#i like playing around in my sketchbooks. like painting over drawings and stuff like that

[sweeping-the-clouds-away]

#my art #traditional #traditional art #sketchbook #doodles #horse #dog #cat #ball point pen #sharpie #marker #graphite #paint #colored pencil #i love just painting the negative spaces in my sketchbooks #it's more fun than painting the actual things i've drawn! #the negative shapes are just a lot of fun #i like playing around in my sketchbooks. like painting over drawings and stuff like that #sloppy looking things but i kinda like how they turn out

[minevn]

You can delete the other 2 asks from me

Yeah. Nana Suzuki. Since the game is in Japan... His mom is from England and dad is japanese. I ended up drawing her on paper and then taking a photo then pasting it on the the thing. And some coloring and doodling in ibis paint x.

His hair is supposed to be black, but I ended up making it dark blue, to give it more character. She is very basic, just like me. I changed their pronouns again. She plays the piano.

The pronouns, I use she her and they them a lot on them. But you can use he him, too.

I tried to draw her on ibis paint but it looked off😀 Even if ibis paint x is ass I still prefer the good ol pen and paper.

No, no she does not hate Yani. They like everybody, Yani just gives her anxiety. /silly /lh, nor any other loud person in the game.

The notebook I draw on is pretty, but it has the square thing paper. ...Maybe because it's a notebook, not a sketch book. Maybe I should just move on from the hot pink notebook to a black depressed sketch book. /silly /joking

Nana's hair

Alrighty! I didn't to get around to answering them but I read them and enjoyed seeing the entire process! Thank you for keeping me updated!

I also like drawing on paper and then transferring it over to my drawing app! I tend to like how my traditional art looks better! Anyways, Nana is very cute! I love their hair so much!! If you draw more of them I would love to see it! Also, your art is so cute!! You were talking about how embarrassed you were about it but I don't see anything to be embarrassed about, it looks so holdable and squishy! I love it!🩵🩵

Lol, I think Yani would try to be more quiet around her then but y'know still kind of a lot to handle, Yani does change to fit more what you like :3

I actually like the squares though! I often draw in composition books so I have the lines and stuff but I think its fine! If I'm doing more clean drawings and using markers and stuff that bleed through I draw in sketchbooks but if I'm just sketching then I do that everywhere(I have sketches on my wall, help) lol. But no I like the squares in your notebook! Sketchbooks are actually so boring unless your decorate them yourselves, all the fun and interesting stuff happens on the inside ^^ Notebooks have like built in backgrounds idk!

#💝-minevn #visual novel #yandere vn #🎤-asks #I love seeing everyone's mc's for this game! #Their so cute! #Thank you for sharing!!

[carlyraejepsans]

hey, sorry for bothering you but i'm seriously considering starting to draw digitally (i have never drawn before except for when i was a little kid). i love your art so i was thinking if you would maybe give me some tips? about anything, really. like if i should at first just purely focus on the basis and nothing else, graphic program recommendations (preferably free or cheap ones since i'm not 100% sure if i'll actually keep drawing long-term), etc.

just anything that you think would be useful for me.

thank you a lot in advance

OOOH BOY where to start (｡・//ε//・｡)

it partly depends on whether you already know how to draw a little. I'm not saying you have to be good at it, but if you've already put some work into your traditional skillz it's going to help. oh also, if you do have some tradart background and you switch to digital? be prepared because with your first few drawings it's either going to be the best you've ever drawn or it's gonna feel like you're picking up a pencil for the first time in your life all over again. both of these stages are temporary, and generally settle on an equal middle ground in a few days, at least until your hand's gotten used to the medium

my FIRST chance at digital art? drawing with my finger on my phone. it's far from ideal, as you can probably guess, but it got the job done while i played around with the things only digital art could do. the next step, still on mobile devices, was getting one of those pens for writing on your phone. no pressure sensitivity, accuracy was still shite, but it did allow me to draw in a way that was more similar to how i drew traditionally. try to check if your device has compatibility with digital pen accessories, you might get one that's a bit more sophisticated than literally just a tube with a flat nib that works through normal touchscreen. i bought the sketchbook app back when it was still property of Autodesk. I haven't updated it since, so i have no idea how the new company is handling it, but it was a pretty solid app when i used it

if you already want to go full drawing tablet then DO NOT, for the love of god, DO NOT buy a screen tablet. i promise, drawing on a screenless one is in no way harder or more unnatural, you hand-eye coordination adapts to it very quickly. they're super cheap compared to screen tablets, more portable and better suited for a beginner. my first serius tablet was a wacom intuos back in the time when wacom partnered with clip studio paint, which was a DEAL because now i have a lifetime access to it despite having bought the tablet years ago and the PRO version of the program costing like 50 fucking dollars. definitely keep your eyes peeled if they do anything like that again because it's very much worth it, but if they don't you can also choose a cheaper brand. fuck wacom, go small corp.

for pc/laptop art programs your best bet in the open source scene is 100% krita. it has a couple of unique settings that make it weird to draw on for people who are used to "standard" professional art programs (which is the reason I don't go back to it anymore), but if you have no experience with any other art program, then absolutely go check it out, it won't be an issue. it's got a thriving community that keeps updating and adding stuff, so they're not gonna drop you off out of nowhere. as for the drawing itself? once again that's gonna depend on where in your art journey you are. it's been wayy too long for me to remember good videos for absolute beginners, but if you've got some of the bases down then proko and sinix design are some of the best teachers i can recommend wholeheartedly. i do have a couple more people on YouTube in mind, but I haven't seen their work in a while, so i wouldn't wanna risk sending you in the wrong direction.

one final tip that's worked out very well for me. y'know what's one of the best things you can watch? drawfee. animator vs cartoonist. pros animating in gartic phone. not only because karina and julia are the funniest motherfuckers on earth, but because seeing people's drawing process in real time (coupled with the sense of companionship of watching a group of friends have fun for your entertainment) actually puts you in the mindset to draw yourself and lets you study their work in a way that simply viewing the finished product never could.

trace trace trace, trace references, trace photos, trace art you like (but don't post it) and do it smartly ie try to figure out WHAT you're tracing, the shapes you're actually putting on paper and how they interact with one another and their environment. take your time, experiment with different techniques, take a break when you need to, watch your neck and back posture, draw from your your shoulders, not your wrist, those 30s "do this and this and this to draw this thing" style tutorials that don't explain the thought process behind those passages are a scam so fuck em, make mistakes make SO MANY MISTAKES, then learn from them, grow from them and make some more.

oh, and have fun, of course.

welcome to art :D

#ain't rereading all that so if you see typos no you didn't ✌🏻😗 #good luck and have fun! #answered asks

[corpsoir]

hi! do you have any tips with digital art? & if I may ask do you use procreate, please & thank you

hellooo yes so this answer might be super boring but oh well!!

oh and i use clip studio paint and a wacom intuos pro medium 🎤🦍

my best tip for digital art and art in general is to keep practicing and trying out new things as often as you can. practice shape and form and change the way you think about art. instead of drawing something the way you KNOW it looks, draw it the way you SEE it. this is like one of the basic boring first lessons you will have when you study art, it challenges you to use your eyes more than the knowledge you already have about the world while drawing. try keeping a sketchbook or something where you just draw objects without looking at the paper. draw things without the pressure of them having to look "good", draw to just draw you know! its really good practice and the only way to get better at drawing is to practice like crazy and try out new things and letting go of that fear of stuff not looking perfect.

i try out new brushes with different textures and shapes all the time because i always grow bored of the ones i use regularly, and so to get the creativity flowing again i always change things up a little. plus, a differently shaped brush will add interesting textures and shape to your art. one of my favourite brushes i use for both lineart and colouring because its so versatile since it adds just the right texture for me, i think its called SU cream pencil or something like that in clip studio assets

and when it comes to colours i always work with a limited palette because i find it helps bring the piece together?? if you stare at my art for long enough youll see i use the same colours over and over again in both the same pieces but also in different drawings and thats because i have a limited palette in clip studio, with colours ive picked before and just saved because i like them! i really like warm purples and dark muted reds because i really like how they feel warm and kinda autumny sjdjjdjsja

and use references! whether it be a photo from a fashion magazine or a video where you pause to get a good pose or a photo or real life, use references!! take photos of yourself and trace them, i promise its actually good practice!

pick up a book about drawing at the library or watch videos of professional artists breaking down how they work! theres a lot of really good artists online who are way better at teaching than i am HAJFHSJDJD

a book i would really recommend any artist is called art fundamentals! its about colour theory and perspective and shape and form and you name it, its really good and inspiring. filled with lots of cool art 🐙

i have a lot of things to say about practicing art but the question is kinda vague so sorry if this is all over the place hjsjdhakfjfj but yeah at the end of the day my only tip is practice and dont be afraid to try out new things and play around 🪱

#oh and also. the thing with posing a figure with sticks and balls for joints? sucks. dont do it #use soft round shapes and action lines instead and LOOK AT REFERENCES #the sticks and balls method seriously only makes a figure look stiff and unnatural #im literally baffled that people still teach that lmao in my opinion it doesnt help any artist getting better!! #theres way better methods to drawing a pose #figure drawing classes will seriously help SO MUCH i know it can be expensive though but you know #sometimes theres cheaper ones or free workshops at some schools and whatnot #hope this rambling mess offers some insight and help though fjwnfjwkwkd #ask

[redrosesshadowwolf]

So badly want to just get back into doing little sketches for fun. But I've barely been drawing for the last several years and I can see that I've visibly gotten worse. When I wasn't even that good to begin with.

So I pick up a sketchbook and try and just get sad. When I was younger I never even cared of the drawing sucked they were just fun. Now for some reason my brain cares about the quality when I didn't before.

So it's this awful cycle. And I know artists have problems like this sometimes. But I'm not like really an artist. I sketch sometimes, but I've never consistently put in the effort to get good at art. Cause I thought the stress would suck.

My father used to do painting and such and I know that he's amazing at all different types of art. So as a kid whenever I did art decently he commented and was like, "that parts good but that could do with a bit of whatever" and I already delt with constructive criticism from him with singing. Which I did appreciate the help with. Cause my dad just has like all the skills. Working man, can do art, singing, instruments will be figured out if he picks them up and messes around because he already knows how to play several.

But he's skilled in a way that his explanations don't always make sense.

When I was trying to learn how to draw hands he just told me to look at my own hand. Which didn't help, at all. Looking at my own actually made the drawing attempt worse.

So yeah kinda wish I'd put more effort in over the years. But outside of that I really can't tell why my brain cares about the quality all of a sudden when I've managed to avoid such a worry for so long in most things to try and keep the pressure from making me hate doing things cause that happened for a few years with some of the stuff I love doing like singing.

I'm not as good at telling what tone and pitch I'm in as my father and sister. Who are both good at singing. I used to better at it when I was really young but eventually I noticed this big dissonance between what I actually sounded like and what I was hearing. Well it wasn't super big. But my dad owns some good amps and microphones and usually people notice a bit of a difference because what we normally hear of our voice is effected by its vibrations traveling through us and too our ears. Instead of just to our ears.

But yeah anyways I was always higher pitched that I meant to be, and my voice wavers a lot when singing. And some songs have that wavering bounce to the singing. But lots don't. And when I'm singing, cutting the words and notes off quickly is a bit difficult so I usually hold the vocals too long. I know exactly Where I mess up and need work. But while my family has pinpointed these issues and tried to help, I didn't manage to get rid of it after years of work and for awhile singing made me really annoyed or sad, because my sister just kept getting better and I didn't.

But anyways I know too much focus on my progress on results puts me in a bad headspace. It's always done that.

So this attitude reaching art for me really... well it sucks obviously. But it also threw me off a lot.

[queenferretofthewoods]

I look outside my deen today, the leafs are covering the ground again in that orange color. images soothing and cozy fill my mind, as i make my way back into my deen i pour my tea in my mug and take a seat in the outside bench, and just watch as the wind blows the leafs down, and lisent to how the birds prepare to go.

It is then i see that im alone, or am i?, clearly i have a home full of people that i know their names and faces, but do i realy know them?.

"What is that felling" i ask and then it was nothing, a blank space covers my mind again and look again to the forest, and take a deep breath, my mug still warm take a sip, and begging the dream again.

A bird come by a few momments later and ask me "what is on you mind?" i stutter for a second as my mind comes back into reality and say "is it me or the days seem longer, like theres so little to do and much time to spare" the bird just chirps and gets closer and ask me "how so? theres so much to do whille the sun is up" i scramble through my mind, did i forget to do something? or am i just lazy and evading my chores?, and so i just ask "yeah but how can you do something on a day like this, scenes like this are only on the minds of those who daydream and the ones that paint them" as i point at a forest of oranges and yellows, the trees with their bark intact, and that tree that fell a while ago, "theres much to be done, but if loosing sight of this day is what troubles your mind why not frame it with your imagination or even better paint it?" the bird says, as i play with my fingers for a bit and my eyes start to widen as if trying to get an excuse, but why? for what? "im not sure if i coul-".

"nonsense" the birds cuts me off, "why fear little one?, the trees dont look at you the wholle time, the animals are all moving around your, and the ones behind you seem to be doing their own stuff", im without words, my body relaxes as if that was my answer and try to speak but the bird just nods and flyes away. "Did he know me?" my mind clears and i quickly look for my sketchbook, and beging to draw for the first time in a whille, my paw is stiff but i know i quickly will get back into it

and so the cycle starts over again

#creative writing #fantasy

[shirecorn]

how about 17 and 24? what inspires you and how do you deal with art block?

Long post warning.

Art block...

I don't actually get art block, which is probably a combination of neurodivergence and drawing every day for the last 3 years

I wrote an entire tutorial about how to do that, but didn't feel like illustrating it. Would people want to read it even without visuals?

Maybe... I'll just start rambling.

There's a couple different types of art block, and it's really just a philosophy puzzle to get past them. I'm going to assume that the things I think of slow days, or art mud, is a milder form of art block and work through that.

