dropping his boxer briefs somewhere along the way. 

A positively wrenching “HUH’AHSSSCHH-UU!” echoes in rough desperation from the rather impressive bathroom acoustics and Indigo steps up his pace. 

Grimm has already turned on the shower, the steam just beginning to rise as he fights with the hair tie.

“Goddamn it,” he mutters in a voice thick with growing congestion.

“Allow me.” Indigo crosses the distance that separates them to aid his amusingly cross partner.

Gentle fingers manipulate his damp hair into submission, freeing it to tumble past his shoulders in a tangled nest of darkness.

“I rather fancy your hair pulled away from your face,” Indigo says. “It has gotten quite long.” 

“Yeah?” Grimm sniffles and snatches a handful of tissues from the box near the counter. “Looks better when it's not wehhh-huuuh!” His features cinch into urgent helplessness and his expression crumbles. “UHH’CHISSSHU!  HH’GISSCH!  UHHGKSSSCHHiuu!’

“Into the shower with you.”  Indigo half-shoves the other man towards the sliding glass door and Grimm glances over his shoulder, hair sliding down his back.

“Wanna join me?”

That coy expression combined with his insistent sniffling and darker pitch to his voice is enough to drive Indigo mad.  

Before he can negotiate the pros and cons of disrobing himself yet again, his treacherous hands have already begun the process of unbuttoning his pajama top.  

Gods be damned.

At least Grimm has stepped beneath the hot spray, water streaming off of every plane of his body in a manner that is somehow most obscene.  Indigo follows suit and slides the glass door shut.

Grimm’s massive hands land on either side of his waist and pull him close with an indecent slap of naked skin-to-skin contact.

“You miss me?”

Indigo winds his fingers into Grimm’s saturated hair and grips a handful.  “Perhaps.” 

A low chuckle. Calloused fingers running over his bare skin.  

“Remind me, what rank have they assigned you?”  Indigo traces a lazy path down Grimm’s chest, stopping short at the space just below his belly button.

“Captain,” Grimm says.  “Pissed a lot of people off.”

“Captain first or surname?”

Hands squeeze his sides and Grimm rolls his hips in a suggestive manner just enough to elicit an involuntary shiver from Indigo. “Captain Amadis.” 

“How very official and imposing,” Indigo says.  

“Uh huh.”  Grimm leans down to nuzzle his chin, nips at the fragile pulsepoint near the base of his throat.  

“Well, Captain Amadis.” Indigo brushes a clinging strand of dark hair away from the edge of his lips.  “Are you, perhaps, going to conduct a search of my person?”

One eyebrow arches high.  “That depends.”  Grimm’s voice drops to the darkest gravel it can muster.  “Are you concealing any weapons?”

Indigo’s hand slips below the threshold of Grimm’s hips and wraps around him with a decisive squeeze.  “I see that you have chosen to open carry.” 

Grimm’s laugh is a resonant ringing within the confines of the shower.

“Hmmn, well.”  Grimm dips his head, lips pressed against the shell of Indigo’s ear.  “Guess I’ll just have to frisk you.” He walks Indigo backwards until his back connects with the warm marble framework. “Don’t resist.”

Capable fingers run the length of his sides, delving lower and lower still, probing his shower-warmed skin with tactile precision.  The simple act of Grimm’s skilled touch is enough to quicken his breath, to ignite a slow, roiling burn within him, to–

The hands cinch tight upon his hips and Grimm’s breath hitches into a sharp, unhinged gasp, leaving his touch intact, but turning his head at the very last second.  

Partially. 

“Huuuh . . .! UHCHISSHHu! UHHCHIISSHHUU! Huuhh!---AHSSCCHHIIUUH!” 

He holds nothing back, his thick frame shuddering, translating through Indigo’s entire body like a seismic shock.  

“Hnnh, bless you . . .” Indigo barely manages with such a markedly indecent groan that Grimm recovers himself with a smoldering smirk of a smile. 

“Thank you,” he says, sniffling in a most audaciously liquid manner that is counterpoint to Indigo’s vocal betrayal. “Now come here.” 

Grimm gathers him into his embrace and hoists him to a greater height, using the wall as a counterbalance to plunder Indigo’s entire being in every way he can muster.  

Mere moments pass before Grimm’s carnal attentions provoke an equally unadulterated response, and Indigo is more than a little grateful for both the stability of the wall behind him and his partner’s capable grip upon his body.  

He sinks his hands into Grimm’s damp hair, gives the dark locks an authoritative jerk, and Grimm is sent tumbling after him into the heated abyss.  His bonded mate may have a monopoly on Indigo’s libido with a liberal use of his odd predilection, but Grimm himself certainly has his own weaknesses. 

Gradually, the racing of his heart subsides and his breathing begins to normalize as Grimm sets him gently on his feet, arms settling around his shoulders.

“Good goddamn.” Grimm runs a hand through his hair, slicking it away from his face.

“Indeed.” Indigo leans into his embrace and happily indulges in the close, intimate contact of skin against skin.

Perhaps a second shower had not been such an arduous affair after all. 

[hirunoka]

[araindropshallfall]

obsessed with the recurring theme in side quest of Ian annoying the shit out of everyone he meets

[slayerdurge]

okay no one answer me because i haven't seen the new episode yet but i keep getting mysterious likes on my old poppy/ian posts... did they FINALLY KISS???

[iamamythologicalcreature]

Keeping Neverland

Sometime after my fourth Neverland dream, I started to draw sketches. Whatever I could remember from my dreams. Everything I could remember. Drawing became preservation and sanctuary. Once captured onto paper, I’m able to return to Neverland whenever I want, simply by flipping through my sketches. It isn’t the same, but it’s something. Something tangible, in a way my dreams are not.

Excerpt from Lost Boys, Chapter 2, by @mooncello

(I can't believe it's taken me a month to post the art from chapter 2 of this beautiful, beautiful fic, but here it is at last! Of course, it's been viewable inside the story this whole time so if you haven't seen it yet... well. Ahem. XD)

Keep reading below the cut for some extra info on what went into this particular illustration!

One of the things that got my attention from the get-go - not just as a reader, but as an illustrator - was Baz's artistic side within his story. He develops his talent for visual art almost out of necessity; he has no other way to record his adventures in Neverland, and thus preserve them in something less flimsy than his memory.

And, in particular, I was drawn to how Heath writes his artistic journey. In Chapter 2, he states, via the narrative, that he began working in graphite, but by the age of 15, charcoal was his preferred medium. (It's written far more eloquently than that, but I don't want to spoil your reading experience...)

It was (is) very important to me that I do my best to illustrate that side of Baz's artistic journey as best I can. And thus, the illustration from Chapter 1 is very much a pencil drawing, with sketchy elements, and in Chapter 2, I've used (digital) charcoal. (I did use actual charcoal for a couple of the sketches that surround him on the bed, though.)

I'll do my best to stay with Baz as he explores new artistic mediums, and we'll both push ourselves to be the artists we need to be to somehow (somehow!) help Baz find (and keep) the boy of his dreams. XD

(Seriously though, if you haven't checked out Lost Boys yet, you're missing out!)