Art block is a symptom, not a disease. You probably have something deep inside that you don't want to face, or don't know how. Sometimes you need to discover the cause, sometimes just power through.

Method 1: Rest

Let yourself just Exist. The act of consuming art is part of the process. Watching shows and playing games, taking a break and going gardening or focus on school. This is what you need for burnout-induced art block.

Method 2: Action

I always choose action, sometimes it means a tiny 2 min sketch per day. Ugly or super simplified. As long as I don't stop moving.

Toss everything. Start every piece thinking you will throw it away.

The act of drawing moves you forward; pinning it to the fridge does not. Don't work things until they are perfect. Work them until they are there.

Art block causes and solutions:

- No Inspiration

Not sure what to draw, nothing seems appealing. Art won't come out like it used to.

Do studies from life or photos. Sketch, paint, digital, traditional, doesn't matter. Rocks, fruit, figure drawing, landscapes, buildings, anything.

Study and copy professional's work. Old masters are best, like rubens, michalangelo (only his men tho) etc because they will teach you anatomy while you work. If you copy someone with a lot of flaws, you will repeat those flaws.

Trace to learn, not to earn. Trace photography and art from anyone you want. Don't post it unless you have the artist's permission or they are dead, whichever comes first. This is strictly work for yourself, on yourself. It's not about the finished drawing.

Find an artist with a fun style and try converting stuff into their style. Don't make that your new style though and especially don't start selling it. Your style is a chimera of everyone you love, not a clone of one person.

Take blurry photos. You don't need a fancy camera or good skills or beautiful subjects. Doing studies from your own photos can spark life into your workflow.

Make challenges for yourself. Randomly generate things to combine. Try fusing characters! Don't try to make it look good, just be fun.

Doodle patterns, swirls, lines, random stuff. Try looking up art warmups and doing some of those.

- Everything Sucks

You finally see how bad you are. Or somehow you got worse. Every piece is a fight and you spend hours trying to get something right only for it to be stiff and disgusting and STILL wrong.

Why are you trying to draw good? It's enough just to draw.

Accept that your art is bad. Every artist can see flaws in their work. Your problem is that those flaws outweigh anything remotely worthwhile and hurt to look at.

So what? You're in a period of growth, not a period of production. Keep that wonky second eye. Let them have hot dog fingers.

Show everyone! Show no one! No piece of art can ever be a reflection of the artist. Not their worth, not their skill. The only thing your art says about you is "Held and moved a pen for a bit."

Make bad art. It's ok. Most of the time, the pressure to perform and get things Right is what made them wrong in the first place. Relax.

- No Motivation

The #1 killer of artists everywhere. On some level you think you should draw, on every other level you think you should stay in bed.

You are not lazy. You wouldn't have read this far in a post about art block if you were lazy. You wouldn't CALL it art block if you were lazy. Laziness is wishing you didn't have to do anything. A block is wishing you were doing something. If you think you can namecall Yourself into productivity again, you're wrong and You need to unionize so that you don't treat You like that anymore.

Consider Mental Illness. Losing interest in something that brought you joy can be a symptom of depression. I know it seems obvious, but if you're waiting for a sign that it's "bad enough," it's bad enough. Seek care if you have the means. Forgive yourself if you already know this.

Selfcare. Examine yourself for neglect. Nutrition, exercise, enrichment, social need, and sleep are all part of the art process. Eat three meals and sleep 8 hours. That's your gaymer fuel. You deserve it, I promise. Depriving yourself of your needs will make your blocks worse, not kick you into making them better.

Identify potholes. Sketchbook falling apart? Tablet cord frayed? Half your pencils missing? Chair uncomfortable? Desk hard to reach? There's a lot of things that you tell yourself to work around and get over. Just because you CAN workaround something, doesn't mean you SHOULD. A difficult work environment can cause secret dread deep inside that you don't recognize and just think you're lazy. What you think of as "no motivation" might actually be "I don't want to deal with my tablet disconnecting every time I move it wrong and I have to wiggle it for a few seconds to make it work again." These little things are like potholes in the road. Sure you CAN still drive through them, but eventually you're going to look up and realize you haven't voluntarily left the house in weeks.

Repair potholes and roadblocks. You might feel bad about buying a new pencil, headphones, tablet, car, etc because technically the old one works if you hustle. But if you're running into so many potholes you've ground to a halt, it doesn't Actually work anymore, does it? Invest, save up, request, and require working equipment and suitable conditions. This stuff isn't just cushy privilege, it's an investment in yourself and your art. You are worth the effort it takes to clear the way. If you can't afford reliable (reliable! not perfect or luxurious) equipment, then say it. If cardboard is all you can afford, draw on cardboard. But know that you deserve canvas, and one day you might be able to make the jump. Acknowledge that sometimes, if you don't have it in you to smear burned twigs on wet cardboard, the problem isn't motivation, but opportunity.

- Haven't Drawn in So Long

A unique type of art block that self perpetuates. The thought of starting again is so stressful you can't do it. Or maybe you'll do it tomorrow. Yeah. Tomorrow for sure.

Face your fears. Are you ashamed of your lack of drawing? Are you anthropomorphizing your paper and thinking it's going to judge you, like "oh NOW you come back >:/" I internalize voices I hear and project them onto other people, concepts, locations, and inanimate objects. Your paper, computer, WIPs folder.... none of that is judging you.

Reframe your WIPs. Do you feel shame when you see "unfinished" projects? Why? Who says you MUST bring everything you start to Finish? You don't have to. A sketch is a finished art piece; it's called a sketch! If a sketch is a fully realized creation, pages that are half colored, 75% lined, or partially rendered are all fully realized creations too. Unless paid otherwise, art is done when you're done working on it.

Lower the stakes. Draw a chibi or grab some crayons. Get messy and slowly ease yourself back into the flow over the course of a couple days. It's fine.

Get a buddy! Find an art meme, do an art trade, get a study subject, or just wing it. Drawing art alongside someone can help you get past that block.

Pretend you never stopped. Don't think about the gap, how long it's been, or rustiness. As far as anyone knows, you drew the mona lisa yesterday and didn't break a sweat. Today, you drew a starfish on your hand with a gel pen. Keep up that streak, good job!

Just keep drawing. Make a goal to do one sucky drawing per day on the back of a napkin. Don't make up for missed days, just pretend they didn't happen. Who's going to judge you? The calendar? That's pieces of paper; it doesn't have an opinion. Draw a cat on it. Done. Keeping up the momentum is a great way to prevent art blocks in the future.

TLDR: Draw imperfectly and toss it. Selfcare is king. Draw often and don't judge yourself.

Art is a process, not a product.

#shire screams #art tips #ask #art block #long post

[donnabenevientosimpingzone]

Elena Dimitrescu headcannons

NOTE: Not my character! Created by @annasassiart but for the sake of this blog I’m laying out how I interpret the character so my followers can know how to expect me to doodle her with the rest of the family- with my last doodle of Elena- I realized I needed this as well or else I wouldn’t keep it consistent wheeze.

OVERALL:

- Very Kuudere like, she’s a stone face and rarely openly shows her emotions- for her, actions speak louder than words. But don’t get this wrong, she’s still a lovely dumbass.

- The youngest sister and Daniela is ecstatic about that XD

- Fave colour is blue, when she’s not in the dress, she’s chilling around the house with various shades of blue outfits.

- The artist of the family! While she enjoys reading as a sister bonding moment with Bela and Dani, her passion lies in sketchbooks.

- Her forte is graphite and oil/acrylic painting- she vents whatever emotions she can through art when she’s not doodling mindlessly to pass the time.

- Same with venting through art, she vents through music too. It’s not uncommon to hear somber or fast piano music in the castle when Elena is practicing- though no one has figured out it’s how she’s feeling- cuz she just claims to like those kinds of songs.

- A huntress like Cass! She looks up to Cassandra the most, and the two have a silent bond that can’t be broken. It’s scary how they don’t have to speak to communicate-

- The shortest Dimi sister, based on how I draw the sisters, she’ll only be two or three inches shorter than Bela.

- Softie for cute things... give her a bunny and she’ll sit there petting and cuddling the thing for hOURS.

- A little less emotionally constipated in my opinion, mostly since she’s the youngest and got the most attention from Alcina since bat mom could afford to focus on her rather than frantically switch between three-

- But still emotionally dense, she has a hard time understanding how she’s feeling despite being pretty emotionally in tune to others.

ALCINA

- Like the rest of her sisters, she LOVES her mom.

- She borders on absolutely clingy-

- As a kid she would not be out of her mother’s arms and to this day she can’t walk beside Alcina without pinching the fabric of her dress inbetween forefinger and thumb.

- Touch hungry.

- She’s not as verbally needing of affirmation like Bela, but if Alcina pats her head after something, she’s practically been blessed by the hands of a goddess.

- Alcina is the only one who’s seen her laugh, and oh how does she love that sound.

DANIELA

- Honestly doesn’t have a hard time keeping up with Dani’s feral energy-

- They are basically “the dumb idea generator” and “the dumb idea doer” duo.

- Sleepovers are often held in each other’s rooms, and Elena almost never takes off any trinkets Daniela makes her.

- Not uncommon to see her with braided hair that she refuses to undo because Dani did it during a sleepover last night.

- Dani is the one who’s seen her smile the most. She smiles with the rest of her family, but Dani usually gets to see it the most.

CASSANDRA

- As stated earlier, the sister Elena looks up to the most.

- They will hunt together for hours or even days on end-

- Not uncommon to see Cass training her in the courtyard.

- Thanks to her artistic abilities and Cass’s talent in weapon making and forgery, they manage to design some cool things together.

- They rarely get mad at each other, but when they do, Elena’s the one who tries her best to make up.

- Cass is probably the only one who has seen her cry.

BELA

- The sister she spends the least time with, not because she doesn’t love her, but just because they’re both having their attention on something else-

- When they do spend time together though, it’s mostly reading and drawing together with music playing, the silent company needed after a bad day.

- Bela does teach her stuff like the piano and history, the blondie finds that her youngest sister is a really good listener.

- They might vent to each other, Elena might ask about emotions, but usually they’re relaxing company for each other.

- Bela is the only one who has ever seen her visibly get angry.

DONNA/ANGIE

- we got a fourth feral over protective flesh eating fly colony hell yeah

- At first they didn’t click, Elena was just too intimidating to Donna with her 24/7 deadpan stares and Angie didn’t like how she rarely talked back.

- But after a while Donna came to appreciate the silent gestures and Angie found out that the fourth Dimi sister is just a quiet, stone face Daniela.

- Artistic abilities come in handle in asking Auntie Don-Don for outfits, and drawing together with Angie is always a chaotic mess.

- They both have unique nicknames for each other based on cute fluffy things- though Donna still has a tendency to call her by bug like nicknames too like her sisters.

- “Snowflake/Snowfly” is a favourite and Donna defaults to it usually.

#headcannons #resident evil #resident evil village #alcina dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #elena dimitrescu #donna beneviento #angie the doll

[inkyvendingmachine]

"Yes, the weird symbols and all of this is affecting my employees--” “Is that why your eyes are all weird?” “... yes.”

💀 Call of Cthulhu: Haunted Hijinx Masterpost 💀

So, the... the image of this one is a very over the top representation of things that happened cause I sure really wanted to get that scoobydoo hallway gag in here. Most of it DID happen in a hotel hallway and involved people going in and out of doors a lot so, like... I had to.

First though:  Spoilers for the First Scenario from Tales of the Crescent City, which has been reprinted out of the Great Old Ones; We are actively playing, please no spoilers, but also we will have spoilers from it ourselves as we play. Read at your own risk.

This one might actually be shorter for once cause I zoned out on getting it done and now my brain is filled with the next episode instead and it’s very hard to like, focus... on previous ep.

Talked to Allison more, got info from her, Joey and Sammy got some alcohol from her. Casually did not say a buncha things we probably should have, this will be important later haha.

Head back to the hotel, Sammy and Lurker have... a talk. Joey is accidentally there too. Eventually come to the conclusion that maybe it will be safer to have Sammy to sleep in the same room with Joey, cause the Lurker can keep an eye on him while the Humans Sleep. Oh also the Lurker borrows a sketchbook from Henry so he can draw while watching the humans sleep. Yknow, as you do.

Left on their own, Henry asks Jack to accompany him to go do a stupid thing. Jack... agrees... and then probably regrets it when this stupid thing that Henry wasn’t giving details on was to gO SMEAR HIS WEIRD GLOWING BLOOD ONTO ONE OF THOSE GLOWING SYMBOL THINGS. IT DOESN’T GO WELL. 

oh well time for bed.

Jack and Henry have some nightmares and wake up a bit shaken. Henry decides to read Alice in Wonderland to calm himself down. It’s... not as helpful as he thought, decides to sketch some but eventually he falls asleep again.

Jack ends up writing a buncha stuff down in his note book about his dream, but eventually just passes out again while still writing. F for Jack, that’s gonna feel terrible in the morning.

After a little longer, Sammy wakes up from his own nightmare, but at least he’s still Sammy this time!!! ( despite everything it’s still you dot reference ) But the Lurker uhhh needs help, cause Joey’s having some kind of nightmare and is unable to stop influencing him to make a ton of weird scribbles. Sammy wakes Joey up but uh, the jolt manages to jostle them out of their stability and drop into a more corrupted form, complete with tail!!! and starry eyes!! and a grin that doesn’t go away. ever

Sammy steps into the bathroom while Joey goes to get some ink out of the safe, meanwhile something opens the door to Henry and Jack’s room. Sammy manages to hear this even over the sound of the sink running cause it’s Sammy, and while Joey manages to get his drink, he doesn’t fully restore back to the more stable form before Sammy is out in the hallway to investigate what’s going on.

Which uh, there’s some cultists out there, one doing some kind of spell, the other painting symbol on Jack and Henry’s door, which Sammy immediately dashes over and smears his hand across. And licks the paint off his hand. It’s silly time.

Meanwhile you’re probably wondering what kinda spell that dude is doing. How about some kind of SNAKE SPELL?? Jack has woken up and started to look around the room at the noise, and then finds a gIANT SNAKE BETWEEN HIM AND LITERALLY ANYTHING ELSE IN THE ROOM. Luckily Sammy making a racket in the hallway is enough to wake Henry up, and he instantly goes to attack the snake. Meanwhile, Prophet immediately gets into fights with the cultists, which when Joey follows him out, tries to de-esculate the situation best (?) he can, by uh. Toon arm clawing at the one doing the spell, and then going to grab the other one who is currently beating up Sammy. But he’s unstable, and pushes the ink a bit too far, which floods back and consumes him, and Joey and the Lurker end up uhh... a Larger inky covered creatures, slow moving, mute, unable to stop smiling. One eye left visible.

Meanwhile, Henry and Jack manage to take care of the snake. It’s not dead, but Henry sure did a number on it, and they rush out just in time to witness uhhh whatever Joey has become.

After everyone takes a sanity hit except for Prophet who literally cannot because no sanity left, the remaining mostly alive cultist runs off, followed by Sillytime Sam who had managed to steal his paint and re-up his “”my mind is clear”” time.

Joey manages to point Henry and Jack in the direction of Our Lovely Prophet and the Cultist, but ends up alone just crawling into his room again and laying on the floor until he and the Lurker can console each other enough to synch back up and take a more working form.

Prophet manages to follow the cultist through the crowd, and also leaves a paint trail for Henry and Jack to follow... by accident, of course, he’s not thinking of them. But it’s very clear they’re not gonna find him soon with everything going on in the streets, so they double back to check on Joey and get properly prepared to chase down their friend gone inky.

Meanwhile, Prophet eventually follows the cultist back to the warehouse that Henry and Joey investigated earlier. He slips in and follows the inky sense into the hidden room, where he instantly defaces the symbol on the wall. And messes some other things up. Gets more inky paint in a jar. And when he runs out of things to deface... prays. Because he’s not quite sure where to go from here. His navigate is -10 after all.

Joey manages to recover while Jack gets actually dressed and Henry watches over him, trying to... well, be there, cause that’s really all the help Henry has. But after an inky ritual to help restabilize, Joey throws on his hat, shoes, gloves... and a long coat, before heading out into the night with Henry and Jack to find Prophet Sammy. (also they toss all their valuables into Joey’s room, and leave the door ajar to the other one... just to like, make it look more like someone broke in while we were out, instead of maybe it’s our fault there’s paint and blood splatters right outside our door.) With the streets a bit more empty now, they manage to follow the ink drips long enough that Henry and Joey can tell they’re heading towards the warehouse, and just b-line for that.

This time it seems actually semi active?? Knowing that they’ll 1. probably be recognized 2. sneaking in will take up more time than they have, Joey proceeds to just demand his way in past the guard with his impressive fast talking skills. Thank u fast talk, u never let me down. Time to find our lost sheep.

#call of cthulu: haunted hijinx #Henry Stein #joey drew #Jack Fain #sammy lawrence #SILLY TIME SAM SILLY TIME SAM #Lurker Son Boi Bendy #batim #Bendy and the Ink Machine #okay just finally gets around to finishing this in the middle of the night and posts it #and vibrates in the background about the next one that just happened a few hours ago #gOSH we sure are getting uhhh somewhere interesting with all this #while having absolutely no idea where we are going #ANYWAYS it's kinda shorter #A pencil and a dream

[subjectnumberx]

Thumbnailing: Subject's Way

Thumbnails are an important workflow tool artists use to make creating their works more efficient. They are essentially tiny, low detail versions of the idea you may have in mind, and save time by helping you catch potential compositional errors, clashing colors in palettes(if you blob some colors on), and poses that simply might not.. work in character art as well as many other things not mentioned.

I am a very visual person and sometimes putting ideas to paper really helps me focus better on the task at hand. Organizing things into steps on the page really helps me not get overwhelmed. It might prove helpful to you as well.

In this tutorial, I'll take you through my workflow process when planning paintings and simple character illustrations.

I start off the process by doing a ton of sketches of whatever thing from many angles, poses, etc. Usually if I have a certain image in mine I simply sketch that and adjust little things like angle, placement of limbs, etc. Work teeny tiny, you can enlarge it later. I,t really depends on what the goal is for that piece what the process looks like. Here the goal was to just draw a character, so I have many options.

environment sketches look a bit different for me, as I will sketch them in literal cubes. I am still working through the technique. I just haven't gotten good enough at them yet to consider a tutorial by me would be helpful to anyone though.

Like with piece D, it's good to plan compositional elements here too. I added the moon that would go in the eventual background, swords in the hands of B and E, etc. Had I had more time, F would have gotten rough roses, but I digress.

After I have base sketches, I do very rough lines so I know what I'm looking at, and it primes me for what I could possibly have issues with in doing the final. I keep it VERY loose and don't dwell too much on details. If I'm drawing a character, I'm not even going to look up references, unless their silhouette is very complex. There is not much need for accuracy here. Just to nail down your subject's silhouette.

At this point, you can start eliminating which poses you don't want. Here I was very indecisive so I went through with sketching all of them.

At this step ill also take the time to plan variants if I feel like I would be indecisive about them/need them for certain platforms (optional).

Here's where things start to actually take the form of thumbnails. I work large and draw most of the anatomy of the subject so that things are positioned correctly in the frame. Draw the whole of something, even if you know it's going to get cropped out. There is nothing worse than trying to draw in a way that is already cropped, it messes up your anatomy bad, and you'll spend more time trying to fix it, especially if you are just starting out as an artist.

Physically drawing a box around them to help with framing is really good to help plan the composition of the final piece. Again, you can eliminate stuff here as well if they don't make interesting compositions. Consider the rule of thirds and how much breathing room you want or need in your piece. The one not in a box was eliminated because I didn't like the pose nor would it make a very interesting piece.

I also use different colors on the boxes so I can overlap them and keep my eyes from getting confused where one "drawing" ends and one begins.

If I'm planning portraits/art in my painterly style, I'll take the time to block in some colors just to see what I should shoot for in the final. I will also do several pairings of colors in their own sets of thumbnails if the piece needs it/i want varients. I highly suggest blobbing so that you can see how potential colors will play with one another. Learning the teeniest bit of color theory will help, I promise, but for now, i'lI'lll refrain from the mini-lecture.

these three two (you'll see), I figured would make better cel-shaded/quicker pieces due to how zoomed out they are, any true details I would want to focus on don't exactly work for my current style faraway. Be sure to tailor compositions that suit your style. I will be keeping these sketch ideas for future reference.

It's important to remember that just because an idea doesn't get used in this piece, that doesn't mean it can't be used in a further piece down the road. I actually have a horrible habit of deleting my thumbnails after I'm done with them, but if I'm thumbnailing in a sketchbook? I find myself browsing back over them for future pieces to get some rough ideas of what could work later.

One last thing, you don't have to plan as many thumbnails as I did, but I do suggest at least 3 or 4 to really stretch your creativity.

Thumbnails also make for a good warm-up. If you're curious, I did the initial sketches in this order: A C E D B F. I think it helped me loosen up a bit, but you can be the judge of that.

I went back and tried another approach for a painting, but now I have the base for 3 paintings I could pursue, albeit rough, but it's good to learn how to paint like a sculptor, I digress.

That's all there is to it. the key is being clean enough to get the idea down, but rough enough to save time. work small, using basic shapes to create silhouettes. You can enlarge it later and use it as a base sketch.

Last two cents: I've also learned that sometimes if a piece is just not working, it's probably more than likely a compositional issue, anatomy, or perspective, Which is why thumbnailing can help you catch these issues early.

happy drawing :)

a/n: this is my first time really creating a tutorial. this might not be groundbreaking information for some of you and that's okay. this tutorial was initially created for someone in an art server I'm in on Discord, hence the slide-text-slide format. I have taken the images and text from that and compiled them here to make it easier to pick up the tips. I do not consider myself a pro on any of the things mentioned by any means, merely my take on it all. Get multiple sources, educate yourself, practice, and find what works for you. - Sub

#its not perfect #but i hope it helps #tutorial #composition #digital art #digital illustration #digital painting #reference #art tutorial #art #sketch #thumbnails #illustration #medibang paint #medibangpaint #digital drawing #drawing

[icollectyoursins]

Kishibe Rohan x Reader SFW + NSFW

Anon said: “Consider Rohan sfw and nsfw hcs? And in nsfw Rohan could be a top,,? Prrtty pleade hhh, since there is only one work of Rohan ;;”

I hope these are good, not too familiar with Rohan, so I hope you like it!

Wanna know what I’m willing to write? Rules here!

Have a character, but no idea? Prompt list here!

Looking for more? Master post here!

WARNINGS: Making out, stands used in inappropriate ways, fingering, voyeurism, dildos, fucking machines, spanking, hand jobs, blow jobs, oral, face fucking, cock warming, nipple play, nude modelling. 

Word Counts: 2201

SFW

Rohan is a jackass who cares. In the beginning, he’s very private and stand-offish, but he does warm up to you eventually, though he’s still nicer in private than he is in public. He claims this is because he’s a “celebrity” and can’t have his fans see you too close together yada, yada. It’s bullshit and you know it, but you have the feeling it’s because he’s not used to people being close to him. 

Yes, he does have a binder dedicated to paintings, drawings, sketches, etc. all for you. Some are a little on the artistically lewd side, but most of them are of your hands holding something or your smile, your face and shoulders. Some of them he asked you to model for, others he quickly sketched down while you weren’t paying attention and then finished later.

When he’s not holed up inside, he enjoys walking down to either parts of Morioh where he can people watch or down to the park where he can study wildlife (and maybe draw you playing with ducks). 

You are literally never bored in his house. He has every book under the earth and so many loose painting supplies that he painfully lets you use to fool around. (Though let’s be honest, He likes that you take an interest in his job and would be more than happy to give you tips.)

You know what? Rohan is a backseat artist. He watches every stroke you make over your shoulder and tells you maybe you should move the hand this way to make it more natural or add some light shading here to make it dynamic. It may come off as a little pretentious at first, but if you keep with it, he’ll notice the improvement and (occasionally) tell you how good you’re doing while being a total blushing mess.

    You sat in the window seat, knees up with your back against the wall. Resting on your thighs was a sketchbook. Currently, you were just idly drawing lines of shading onto a face. Rohan himself was also busy colouring in his most recent page, though every now and then he would catch himself looking up at your silhouette, lit up by the light in some kind of halo effect.

     Finally, he caved in to his curiosity. Setting down his pencils, he strode over to you. You didn’t notice until his face manifested itself over your shoulder. Startled, you jumped, causing your pencil to make a long line on your artwork. 

     “Jesus, warn me next time.” You said, grabbing your eraser.

     “Have you been struggling with the nose?” He completely ignores you, still staring at your drawing. The paper was clearly marked up by the eraser with deeper marks from where the pencil was.

     “Yeah, actually. It’s either too big or too small. Kind of just gave up.” You carefully tried to erase the long line but wound up taking away parts that you were actually happy with.

     “Be more gentle with the pencil, it’ll make it easier to erase.” He suggested with a monotone.

     “I tried-”

     “And then you got frustrated and pushed harder. I admire your persistence, however, if something isn’t to your liking, walk away and come back. Remember to look at the picture as a whole, not just the nose.” You rolled your eyes, gently tossing your pencil onto the window seat. As much as you wanted to appreciate the advice, you had heard it all before. You were getting sick of it, frankly.

     Rohan took note of your agitation, studying your face carefully. “You’ve improved, though!” You looked up, a little shocked. What? “The eyes are well done and your shading is very even. Good job.” 

     What? Your cheeks grew hot. That was the first bit of praise you had heard from him. About your drawing, at least. He looked down into your eyes, then felt his own face getting hot. He turned away. “Go take a break. I’ll help you when you get back in an hour. I’ll be timing you, don’t be late.”

Like I have said, he’s not overly fond of affection in public (in the beginning), but he can’t deny that holding your hand or feeling you on his arm makes him feel pretty good. The first few times, he’s internally a mess, though he won’t show anything other than a light tint of blush on his cheeks. But when he’s relaxing at home, he enjoys having you under his arm, leaning against him or with one of your heads in the other’s lap. He’s not used to people and even less so used to affection, but can be worked up to being more comfortable with stuff like kissing in front of the Morioh gang and the like.

When he’s comfortable, he is so cocky. Like, boarder line makes out with you in front of literally anyone just to prove you’re his S/O. This always makes you blush so much (unless you’re into that.) More often than not, he’ll have an arm around your shoulders, hand in pocket, looking so smug and proud and cool. 

Pet names? He can either go one of two ways, depending on his mood. Either it’s just your name or babe OR it is every teasing name under the sun. Oh, darling can you do this for me? Oh, baby, oh, honey, oh, my love, oh, my flower. It’s usually used to get something from you or to get you to do something a little out of the box.

I can see Rohan as being the kind of person who is very strict about his bath time and hates when people interrupt him. On the rare occasion, he’ll let you in with him with the promise of either massaging him or something else *wink, wink*

NSFW (Dominant specifically)

Rohan literally does not shut up during sex. Praise, degradation, mocking, you name it! As a writer and an artist, he knows how to stitch words together in a masterful way that never fails to make you hot in the face.

Uh, yeah. He’s used Heaven’s Door on you before. Did he do it to learn your kinks? Maybe to put some kind of loose control over you in certain situations? Looking for people you find attractive for potential erm... art inspiration (voyeurism)? The world will never know.

Staying-on brand with HD, he absolutely uses it to learn everything that you enjoy in the bedroom. He knows how to make you squirm, where to push to make you scream, how to make you beg. He knows everything.

Particularly enjoys using this “power” to finger you, pressing into every sweet spot (that he made more sensitive with HD), licking over the edges of your hole in a way that just makes you dumb (either hole, not picky!)

     A delicate finger was trailed up your twitching hole, making you shiver. Rohan had already stretched you open enough for it to easily slip in again. You were so sensitive from being teased over and over again, but with no relief that you cried out, tears threatening to burst forward.

     He curled his finger up into a particularly sensitive bundle of nerves, slowly pushing into it more. You groaned and whined, blabbering out his name along with various ways to beg. He shushed you carelessly, sounding annoyed by your desperation. God, you wish you could move! You would give anything to be impaled by him right now. Or anything for that matter.

     He removed the digit quickly, then promptly smacked your ass with a flat hand.

     “Quiet.” You had no choice but to listen to him, involuntarily shutting your mouth and stifling your whimpers. “If you want something, be polite about it. Do you know how to be polite?”

     You nodded your head, a single tear trailed down your cheek. Your hole was teased again, repeating the same process as before. Rohan was such an asshole, but god if you didn’t love it.

If you have established a relationship where he has complete control over everything you say or do, he will abuse it so much. Just, tells you to sit still, turns on a wand or vibrator and just tortures you to the point of tears. You can talk, he didn’t take that away (mostly because he wants to hear you beg), but the position he put you in on top of the order. It’s too much for you. 

He’ll do the same with a dildo, a fucking machine, his own dick, does not matter! Once you give him that power, RIP to your organs.

Alright, now. Voyeurism. This man is a freak and does not try to hide it when it’s under the guise of “art.” Again, if established, he will hire random people to do whatever he wants to you. If you’re okay with it, he’ll record it for later research. 

Rohan is a weird jealous type, so he checks out every person you meet and makes sure they’re perfect (ie. not competition and someone you’ll enjoy). Very rarely does he let you pick out the people. Like I said, he’s a weird jealous type. Likes to see you with other people, but not with other people, you know?

There is only one person who he considers competition that he wants you to fuck at least once and it’s Jotaro. Are we surprised? No. Dude is built like a god and has the goods to match. Even Rohan can’t deny it. He would probably want to join in as well, but Jotaro would never do anything like that.

Mmmm, punishments for being bratty? Ooooh, yes. Smack my ass like a drum! Makes you count, absolutely. If he’s in a bitchy, lazy mood he’ll use a paddle or something like that, other than that, he uses his hands. 

As you’ve probably surmised, he likes having control over you in the bedroom, so it’s no surprise he also enjoys tying you up and has a particular fondness for swings where he’ll hang you up and tease you until you can barely walk. 

I mentioned baths in the SFW section, now let me elaborate. Doesn’t like sex in the bath, he hates when the water gets everywhere, but loves when you worship him while scrubbing him down and will allow you to work him up with a light hand job. This usually leads to a blowjob of some kind whether it’s gentle or rough.

Speaking of! His favourite part of sex is probably oral. From sucking bruises into each other’s necks, rough kissing, right down to holding you against the wall and choking you with his dick. Or a dildo, if he wants something a little more adventurous like mirror sex with him taking you from behind and making you watch yourself choke over and over again.

Cock warming is only ever used as punishment for being too needy, but he will keep you in his lap until you’re in tears. He is absurdly patient when it comes to sex.

     You whined, grinding yourself onto Rohan’s dick. He chuckled before letting out a theatrical sigh. Your grip on his shoulders got harder and you buried your face into his neck more.

     “What’s wrong, (Y/N)?” He trailed a soft, teasing hand up your thigh. “You wanted attention, yes? Then, why are you complaining? Now, up, I need another look at my reference.”

     You sighed, tired and riled up at the same time. With new vigour, you sat up, leaning back to show your artist his latest obsession. He hummed in appreciation, taking a minute to admire his muse before licking a warm stripe up your sternum making you gasp. He stopped, giving you a look of warning.

     “Don’t move.” You gave him a curt nod, trying your best to follow your command while he returned his tongue to your chest, exploring your skin’s taste. He flicked over your nipple with the tip, testing your resolve before wrapping his lips around it, sucking harshly. A moan fought its way through your throat as he became more feverous with his suckling. 

     Rohan hummed with you, theatrically mulling over the saltiness, then switching to the next one. Satisfied with the redness around your nipples, he pulls back, looking you over once again. A lightbulb seems to go off in his head and he reaches for his sketchbook which only made his cock shift inside you, rubbing against your walls in a delightfully painful way.

     “Rohan-sensei,” you moaned out. Admittedly, you didn’t like calling him that, but he insisted you call him sensei during times like this. 

     “Stop moving, you’re ruining the picture,” he chided. “Go back to the way you were, darling.” He leaned back, rolling his hips into you to punctuate his words as well as tease you. 

Model nude for him. Whether you like it or not, he will ask you to do it and, if he’s in a sexy mood, you will be asked to do uncomfortable positions that will definitely leave you sore the next day. “It highlights how the muscles work for a new character I’m drawing” or so he says. Other than that, he’ll just let you pick somewhere comfortable and sexy to lie down. 

#kishibe rohan not sfw #kishibe rohan n/s/f/w #rohan kishibe n/sfw #rohan n/sfw #rohan not sfw #rohan n/s/f/w #kishibe rohan x reader #kishibe rohan x reader n/sfw #kishibe rohan x reader not sfw #kishibe rohan x reader n/s/f/w #rohan prompts #not sfw #sfw

[fakeloveaskblog]

Yay lasertag!!! Janus you should totally go visit Remus on the weekend and hang out! Also, maybe invite Remy too, if they wanna come. Then (specially if they don't show) you can plan with them both to maybe go on another hangout with Remus but to somewhere you like and let Remy tag along for the ride if they wanna while u're at it.

(Words: 3153 words)

Janus: "Ah yes! I will let you know that after hanging out with Remus I managed to use my incredible totally very good texting skills to ask the Rems if they wanted to go to an art museum and they both for some reaosn, maybe they are being blackmailed, said yes! I hope it will go g-"

He cut himself off as he saw the two Rems come towards him. He had been waiting outside the museum. (Honestly half the reason he had choosen it was because he knew Remus liked art)

Remus waved at him while grinning. He had on sweatpants, a way too large t-shirt and a necklace made out of animal bones. Remy had their arm swung around him. Even though they had sunglasses on their eyebags were still visible.

“Aight gamers! Are we ready to do an epic art heist!! I got my sunglasses ready!” Remus exclaimed. He didn’t, he was planning on stealing Remy’s sunglasses.

“Partner you’re forgetting that we must first observe the security measures of the museum before we can even start to plan the heist” Janus replied.

“Oh!!! That’s what we’re doing today isn’t it??”

“Correct partner!”

“Babes I dunno why you gotta steal art when I’m standing right here” Remy added while posing.

“Good point. Good point” 

Janus had on a yellow bowtie he’d gotten from Logan, a loose purple shirt and black dress pants. People had to look fancy when they went to museums right? Remy had a skirt short enough to fool god and their boyfriend’s hoodie on (it looked oversized on them but with how skinny they were Everything looked oversized on them).

As soon as they got in Remus started to bounce up and down as he looked at the posters showing all the different exhibitions. There was a modern art one, classical and one smaller exhibition for specifically mosaic works.

“So whatcha you wanna look at Snakey?” Remus asked.

Janus was caught of guard “Why are you asking me?”

“Well you chose how we would hang out. C’mon you deserve to choose this too”

He looked over to Remy who shrugged “Uhm okay. Well. The classical paintings would proably give us the most money on the black market so lets look at those”

“Yay!” 

Remus quickly took on his noise canceling headphones and a chew necklace before doing thumbs up. He firmly took Janus’ hand in his. He sent him a soft smile which made Jan’s heart spin before dashing of with him into the exhibition.

A few big paintings from the renaissance hung on the wall. Remy came a little later since with the cane they walked pretty slow. Remus eyed the paintings from a distance before squinting at them up close. He flapped the hand he was hoding Janus with around.

"Oh!!! This is so cool!!!! This is from the renaissance but it's not using the chiaro oscuro technique like everyone did 'cause Da Vinci would eat their newborn if they didnt!”

"Is that why it's looking flatter than me?" Remy asked.

“YEah!! Augh I love the renaissance!!! Mostly because they were dissecting bodies so much!! sometimes for the sole purpose of drawing anatomy better!! I wanna do that! Or watch someone do that! Getting to see one of those old classrooms where they dissected corpses would be so awesome!”

“Huh good way to get rid of bodies. Great time for serial killers” Janus commented.

He let out a dreamy sigh “It truly was. They’re doing serial killers dirty nowadays”

They went through some more rooms of renaissance paintings. Janus made sure to hold Remus back a bit so Remy could keep up with them. The duke kept rambling about different shading techniques.

They stepped into another room and the style changed. Remus continued to flap his hand nonetheless. Janus was definitely going to have pain in his wrist tomorrow. It was worth it if he could hold his hand though.

Remy leaned their elbow on top of Janus’ head “This is like the baroque time right?”

“YEah!” Remus’ eyes went huge “Bean you didn’t tell me you were into art history??! Do you know about Ruben too?? I like how he paints butts!”

“What? Nah. I just- I can like see it on the clothes in the paintings. Can’t you?”

“Do I look like a time traveling fashiong guru” Janus replied sarcastically “That is honestly impressive”

Remy sunk in on themself and a hint of red appeared on their cheeks “No. Nah. I’m like a total airhead! Completel idiot! hehe I’m like tots sure everyone knows this stuff. Y’all are just bad at fashion. I uh anyway Rem you were gonna rant?”

“I was?”

“Yeah!”

“Oh....Okay!!” He looked around the room before getting caught on a small painting in the corner. He dashed over to it “HANds!”

The painting depicted 2 bloody hands over a table. They were holding onto each other. the red stuck out against the dark background. It was hard to see if they were supposed to belong to two people who were fighting or in love.

Remus looked down at Janus’ hand while playing with his fingers “I think my favorite body part are hands” He mumbled “I mean they’re horseshit to draw but they can do so much”

Janus looked away from the painting as well. He let his crush do whatever he wanted with his hand as long as he kept holding it. the way he held him so lightly but kept rubbing his thumb up and down his skin made him melt.

“Yeah they can do a lot of fucked up shit” Remy butted in. Jan nearly jumped. He’d completely lost himself in adoring his crush.

“Well hands can also be used to give snakes small berries! And to make coffee!”

“Girl I wasn’t starting an argument. But you sure did won it!”

Remus was staring down into the floor as he said “When I become a cannibal I would wanna try eating human fingers first. I’m sure they would be tasty”

“Why was there a when in there?” Jan asked in a small amount of terror.

“Oh yeah babe totally. I will like actually eat a dick” Remy agreed.

“Why is there a will in there? What kind of time tenses are you people on?? Does english grammar mean nothing to you heathens!?”

Remy got a smug look on their face. They poked their finger right into Janus’ chest “C’mon say what you will eat when you become a cannibal”

“Yeah Snakey” Remus squished his cheeks “Say it! Say it! Say it!”

The two of them kept going on while Janus looked like a sour lemon until he finally caved in.

“Fine. I would either eat the stomach or....the buttocks since they would have the most fat and sustain me the longest”

The Rems looked at each other before bursting out into laughter. “He said butT!” Remus cackled out. The other Rem nodded along and pretended to wipe away a tear from laughter.

“Aight babe let’s put the guy out of his misery” 

They motioned for Remus to go ahead. He happily skipped into the next room and grabbed Jan’s hand to take him with him. The snake couldn’t help but notice how Remy stayed behind for a monent.

“Oh cool!! We’re onto impressionism! The first real art style!” He sighed “From impressionism to cartoon furries. How magical the journey of art is” 

(Jan who had a scaley phase in high school chose to not reply)

“I love the music as well. Crazy lads. My favorite lad?” Remus snickered “De bussy!!”

“That’s my porn name” Remy instantly replied, coming up behind them. “Hey that paint lady kinda like looks like Terra” They pointed at a painting.

“....Hey YEaH! I guess my art is timeless!”

Janus looked between them “who’s Terra?”

“Well girl” Remy playfully ruffled Remus’ hair “She’s just Rem’s tots cool like cartoon character. She’s like all over his sketchbook. Makes it look kinda straight if you ask me but she does have like a very cool design so I get it!”

“Oh......Yes...Sounds very....cool”

The group kept going around looking at art. While it felt like lead was filling Janus’ chest. He’d never heard about Terra. He’d never seen his sketchbook. Meaning they had spent time with each other without him.

He pierced his nails into his palms to stop the thoughts. He refused to be some jealous person who didn’t allow his friends to hang out without him.....Still he wish he could have seen the drawings as well....seen them smile together...heard their shared laughter....

Oh. Oh what if they thought he was annoying. What if they preferred being without him. What if he’d forced them to come here today. What if-

“Hey snakey wanna look at the modern art as well?” Remus interrupted.

“What?” 

Without realizing they’d gone through all of the classic art. Now they were in the last room with not much more than a giant painting the size of one of the walls and a bench.

“That sounds horrid!”

“Yay!”

Remus quickly continued of into the next exhibition. Janus still had the taste of lead filling his throat as he went to follow. Until he realized Remy wasn’t there. He turned around and saw them sitting on the bench in front of the painting. They were leaning their arms on their cane.

“It would probably give us a lot on the black market” Jan said while sitting down beside them.

“Mhm. It’s pretty. I just like wanted to look at it some more” They lied.

“Understandable” 

The painting was pretty much a big flower field with a summer sky shining down on it. Janus noticed how Remy forced deep breathes through their gritted teeth. Their brows were furrowed and their hands kept shaking.

“Are you alright?”

“Of course!” 

“I have some painkillers with me. Would that help agains the pain you’re totally not in?”

They glanced over to him “Girl what you doing walking around with painkillers?”

He looked at them with the most deadpan expression “Remy I’m overweight. You can not phantom how often I get knee pain" He took out a pill and held it out to them "Here"

"There's really like no need! I can like handle it"

Even more deadpan "You shouldn’t have to ‘handle it’. It's 1 painkiller dear. I'm not exactly becoming a saint because of this"

They hesitantly took it "Thanks"

He did fingerguns "No problemo"

They stayed sitting for a bit so the pill could kick in. Jan shuly glanced over to admire them every now and then. Remy kept looking down into the floor while picking at their skin.

“I’m sorry” They said it in a much quieter voice than their usual high pitched one “I tried to do everything right so I wouldn’t ruin everything. I even went to bed early so I wouldn’t get tired....I...I really looked forward to getting to be with you two”

Janus heart beat faster. He pulled himself together to comfort them “You haven’t ruined a thing”

They hid their face in their hands “I’ve been tired and out of it all day. I keep like slowing you down. Don’t think I haven’t like noticed how much you have to hold Rem back from going faster! I’ve just been making this all much worse than it should have been”

“Well you’re here aren’t you? I for one appreciate you simply being here. You don’t have to do anything to make me appreciate you, don’t even have to talk. I hope you know that”

“....really?”

“Oh no darling I totally expect you to win the nobel prize while in a kind of pain I can’t even imagine being in on a daily basis”

Remy chuckled “Thanks”

“There’s really no need for that. I am at any and all times doing the absolute minimum to be counted as a decent human being”

“Sure snakey-babey” They had a soft smile on their face.

They moved to hug him. Their arms wrapped around his back and they muffled their head right between his man titties. Janus sat still for a few seconds, too flustered to think before moving his arms around them as well. A hand on the back of their head, another on their lower back. Their skin felt so cold against his.

Remy closed their eyes and let themself calm down. They could feel Janus’ breathing against their hair.

“I think my fav like human part is the chest” They mumbled out “‘Cause I can hear the heart beat. It reminds me I’m- we’re still like alive”

“Like a bloody biological seashell”

“Exactly” They pressed themself closer. “I like being with you” It was nothing more than a whisper, like it was a secret “When you’re here I feel a bit less like a rotting corpse”

Janus held onto them harder “Well I-I try my best”

“I know babe”

His heart was beating out of his chest. The people around them must think they were a couple. He closed his eyes and focused on Remy’s touch, on Picani’s words from their last session. He managed to push enough of the shame away and focus on the happy butterflies in his stomach instead.

Remy moved away. The moment broke.

“We should probs go find Rem before he starts like eating the art”

“haha yeah” Janus did thumbs up but kept sitting. He’d gone full idiot.

It wasn’t until he saw Remy straining to stand up even with the cane his brain kicked back in.

“Is there some way I could help?”

They didn’t answer. But they did lean their arm around his shoulder to let him carry some of their weight. They slowly but surely made their way to the modern art exhibition.

Remus was sitting crosslegged in front of a weird statue, he was doodling in his sketchbook but shone up into a smile when he saw them.

“There you are! I was starting to think that either the zombie apocalypse had started or you were making out somehwere”

“Oh yeah babe. Full tounge” Remy joked back. Jan let out an inhumane noise.

He closed his sketchbook “I think we’re done here. You’re looking tired beanie. We can come back some other day”

Remy held back the urge to lie that they were fine. Instead they weakly nodded.

The gang left the museum. Right beside it was an ice cream shop. Remus got 3 scoops of a worryingly weird mix of flavors. Janus got 1 scoop of lemon. Remy didn’t feel like eating.

They sat down on a couple of benches right outside. Remy laid down with their head leaned onto Remus’ thigh. He chewed his ice cream while calmly moving his hand up and down their back.

Soon enough they were deep asleep. Janus quickly laid his jacket over their legs. He didn’t want to accidentally see anything under their skirt without their consent.

Remus stared at him like a blood sucking eagle while smiling “Soooo now when beanie is in dream land.......Do” He stopped to giggle “Janny. Janny. Do. Do you like someooooonnneee??”

Janus just blinked at him for half a minute. This was too much. This whole day was too much. He was a wreck. His crush was asking him THis?! While his other crush was laying in his crush’s lap?!?

“Why- Why- What- Who are you working for?! The fucking FBI??? Are they after me?” He desperately tried to joke it away.

“No. No. But seriously JanJan!” He wiggled his shoulders around in a stimmy way “Do you happen to like anyone with a name that starts on R????”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Janus kept glancing between his two crushes while his blushing could be seen out into space. He wanted to lie but his mouth wouldn’t move.

Remus leaned closer and whispered “You’re into Remy right?”

He nodded. A breathe of relief went through him. At least Remus didn’t know he liked him.

“OH I KNEW IT!” Remus yelled out in excitement while flapping his hands.

“Shh! Shh!” Janus scrambled to cover his mouth as Remy stirred for a moment. “Shhhh!” They cuddled closer to their friend and fell back asleep.

“I knew it!” He giggled “Or I mean Remy knew. They told me they thought you were into them”

“WHAT?!” 

Now it was Remus that covered his mouth. He was full on cackling “Yeah! They said it was really obvious! But good for you snakey! I’m sure if you murder their boyfriend you can get them in no time! Or you can become a fab homewrecker!! I can help you buy a nice sexy dress and all!!”

Janus paled in terror “How- In- What- In what way did they say it was obvious?”

“Oh y’know-”

The notif on his phone went off. He checked and his eyes went wide. He carefully moved Remy’s head onto the bench before standing up.

“Sorry snakey! Ro needs super duper emergency help! Gotta go!! See you later! Don’t die!”

Remus left him just like that.  Right after dropping THAT bomb on him. Janus sat unmoving. His mouth was slightly agape in shock. His thoughts were runnig around screaming nonstop.

He sat like that for over 20 minutes until Remy let out a yawn and slowly woke up. They took off their sunglasses to rub their eyes. Just seeing their vibrantly green eyes made Janus panic even more.

“Did Rem disintegrate?” Their voice was hoarse from sleepyness. Janus pinched himself to hold back the uhm feelings.

“He- he uh he went he went he sure did went yeah”

“....Cool!”

They stretched their joints, they all cracked. They looked to Janus and moved closer. He couldn’t breathe. They knew. They knew. They knew.

“Girl are you feeling okay?” They pressed their palm to his forehead “You’re like super hot. In both ways! Maybe you should like go home and rest. I gotta get home before my boyf gets home anyway”

“Y-yeah” Was all Janus could get out.

“Cool. OH! By the way! Girl!!! We haven’t like hung out just the two of us right?? We should tots do that! Just like tell me whatever you wanna do and we can do it!”

“Yeah”

“Awesome! Well I’ll see you on that hang out then”

They hugged him for just a few seconds but for those seconds Janus felt like he was in heaven.

They got up and left. Janus slumped over on the bench. His heart was going crazy. They knew. They knew and now they wanted to hang out alone with him. He turned to you. His eyes were wide and panicked.

Janus: “W-what am I supposed to do? I don’t know any good hang out plans! Do you know any??? I’m- this is all- how did they even know I like them! Oh I’m sounding like an overdramatic 13 year old.....This totally isn’t really overwhelming. I would hate getting Logan cuddles right now!”

#thanks for the ask!! #im sorry these keep getting longer #i really do try to cut them down #dukeceit #demus #janus sanders #remus sanders #remy sanders #mini fic #sanders sides #desleep #desleepmus #dukeceitsleep

[friththetraveller]

woah hay i forgot to post this !!

this was just gonna be like a fun doodle supplement for ease of explanation to the campaign im running right now but i let myself keep drawinnng so it ended up being like ... a full-on micro ethnography sketchbook found in a druid enclave’s library on a tribe of friendly goblins instead lol

somewhere down the line i might finish up a copy of these in my usual art style but this was good fun to mess about with, and an excuse to play with some nice fine liners id just bought <.<

i’ll waffle a little more under the cut to save your dashboards :L

an art !! hurrah !!

SO basically i have a subrace homebrew table in my giant folders of Stuff

of the goblinoids your basic gob has the most subraces, and one especially rare one is Woodwose! my D&D contains a heaping cup of nuance because original 70s D&D was a Smashy Game and i like worldbuilding, so not ALL goblins of any subraces are inherently evil, but woodwose are m u c h more likely to coexist with their neighbours than use theft and bonks on the head as a survival strategy than your average bunch of goblins. i think of them as being softly furred like a greyhound with little to no head hair, opposed to the standard goblin which may be more wiry or sparse in hair in a human-like pattern

SO this is what these guys are :’> Neverwinter Woods’ resident band of Woodwose; traders in hard to reach goods from deep in the woods - a pretty dangerous undertaking for those who dont know the mysterious forest well. AND their most prized trade goods are the products of the deep forest bees, especially their honey  - deep and bright like maple syrup, tangy and piney, surprisingly sharp and unsweetened. It makes the most excellent mead in the Savage Territories, if not the world. some herbs the bees collect from can make the honey a little psychoactive if you know what to look for ... the supply channels are narrow and their trust is hard to gain, and they trade for specialist goods they have difficulty crafting themselves - such as metal for prized weapons, special food or cloths, or raw materials their territory doesnt produce in high volumes.

they rehome these bees in large open hive rings as well as keeping an eye on local swarms out in the woods, they maintain a few permanent gardens near big populations but employ hidden slash and burn groves, and they keep the large and sturdy Cragfoot goats - descended from Hotenow Ibex - for work and milk, and then their bodies. materials at the end of their life. what meat they eat comes from some sparse hunting and occasional fishing in the web of rivers.

they live in little stone roundhouses, supplemented by stone-bottomed barns, tall wooden granaries and pit-fridges, tent lean-tos, often all ringed by stone banks, and use wooden vats and coil pots (some of the best potters pattern their work). they are usually adept at moving in treetops too, with networks of pegs and hidden ladders, climbing loops and platforms along trails and around houses

they mostly dress in rough cloth and leather, protection made of bone or wood and with their best warriors using traded mail for extra defence. jewellery is made of wood and bone, and some decorative furs are obtained by chance. the best of these goes to the chief and the shaman who co-ordinate the group. they decorate themselves and the outer walls of their structures with paints of white, green and grey.

ive REALLY grown to love these guys a lot i wanna draw them more and colour this art sometime ... here’s some art labels left to right top to bottom :’>

Page One

seasoned honey-hunter collecting honey from a wild hive

youngster with a large slab of honeycomb

a kept hive filling out the inside of one of the hive-rings

an empty hive-ring with a swarm-catching basket

mashing honeycomb through a mesh to collect the wax and honey ready to separate over heat

the gear of a honey-hunter or hive-tender; their body is rubbed in a coat of fresh ashes, arms and legs more wrapped than usual, they carry a smoke-torch to pacify the bees and a large knife to cut the wax , they wear mesh over their eyes and plug their nose to protect from bees and some of the smoke.

(all jars) a small lightly patterned jar, a much larger more decorated jar with fibre rope on the handles, a large dugout wooden vat, a patterned corked decanter or teapot with fibre string handle and cup.

Page Two

Cragfoot goat harnessed to a simple trundle cart made of a large carrying frame fitted with wheels

a shaman applying new paints to a young Woodwose before a new first for them (like a hunt, trade mission, bee-catching etc)

a senior shaman performing ritual divination

on farming duty, using a digging stick to move soil and a carrying frame to keep young babies safe

typical stone roundhouses with wooden rooves, with a rise and lip to let smoke out of the top

an empty carrying frame made of wood and woven fibres, no straps or wheels attached

using a carrying frame on their back

bribing a goat with fruits to shear its thick fur ready for summer

(tools) bone hooks, toggles, needles, awls, stoppers etc; stone chisel; stone hammer; fishing spear; knitting needles; wooden spoon; wooden digging stick

Page Three

skilled archer in an antler hat and mail skirt

spear-carrying warrior in a fur cape and mail skirt

band of happy hunters coming back with birds and hares

(weapons) stone spear, metal sword, metal machete, metal knife, bone-pointed darts and blowdart-tube

highly esteemed warrior, possibly a chief, wearing a fox skin and mail skirts, and carrying a metal sword

hunter setting up snare traps, showing illustrator how it works with a stick

scout with a blowdart-tube, having fun in the branches of a trail tree fitted with climbing loops and pegs

#dnd #dungeons and dragons #goblins #goblinoids #5e homebrew #the homebrewery #worldbuilding #npc art #frith's party #woodwose #character art #fineliner pen #5e worldbuilding

[hanibalistic]

#FF8400 | SEO CHANGBIN. 

genre | slice of life au, platonic relationship au, single dad au

word count | 1482

warning | one mention of death

universe | single dads’ club

the door to the trailer opened, catching changbin by surprise considering how nobody ever visits him at this time of day (minho would have knocked and chan would have notified him of his incoming presence first).

he looked up from the newspaper he had leisurely grabbed from minho's café, a black marker pen clutched in one hand while the other was stained with the scent of rusty, old papers. his agitated state softened when he saw you step into the car, a look of utter boredom and exhaustion present on your face. then he took a sharp look at the clock—8:00pm—before his brows furrowed.

that was late. he thought he told you about texting him if you were going to come home later than usual, which he was sure you didn't. it wasn't that he would be worried (although he would be, definitely), you were old enough to go around on your own. but, still, he just wanted you to give him a heads up of your whereabouts so he wouldn't have to freak out like last time when you stayed the whole night at some random boy's (what was his name? han jisung?) home.

but, despite his dismay about the situation, he was unable to open his mouth and scold you anyway. he knew he had long since lost his right to tell you to do anything, like a father should, when he decided to run away the second he knew your mother was pregnant with you.

even now that your mother was dead and he was the only person left to give you any parental advice (given your lack of friendships with people of all ages and your grandparents living far away), as well as his friends continuously telling him how he would have to take a bold step forward and try to rekindle a relationship that never started, he was still hesitant with playing the role.

"where have you been?" he asked from his seat, his eyes following you as you dropped your bag by the bed and sat down on the edge.

"i was at uncle lee's café," you replied casually as kicked off your sneakers and pulled your socks off so you could stuff them inside the holes of your shoes.

you set them neatly to the side, remembering how your mother used to nag you about discarding your shoes everywhere after you get home from classes, then you moved to your bag. you unzipped it and reached in to pull out a rainbow cake roll.

everything you did was accompanied by silence, much like the second week after your mother's death when everyone finally got back to their business and stopped bothering you with questions of your well-being. there was no reason for you to make any noise, no one was there to receive them.

you had thought about getting used to being quiet around the apartment you two used to live in, for as long as you could until somebody decided to do something about you living alone as a minor at least.

but then changbin came along, claiming to be your father, who was actually your father, and who lived in a damn mobile home with one bed and one bathroom and an even smaller kitchen. and instead of switching schools and moving in with your grandparents instead, you decided to move in with him.

there had been too many changes. switching your living environment entirely was one you have chosen not to happen.

standing up, you headed over to the other side of the car where the open kitchen was, and you opened the refrigerator so you could put the cake roll in. "uncle lee gave me a vanilla cake roll, told me to tell you sorry for having to cut your paycheck this week."

he scoffed immediately, rolling his eyes as he shifted his position and fixed the newspaper on the table just to have something to do with his hands. you could hear the faint dissatisfaction in his grumble, but he didn't say anything more out of the assumption that minho had done it for an important reason.

you pursed your lips together at his silence. you knew those two were very close friends, but changbin was already running short on money, not to mention he has to help support you as well now. so having minho cut down his paycheck of two weeks, you thought that would be something your father would put up a fight about. to see that he didn't plan to—you reckoned he knew it had something to do with the cashier you always saw at the café.

"does he really think a cake roll can make up for two weeks of work," he mumbled to himself, shaking the newspaper and looking at it.

"don't you eat his food without paying all the time?" you pointed out, shutting the refrigerator and heading over to sit across from him. you opened a can of soda, frowning at him. "uncle lee is too nice. he never says anything about you eating eight percent of the café stock."

"hey! if there is one thing lee minho isn't, it's being nice," changbin retorted. "you have no idea how harsh he used to be when he made fun of me for making music."

you choked on your drink as your gaze hardened on the table. sniffling in your surprise, taking it all back inside your head, you moved the can away from your mouth and set it down on the table. you leaned your body forward, eyes wide in surprise.

"you make what?"

changbin looked up at you, unsure why you seemed so intrigued in his past endeavors but he wasn't complaining about having accidentally found a common topic to discuss with you. it was better than receiving one-worded replies from you all the time.

"i used to make music, with your uncle chan."

you leaned back with a sharp inhale so audible that he could hear the disbelief forming in your throat. there was an amused smile on your face, your mind trailing back to the uncle to see less often and how he was always so calm and collected in his business attire. you would have never thought somebody like him, someone who worked as a department head and seemed rather aloof and strict, would have a knack for making music.

"so, what, do you guys sing? were you in a band? did you have spiky hair with pink and red streaks in them?" you rambled off before taking another sip of your soda.

changbin chuckled, half of his laughter came out as a scoff. "no. we do sing, sometimes. but we were really into hip-hop."

you laughed under your breath. it was a sound of both amusement and mockery, but the mockery was faint out of your sheer surprise that your father and his friend had a musical past. the shock wasn't here solely because of who they have become and what you were used to seeing them as now, which must have been a drastically different image, but also because of your own interest in art and creation.

your mother hated art. anything along the lines of those—painting, drawing, music, writing. anything that couldn't get you a solid job in the future, she had prevented you from venturing into them as the main interest. those couldn't pay you enough was what she used to say, and that you needed a useful degree.

you have only ever been able to dive into drawing as a side hobby. you would be damned if she allowed you a chance to get art supplies outside of holiday dates or other special occasions. even then, you prevailed and mastered a set of skills using the supplies you got on your birthdays and christmas.

"i guess my creative gene came from you, then," you commented, causing him to raise a brow.

"what do you do?"

"i like to draw."

he looked disappointed for a second, but you knew, somehow, that the expression wasn't meant to be harmful. he probably had a moment of let-down because you didn't end up liking music as he did.

shaking the unreasonable thought away, he blinked up at you with a smile and he asked, "do you mind showing me anything you've made?"

you pursed your lips, your eyes gleaming.

a part of you hoped he would support you liking in drawing, and he does. and it made you feel glad.

"yeah, i–i have a sketchbook," you pointed behind you, "i'll get it."

baby steps, jisung told you once. you need not immediately forgive him for running away before, and neither has changbin expected you to. but you could try if you like to, that would be your decision, and it would be fine if you decided to take small steps toward the end goal.

starting with your drawings.

#w: single dads' club #stayhavennet #inkidz #skzwritersclub #changbin imagines #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #changbin x y/n #changbin x you #changbin x reader #skz x you #skz x y/n #skz x reader #stray kids x you #stray kids x y/n #stray kids x reader #changbin scenarios #skz scenarios #stray kids scenarios #changbin fanfic #stray kids blurbs #skz blurbs #changbin blurbs #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #stray kids #skz #changbin #seo changbin

[corishadowfang]

Forest Child - Original Fiction Big Bang

My piece for @originalfictionbigbang!  I was paired with @cecilsstorycorner, and they created an amazing illustration for the story; visit their blog to check it out!  (Link)

Summary: Nobody goes into the Forest at the edge of town.  People say you’ll go missing if you do--that’s what happened to Mary’s Uncle Ian, after all.  But after briefly entering the Forest on a dare from some friends, she realizes there might be more to it than she thought.

Trigger Warnings: Child abuse as a major story theme; some instances of body horror and general horror elements; brief instance of alcohol-induced anger towards the end.  If you think these will be triggering, then please stay safe and skip this one.

Story is under the cut.  Or, if you’d prefer, you can read it on the Google doc here.

           “Look at this!”

           Mary, much like the other students near her, started at the sudden exclamation.  She’d been drawing, absorbed in trying to get a bird’s wings just right, and hadn’t even noticed one of her classmates excitedly bouncing into the room with something cupped in his hands.  Now the boy proudly presented the item—a small stone—to a group of surprised fifth graders.

           One snorted. “That’s just a rock, Blake. What’d you do, pick it up during recess?”

           “It’s not just a rock,” Blake protested.  “Look closer.”

           Several of her classmates glanced at each other, as if deciding whether or not it was worth risking the embarrassment.  Mary found she didn’t really care much about the risk, and so she leaned forward, squinting a little.  “Is it glowing?”

           Blake beamed. “Yeah!  It’s easier to see if it’s dark.”

           Someone shouted, “Get the lights!”

           The student nearest the door flicked the lights off, and suddenly everyone was crowding closely around Blake and his find.  The rock glowed a very faint purple, the color spreading out across Blake’s hands.

           Mary’s fingers itched to draw, and she scooped her sketchbook into her hands, fumbling for a purple pencil.

           “Where’d you get it?” someone asked.

           “From my brother,” Blake said, and then, in a conspiratorial whisper, “and he found it in the Forest.”

           Mary’s pencil skittered across the page.  “He actually went in?”

           “Uh-huh!  He wouldn’t tell me how far, though.  Said he saw these weird glowing lights and felt like they were drawing him closer.  Before he knew it, he was suddenly standing underneath eerily dark trees, with something moving in the undergrowth.  Ran out of there as soon as he realized!  The stone got caught in his shoe, so he gave it to me.”

           “Right,” said one of their classmates.  “I bet he just painted a rock with glow-in-the-dark paint.”

           “It’s true!”

           Mary asked, “Can I see it?”

           Blake clutched the stone tightly, giving her an almost-suspicious look.  After a few moments he relented, tipping the stone from his hand to hers.

           Mary stared at it for several moments, running a finger over the stone and watching as the purple glow painted the tip.  She scratched at the surface with a fingernail.

           “Hey!”

           “No paint’s coming off,” she said, and gave the stone back to Blake.  “I think it’s real.”

           “See?”

           “I still think you’re lying,” one of their classmates said.  When Blake opened his mouth to retort, she continued, “Or your brother’s lying.  Nobody goes into the Forest.”  She paused, then amended.  “Well, nobody goes into the Forest and comes out.  That’s why people keep disappearing around town, right?”

           Blake opened his mouth, closed it, and then frowned thoughtfully.  “Well,” he said slowly, “there’s one way to find out.”

           A few moments of silence passed before someone hissed, “Dude, seriously?”

           “You can’t really be thinking about going into the Forest, right?”

           “If you go missing, do I get your stuff?”

           “I’m serious,” Blake said.  “I mean, come on!  Hasn’t everyone thought about going in there at some point?  You guys are just scared.”

           Mary’s breath caught, and she clutched her sketchbook to her chest.  The town was filled with stories of the Forest, most of them some degree of frightening, but the ones she most remembered were the ones told by her Uncle Ian, a man she mostly remembered for his soothing voice and exciting tales.

           “Sometimes it just looks like a normal forest—maybe a little darker than average, but nothing out of the ordinary.  But then—then you see these things at the edges.  Great big, monstrous things that look like they’d tower over the trees if they stood upright.  Birds with too many eyes, covered in glowing feathers.  Things that might’ve been deer, at one point, but are so covered in moss and vines that they look more plant than animal.  And the lights—those are what get you.  Bright colored things that hop and bob and mesmerize anyone who stops to look.  If you’re not careful, they can lead you into the woods without noticing.  And then—bam!  You’re trapped there.  You become part of the Forest.”

           “Is it real?”

           “Well, see, lots of people around town don’t think it’s real.  They think someone’s inside the Forest, doing something to make all those people disappear.  But you and I?  We know better.”

           Before she really had time to consider what she was saying, she breathed, “Can I go, too?”

           The class went quiet. “You?” one of her classmates asked. “Isn’t your dad, like, really strict?”

           “I-I—well.  We don’t have to tell him!”

           “Getting rebellious, huh?”

           “I-I’m not!  I just—I just don’t want to worry him, that’s all.”

           Blake snorted. “Sure,” he said, “you can come.  Anyone can come.  We’ll go to the Forest this Saturday around lunch.  Anyone who’s not a chicken can meet up there.”

           The lights flicked on.

           Everyone whipped towards the front of the room.

           Their teacher watched them with a skeptical look.  “So,” she said dryly, “I hate to interrupt your weekend plans, but I have a class to teach.  And besides that, none of you are allowed to go anywhere near the Forest unsupervised.  It’s dangerous.  I’m sure your parents have all told you this already.”  She gave Mary a pointed look.

           Mary shrank in her seat.

           Blake tried, “But we just—”

           “No buts,” their teacher interrupted.  “If I hear any more of this, I’ll have to inform your parents.  Clear?”

           Mary caught her breath, and found herself blurting, “Please don’t.”

           Someone murmured, “Knew she’d back out.”

           Mary flushed.

           Her teacher just gave her a long, tired look that, if Mary stared at it long enough, might’ve been read as sympathetic.  Then she said, “Pull out the homework from last night.”

           Class passed in the usual manner, but Mary found her mind drifting, a nervous, fearful excitement bubbling in her chest at the thought of stepping foot in the Forest.  No one’s ever gone too far in, she thought.  Nobody’s come back to talk about what’s in there.  What if I’m the first?  It could be like—like an adventure!  I could draw pictures of all the strange things in there, and people would talk about it forever.

           Maybe it’d help stop people from disappearing, too.  Like Ian did.

           The intercom came on, startling Mary out of her thoughts.  “Good afternoon.  Baseball practice has been cancelled tonight due to rain…”

           The rush of students shoving things in their desks and packing their backpacks overrode the sound of the intercom.  Their teacher shouted, “Wait until announcements are over!” to very little success.

           Mary sat at her desk silently.  She closed her sketchbook, slowly, ignoring the nervous tension ticking through her shoulders.

           The announcements ended with, “Teachers may now dismiss their students.”

           “Now you can go,” their teacher said.  “And Mary?”

           Mary looked up at her.

           Her teacher sighed, looking resigned.  “You know the drill.”

           Mary nodded, tugging her backpack on.

           “Sucks to be you,” someone said.

           Another shouted, “See you later, Mary!”

           Blake said, “Saturday, if you still want to come.”

           Mary gave him a weak smile, but didn’t dare reply with her teacher still watching.

           The school emptied and went quiet.  Mary walked slowly to the office.  She hated this part; hated the waiting, hated that she couldn’t go and play with her friends after school, hated the tension that built in her chest as she sat in those hard plastic chairs.  But she knew Papa wanted to check on her grades, and make sure she made it home safely, and that he was really just worried about her wellbeing, and so she tolerated it, settling into one of the chairs to wait.  She didn’t know what to draw, this time, but the conversation about the Forest was still buzzing through her skull, and so she found herself playing with one of her bird sketches, adding eyes and strange, curling plants.

           Her homeroom teacher showed up a few minutes later, looking as tired and disgruntled as always. Mary gave her a weak smile and went quickly back to drawing.

           The entryway doors opened.

           Mary’s shoulders rose, just a little.

           Papa looked intimidating, sometimes; she didn’t know if he meant to be, but he always had this serious, stern look on his face that made her wonder if she’d done something bad. He studied her carefully for a few moments and, seemingly satisfied with his findings, turned towards the teacher. “How was she today?”

           Her teacher flattened her lips.  “She was fine, Rick.  As usual.” Her teacher seemed to hesitate a moment, and then continued, “She talked about going to visit the Forest with some friends—”

           Mary sent her a panicked look.

           “—but I put a stop to that and explained why it wouldn’t be a good idea.”

           Papa said nothing, but he did turn, slowly, to look at Mary.

           She couldn’t quite meet his eyes.  “I-I didn’t—we weren’t really going to—it’s just, Blake’s brother found this rock, and—”

           “Thank you,” Papa said, curtly, and it took Mary a moment to realize he was talking to the teacher and not her.  “I’ll make sure she understands not to go there.”  He reached for Mary’s arm, grabbing it tightly as she tried not to flinch backwards.  “Come on,” he said, dragging her to her feet.  “It’s time to go home.”

           “Rick,” Mary’s teacher called.

           Papa paused.

           “I don’t think these meetings are necessary anymore.  Ian disappeared years ago.  Mary hardly seems to remember it.  It certainly hasn’t affected her grades or performance.  What might affect her is being unable to spend time with friends outside of school.”

           Papa didn’t answer for several long moments.  “Thank you for the input,” he said, “but I’d like to keep up with this, for now.”

           Mary’s teacher made a disgruntled noise.  “I agreed to this as your friend, and out of concern for both of you, but Rick—I understand you’re still grieving, but you have to move on—”

           “I’m fine,” Papa said, “and my daughter’s fine.  We’ll keep up the meetings.”  And then he was dragging Mary, again, out of the school and to the car.

           Their town wasn’t particularly large; it had a few small convenience stores, the school, a gas station and a diner.  Beyond the edge sat the Forest, equally small, but strangely separate from everything. Mary tried not to look at it, slipping her sketchbook slowly into her backpack.  Papa didn’t say anything to her, but she could see the furrow of his eyebrows in the rearview mirror, and so she turned her head to look, firmly, out the window, and tried hard not to think about the pit in her stomach.

           They pulled into the driveway too quickly, and Mary fiddled with her seatbelt, unbuckling it slowly.

           Papa stepped out of the driver’s seat and slammed the door.

           Mary flinched.  She found herself caught between moving quicker and dawdling.

           Papa decided for her, opening her door roughly and catching her arm; she’d just barely gotten free of the seatbelt when he dragged her free, corralling her up the stairs and into the house.

           It was very quiet, for a while.  Papa turned to look at her slowly, expression downturned, and Mary found herself desperately trying to fill the space.  “Papa, I—”

           “What have I told you?” Papa’s voice was low, rough, just on the edge of angry.  “You don’t go to that Forest.  You don’t even think about going.  You understand?”

           Papa’s grip was too tight around her arm.  She pressed on his hand a little, trying, “Papa—”

           Papa grabbed her other arm, his hands still too tight, and shook her roughly.  “Do you understand?”

           Mary swallowed and nodded.

           “This is for your own safety.  That Forest is dangerous.”

           “I-I know, Papa.”

           “You’d best remember it.” Papa let go, finally.

           Mary didn’t rub at the handprints on her arms, instead holding her hands tightly at her side. Papa liked to keep her in his sight—wanted to make sure she never got into trouble—and she knew, if he was already mad, it’d be a bad idea to leave before she was dismissed.

           His eyes softened, just a little, and the tension eased out of Mary’s shoulders.  “Go change out of your school clothes,” he said, “then come down for dinner.”

           She nodded, then hurtled down the hall to her room.

                                                             ~*~

             -Mary almost considered not going to the Forest on Saturday. Almost.

           She didn’t want to make Papa worried—or get scolded again—but the Forest was still a fascinating subject, filled with mysteries she was aching to solve.  Something inside her tugged her towards the tree line, and a part of her desperately wanted to follow that pull, even if it meant getting in trouble with Papa.

           But she couldn’t just walk out the front door.  She’d have to sneak out; Papa didn’t like her going anywhere without him.

           She worried her lip, debating.  He usually likes to come and check on me if I’ve been in my room for a while.  Her door didn’t have a lock, so she couldn’t keep him out.  Her eyes darted to her dresser.  She slid off the bed, opening a drawer and pulling out some clothes. She shoved them underneath her comforter, arranging them as best she could to make it look like she was just sleeping underneath.  It didn’t look much like her, but she hoped it would be enough that Papa wouldn’t notice she’d slipped out.

           She hesitated before moving to her window.  If I do this, she thought, then I’ll be disobeying Papa.  If he finds out, I’ll get in a lot of trouble.  She glanced nervously at the door.  He doesn’t have to know, she decided.  I won’t be in the Forest that long. Just long enough to try and see something cool.

           Mary gripped the bottom of her window and worked it open.  It made barely a sound, and she hesitated for just a moment longer, glancing uncertainly at the door.  Then she grabbed her sketchbook and a pencil and slipped out the window.

           Her feet hit the ground with a quiet thump.  She stood there, eyes screwed shut, half waiting for someone to come by and yell at her. When they didn’t, she opened her eyes a little.

           She was outside. She was outside, and Papa didn’t know, and no one was saying anything.

           Mary just suppressed a giddy laugh, her shoulders shaking a little.  She was out!  She was going to the Forest!  She was going to see things no one had seen before!

           She just barely remembered to pull her window closed before darting away, sock feet slapping against the ground as she hurried towards the edge of town.

           The other kids were waiting there already, hovering near the tree line.  Mary lifted her free arm to wave, shouting, “Hey!  Hey, wait for me!”            

           “We didn’t think you’d show up,” one of the kids said—Henry, she thought.

           “Of course I was coming,” Mary said, skidding to a halt, lifting her chin and trying not to show her nervousness.  “I want to see what’s in there, too!”

           Blake snorted and turned towards the Forest.  “So,” he said, “who’s going in first?”

           All of them swiveled to stare into the darkness between the trees.  They remained very quiet, and in the silence, Mary strained her ears, trying to see if she could hear something from within the trees.  She caught no birdsong, no rustling of the undergrowth—nothing.

           “I think Blake should go,” someone said.

           “What?” Blake protested. “Why me?”

           “Because it was your idea.  What, too scared to go in now?”

           “I am not!  I just—I just think someone else should have the chance.  You know, since I already have that cool stone.”

           “Don’t be such a baby—”

           “I’ll go.”

           Mary hadn’t even entirely realized she’d spoken until the group turned to look at her.  She clutched her sketchbook a little closer.  “I’ll go,” she repeated, more firmly this time.

           Blake recovered first, looking at the other kids and saying, “Hear that?  She’ll go.”  He turned to give her a scrutinizing look.  “So?”

           Mary turned back to the Forest.  For a moment, it felt like it was just her and the trees, the group of students fading to background noise behind her.  A breeze stirred the leaves and ruffled her clothes.  The darkness stretched in front of her, deep and thick enough that she wondered if she’d feel it when she stepped inside.

           Mary took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and took a step forward.  Then another.  Then another. She hesitantly stretched out a hand, and didn’t stop walking until her palm brushed rough bark.

           Her hand rested against a normal-looking tree, the bark chipped and peeling away, a couple of bugs skittering out of holes in the wood.

           Mary’s shoulders relaxed marginally.  She turned back to the others, who were still watching warily from the Forest’s edge. “Come on!”  She hurried into the trees.

           The darkness deepened, and she slowed a little.  She wondered if the trees were the ones blocking out the sunlight; she squinted at the tree tops, but couldn’t see well enough to tell.  The darkness made her shiver, but she stuffed it down, calling, “Hey, why do you think there aren’t any animals here?”

           “Don’t know,” Blake said, closer to her ear than she’d expected.  She yelped and jumped, scrambling to keep her sketchbook from falling. Blake snorted; in the dim lighting, she could just barely make out a dryly amused expression.  “But we need to find something cool.”  He moved towards one of the trees, feeling around the trunk curiously.

           “Isn’t coming in here enough?” one of the kids asked.  “I mean, we all did it, right?  It’ll be something to talk about at school.”

           “No,” Blake insisted. “I want to find something else like my stone.”  He reached up and tugged on a branch.  It came free with a crack, and he stumbled, almost falling off the root he was standing on. “See anything weird about this?”

           The kid leaned forward. “Dude, it’s just a normal branch.”

           He tossed it aside. “There has to be something.”

           The bushes rustled.

           Mary jumped, whipping towards it.  The leaves shifted, and for a moment, Mary thought she could see a flash of eyes. “Um.  Guys?”

           Blake and the others didn’t pay attention to her, moving towards some ferns and cautiously shifting through them.

           The bushes rustled again. Hesitantly, Mary inched towards them.

           The thing inside them moved.  It flicked its attention to her, and for a moment, the creature seemed to glow, two sets of eyes blinking up at her.

           Mary started backwards.

           The thing disappeared into the undergrowth.

           Mary braced herself against a tree.

           A branch creaked overhead, and something whispered through Mary’s ears, more impression than sound, almost forming words that sounded like, What is it?

           The whisper echoed with the rustling of another bush, with a brief flutter of bird wings overhead, or with the quiet creek of the trees:

           What is it?

           What is it?

           What is it?

           “Guys,” Mary asked, voice sounding unusually loud, “are you the ones saying that?”

           “What are you talking about?  Hey, do you think this leaf is glowing, or am I just imagining things?”

           Humans, the whisper voice said again.

           Humans.

           Humans, danger.

           Breaking, breaking, breaking—

           Something landed overhead.

           Mary whipped towards it, stumbling away from the tree.

           A faintly-glowing bird perched on a branch.  Flowers wove through its feathers and gathered on its back, leaves raising like plumes on its head.  Its glowing eyes flickered as it leaned closer.  It opened its beak, and the whisper-voice pressed, more insistent, into her mind, words a flurry of quiet trills and a ruffling of feathers: I know you.

           Mary’s mouth opened and closed several times as she stared at the bird.  It took her a moment to realize there had been confusion in the voice—the bird’s voice?—and that made her still.

           A sharp crack sounded behind her.  Blake yelped in alarm, then shouted, “Nope!  That won’t work!”

           The bird whipped towards the noise almost as quickly as Mary did.  It let out an ear-splitting screech, and Mary rushed to cover her ears. The bird took flight, swooping low over the others’ heads, nearly brushing Blake’s hair.

           A low rumble went through the Forest, shaking the ground.  The trees suddenly seemed like they were leaning in, closer, closer, pressing until the branches dipped too low.  The whole Forest suddenly came alive with noise, and between the rustling leaves, the buzzing, the hoof beats, Mary could barely make out something that sounded like words:

           Breaking breaking breaking get out stop breaking leave go leave leave leave—

           “What is that?” someone whispered.

           Another turned and sprinted out of the Forest.

           Blake didn’t move right away, standing frozen, staring blankly into the trees.

           “Blake,” Mary hissed, starting towards him.

           Something split from the shadows.  It reared, dark, above Blake.  Glowing patches seemed to ripple across its back, and its mouth stretched just a little too wide as it roared.

           The sound shook Mary, and for a moment she wanted to clamp her hands over her ears, the pressure beating deep inside her mind.  Her legs shook and she wondered, very suddenly, if she should’ve snuck out at all.

           Blake seemed to break out of his stupor finally.  He screamed, sprinting away from the strange, shadowy beast.

           Mary’s legs moved without her conscious input; she turned and followed Blake, hurrying out of the Forest and breaking into the sunlight.  She stumbled, then fell, losing her sketchbook upon impact.  Her palms scraped the ground, tearing up grass and dirt. She scrambled back to her feet, and then started running again, and kept running until she could scramble back into her room’s window.

                                                             ~*~

             -Mary couldn’t get what she’d heard in the Forest out of her head.  The rest of the day, she wandered around in a daze, a part of her half-focused on the creatures that had emerged to terrify her and her classmates, the rest focused on the strange words.

           I know you.

           “You’re distracted,” Papa said, and it started her out of her thoughts.

           “I-I’m fine, Papa!” she said, forcing a grin.

           “You should be focused on finishing your homework,” he said.  His scowl deepened, and he said, “You should have finished that Friday night.  Or earlier today, when you were in your room.”

           “I-I know, Papa.” She leaned over the paper, but her mind drifted.  She found it hard to focus on math equations when her mind still pounded with the words, over and over again.  I know you, I know you, I know you—

           “Papa,” she asked before she could think better of it, “what happened when Uncle Ian disappeared?”

           Papa stiffened.

           “I-I just—did he disappear because, um—”  Because something in the Forest spoke to him? she wanted to ask, but couldn’t quite get the words to form.

           “I’m not going to talk about him,” Papa said, voice harsh.

           “I-I, I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to—”  She trailed off.  “I just wanted to know.”

           Papa was silent for a long moment.  “Go finish your homework in your room.”

           Mary knew better than to argue.  She just nodded, scooping up her papers and scampering to her room.

           She knew Papa would check on her, eventually, to find out whether or not she’d actually finished her homework.  She tried to do it, but her attention kept slipping, flicking back to the window and the Forest, not quite visible, beyond.

           She didn’t want to go back to the Forest.  Not really. She was still curious about what was inside, but her adventure with her classmates had given her a scare.  But—

           (I know you.)

           I left my sketchbook there, she thought.  I should go back and get that, at least.

           She didn’t acknowledge what would happen if Papa came to check on her and she wasn’t there.  She just slid out her window, hurrying across the town in bare feet, trying not to worry too much about how dark it had gotten.

           The Forest was just as dark and silent as always.  She noticed a dark shape, pages fluttering a little, on the slope.

           Mary hesitantly lifted her sketchbook.  It’d sustained some wear and tear, the pages covered in dirt, the cover torn a little bit. Mary brushed off what she could, fingers gently running over the pages.  She clutched it to her chest.  I should get back, she thought, before Papa notices that I’m gone.

           The Forest loomed in front of her, dark and imposing.

           (I know you.)

           Mary bit her lip. She shifted a little on her toes, glancing furtively down the hill.  After a few long, agonizing moments, she took a few cautious steps towards the tree line. “Hello?” she asked, her voice coming out as more of a squeak.  She cleared her throat, then tried again: “Hello?  Is, um.  Is anyone there?”

           The trees creaked ominously, but nothing answered.

           Mary fiddled with the edge of her sketchbook.  Maybe whatever it was is mad, she thought, because we were breaking things.

           After a few moments of debate, Mary murmured, “I’m sorry for breaking things.  I won’t do it again.  I just had a question.”

           For a few moments, she didn’t think anything would answer.  Then a low breeze stirred, and with it, a quiet, almost imperceptible murmur: Human human human back danger back they’re back they’re back.

           “Why are you here?”

           Mary jumped, whipping around, trying to figure out where the voice had come from.  It didn’t sound entirely human; it felt almost as if the words had been pressed into her mind, formed between the low wind and the steady creaking of the trees.  “Who are you? Are you that bird?”

           The breeze picked up. Something flickered between the trees.  “I have been called many things by many humans,” came the voice again, making Mary’s head ache faintly.  “You would not understand most of them.  Your people do not have a name for me.”

           “Are—are you the Forest?”

           The Forest didn’t answer.

           Mary caught her voice. “You can talk,” she breathed.  “Have you ever talked to anyone before?  Nobody’s ever said anything about that!”  She took a half-step forward, suddenly excited.  “Is it because of magic?  Can you—”

           The wind picked up, blowing past her so strongly that it almost knocked her back.  Something growled from the shadows.  Danger, a cacophony of voices seemed to whisper.  Breaking breaking breaking—

           “I-I—”  Mary’s voice caught in her throat, and she backed up a little, not quite leaving the edge of the trees.  “I’m sorry.  I d-didn’t mean—I won’t do it again.”

           “Humans say many things,” the Forest said, “and rarely do they mean them.”  The murmur quieted, fading to low chittering sounds, then silence.

           Mary’s shoulders hunched a little, and she couldn’t help the guilt that bubbled in her chest.  “I just had a question,” she murmured, “about something you said.”

           The Forest didn’t speak, but she thought she might have heard the fluttering of wingbeats overhead.

           Mary steeled herself and said, “Y-you—you said you knew me.  B-but I’ve never been here.  How?”

           The Forest was silent so long that she didn’t think she’d get an answer.  “I don’t know,” came the quiet response, like a whisper of a bug against her ear.

           “Oh.”  It was almost disappointing, and she felt a little silly for even trying to ask.  “Okay.” She took a couple steps backwards. “I guess—that’s all I wanted to ask.” She started to leave, then paused. “I—I really am sorry.  We just wanted to see if what we’d heard was true.  Honest.”

           The Forest didn’t respond this time.

           Guilt flickered in her chest for a moment.  I wouldn’t like it much, she thought, if someone hurt me.

           (Papa never apologizes.)

           The guilt solidified into something a little more solid and actionable.  She squared her shoulders and, an idea forming in her mind, made her way back to town.

                                                             ~*~

             -Mary stood outside the Forest with her backpack slung over her shoulder, decked in her overalls and heavy boots and her coat. Papa hadn’t noticed her sneak out the window, and she hoped he wouldn’t come looking for her just yet.  I won’t be long, she thought.  I just need to do this.

           The Forest was very, very quiet.  Mary squinted, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t see more than a few feet into the trees.  “Um. Hello?”

           She waited a little while for a response, but when she didn’t get one, she let the backpack slip to the ground.  She unzipped it and pulled out one of several water bottles, hesitating at the Forest’s edge. “Um.  Is it okay if I come in?”  When the Forest didn’t answer, she took a deep breath, and stepped forward.

           Darkness shrouded her, and she blinked.  The dim lighting made it difficult to see, but one hand reached out to brush the trunk of a nearby tree.  She twisted the cap off the water bottle, opening it with a quiet crack.  She poured the water onto the roots of the tree, humming a quiet song to herself as she tried to look further into the woods.

           Something rustled behind her.  She jumped, then held her breath, but nothing moved again.

           She finished pouring the water and darted back into the sunlight.  Her chest rattled with a few deep, shaky breaths.  After a few moments she bent, grabbing the next water bottle and hurrying into the Forest.

           She’d made it through three bottles and was well onto the fourth when that same strange impression of a voice asked, “What are you doing?”

           Mary was so startled that she lost her hold on the water bottle.  She tumbled backwards with a quiet oomph!

           Things stirred inside the trees; vague shapes she couldn’t identify, tall gangly things that looked like they were bent out of shape, the gleam of eyes that were clustered too close together for comfort, the twitching of tree branches that seemed to move all on their own.

           Mary took a shuddering breath.  Her hands shook a little, but she managed to keep her voice steady as she said, “Watering you.”

           She didn’t think she was going to get a response for a moment.  Then the voice came again, brushing around her like a breeze: “Why?”

           “Be-because! Um.  Because I want to make up for the other day.”  She stood and brushed off her overalls.  The bottle was empty, now, so she stuck it underneath her arm and listened to it crinkle.

           “I did not require reparations,” the Forest said, in the hurried footsteps of animals, in the quiet whisper of the leaves.

           “Oh.”  Mary bit her lip.  “Well, I’m going to keep watering you, anyways.  Is that okay?”

           The Forest didn’t answer.

           Mary nodded decisively. “Okay.  I’m going to get more water.  Um, please don’t do anything to me?”  She started back towards the Forest’s entrance, then paused. “Oh!  Um, by the way.  My name’s Mary.”

                                                             ~*~

             -It became a routine, of sorts.

           Mary didn’t know how much she owed the Forest—wasn’t sure if she’d repaid it after giving it a few water bottles—and so made a game out of bringing it things she thought it might be able to use.  She planted some seeds, near the edge; stole bird food out of the feeder; brought table scraps for some of the animals.  She made sure to stay close to the Forest’s edges, always wary of going too far.  (Of going missing, and of no one coming to find her.  She wondered if Papa would grieve like he did for Ian.  She wondered what that would look like, with no one else around.)

           It was fun, almost; it felt like she was getting away with something exciting and new. Papa would pick her up after school, and she’d wait a while, then duck out the window and run to the Forest, some new item stuck in her bag, ready to see if it was something that it would like.

           The Forest didn’t really say anything, but that was alright; Mary had plenty of words for the both of them, and would often talk to herself—as much to keep her nerves down as to explain things.

           “Kevin said he could fit three whole golf balls in his mouth, but I know he’s lying because his mom would yell at him for putting even one in.”

           “I found a feather today! I think it was from a blue jay, but I didn’t see the bird.  See, see, I put it in my hair.”

           “Kathrine says that you can keep frogs as pets.  I want one, but Papa says that we can’t have pets.”

           A breeze brushed across the back of her neck.  “Why do you keep coming back?”

           She stiffened, her hands twisted in the grass as she tried to plant some flower seeds.  “Huh?”

           Lights blinked faintly in the darkness.  Something moved a little, still too coated in shadow to accurately make out.  “Most humans stay away.  Why do you return?”

           Mary fidgeted with her pants.  She rocked back on her heels, careful not to sit.  “Do you not want me to?”

           A long, long pause, before the Forest answered, “You do not do harm.  You can stay.”

           Mary grinned, and surprised herself with her excitement when she chirped, “Okay!”

           An animal (a deer?) started, jumping away into the undergrowth.  A couple of birds took flight, letting out odd, tinny cries. “But you did not answer.  Why do you return?”

           “O-oh.  Um.”  She worried her lip, suddenly feeling very much like she had done something wrong, somewhere, and couldn’t quite figure out what it was.  “Well.  It’s. Um.”  She shrugged, looking at her feet.  “I just want to,” she finished quietly.

           When the Forest didn’t respond, she hurried to say, “Um!  I like—I think you’re very cool!  And, uh, and I still owe you for—for what happened.  And—and you listen.”  She trailed off, hands wrapped around her legs.

           For a few moments, nothing moved.  Mary wondered if she should start heading back; time always moved strangely in the Forest, and she found she could end up staying here for hours instead of minutes, if she wasn’t careful.  (Papa had almost caught her climbing in her window, once, and she’d sat on her bed frozen, expecting to be scolded, or to find her window locked from the outside, or—

           Papa had never said anything, but she hadn’t gone out for a few days, to be safe.)

           A bright glow caught her attention.

           One of the strange birds had hopped down from its perch.  It ruffled its feathers, bouncing closer, head tilted towards one side.

           Mary caught her breath and held it.

           The bird moved just a little bit closer.

           Mary, hesitantly, reached out to pet it.

           Its feathers were unusually soft—softer even than the blankets that were piled on the couch at home. Up close, she could tell that the bird had what looked like flowers twined through its down, long stems twirling round and round its body.  Mary fingered one of them, but didn’t pull, gently running one thumb over a petal. “I need my sketchbook,” she breathed, and got up so quickly that she startled the bird into flight.  “Um!  I’ll be back!”

           Her cheeks ached from grinning as she sprinted down the slope.

                                                          ~*~

             -“Hey, Mary, I’m having a birthday party this weekend,” Helen said, coming up to her with a grin.

           “A birthday party?”

           “Yeah!  You should come.”

           Mary’s grin faltered a little.  “Oh. Um.  Papa doesn’t usually like me going places without him.”  But I go to the Forest, don’t I?  She tried not to think about Blake or the others, sitting not that far from her. “But maybe I can ask!”

           Helen nodded, appeased, and Mary tried to ignore the nervous excitement buzzing in her stomach. Maybe Papa could come, she thought.  Then he wouldn’t have to worry, and I could still go and hang out with my friends.

           When Papa came to pick her up after school, she asked, “Hey, Papa?  Helen’s having a birthday party this weekend.”

           “I’m sure she’ll enjoy that.”

           “She invited me to come. Can I go?”

           Papa studied her for several long, agonizing moments.  “You’ll have homework to do,” he said carefully.

           “I’ll get it all done Friday night!”

           “You never get it done that early.”

           “But I will!  You can watch me.  Or, or you could come to the party, too.  I won’t get into any trouble, Papa.  I promise.”

           “You’re a child, Mary. Trouble is all children get into.”  He shook his head.  “No.  I don’t think you should go.”

           “Come on, Papa, please. I never get to hang out with my friends.”

           “You spend time with them at school.”  Papa grabbed her arm, roughly, and dragged her to the car.  “You can go when you’re older.”

           “How much older?”

           Papa didn’t say anything.

           “I really won’t get into trouble,” Mary said, something tightening in her chest.  She didn’t know why this bothered her so much, but she found herself pressing, “It could even just be for a few moments!  I just want to—”

           “No, Mary.  I want you safe.  Where I can see you.  This discussion is over.”

           “Everyone else gets to hang out with their friends.”

           “You aren’t everyone else.  I don’t know why any responsible parent would let their kids run around unsupervised—not when so many people go missing.”

           Before Mary had really had time to think about what she was saying, she muttered, “Just because Uncle Ian disappeared—”

           “Don’t talk about him!” Papa roared.

           Mary shrank.  Her heart thundered in her chest.  Very suddenly, she was aware of the fact that they were still in the school parking lot, and that people had stopped to stare at Papa’s outburst.

           Papa seemed to realize this, too, because his attention swept around the observers.  He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.  “You’re not going,” he growled.  “That’s final. I don’t know why you’re putting up such a protest.  It’s unreasonable.”

           All she could do was nod, even as something tightened in her chest.

           “Get in the car.”

           I don’t want to, some part of her thought desperately, but she listened, anyways, sliding into the front seat and trying not to hunch her shoulders.

           Papa got into the driver’s seat.  He started the car, and they pulled away from the school, the worried faces of Mary’s classmates disappearing behind her.

           Something welled in Mary’s chest and clogged her throat, but she bit her lip and shoved it down, some part of her understanding that crying would probably make Papa angrier right now.

           “I’m doing this to keep you safe,” Papa said, breaking the silence.  “You understand that, right?  I can’t risk you disappearing like—like others.”  He stumbled over the words, and his voice was strained, like he was trying hard to keep it level.

           “I-I know, Papa.” Her voice cracked, a little, and she didn’t quite dare look at Papa to see how he reacted.

           Papa didn’t say anything more—not even when they got home—and Mary hurried to her room, shutting the door.

           She hadn’t even had half a second to think about what she was doing before she was scrambling out her window.  Running to the Forest was almost second nature, now, and she found herself sprinting up the grassy slope before she’d really had time to think about it.  Her eyes burned, and her vision blurred, a little, as she hurtled between the trees.  She nearly collided with a sturdy trunk; her hands flew out to brace herself against it, and she just stood there for a few moments, shaking, tears flowing down her cheeks.  She stayed quiet, scrubbing at her eyes as she tried to get the tears to stop.  It’s stupid, she thought.  I shouldn’t be so upset.  It’s just a birthday party.

           “Your face is wet.”

           Mary started, despite herself.  She pulled away from the tree.  “Y-yeah.”

           “Why?”

           Mary rubbed her eyes fiercely.  “B-because I’m crying.”

           “Crying?”  The Forest’s voice trailed off into a breeze, the word picked up by various creatures inside.  After a few moments, an answering murmur came: sad upset overwhelmed too much emotion—

           “You are hurt.”  It wasn’t a question, and there was something almost angry underneath it.

           Mary flinched backwards, because for a moment all she could hear was Papa’s voice, and she hadn’t come here because she wanted to be yelled at again—  “Don’t be angry. Please.”

           The whole Forest seemed to suddenly go quiet.  “You are hurt,” the Forest repeated, and this time it sounded vaguely uncertain, “because of anger?”

           “I’m not hurt,” Mary said stubbornly.  “It’s stupid.”

           “Mary,” the Forest said, and for a brief, fleeting moment, she was reminded of Uncle Ian, gently soothing her after she’d fallen and scraped a knee, just before picking her up to tell her a story.

           (Papa had told her stories too, once.  When had that stopped?)

           When the Forest spoke again, its voice was back to normal, and she could believe she’d imagined the whole thing.  “It is understandable,” the Forest said.  “Humans often hurt others when they are angry.”

           “H-he—he just wants to keep me safe.  He’s just worried.”

           “But you are still hurt.”

           “I don’t want to talk about this,” Mary said quickly.  “I just—I don’t want to think about it.”

           The Forest went silent again.

           Mary stayed silent, pressed against a tree, until something fluttered near her foot.  She blinked, lifting her head.

           A bird had fluttered closer.  Its faintly-glowing feathers illuminated the ground around her.

           Something shifted in the undergrowth.  A creature that vaguely resembled a fox emerged from the bush, lifting its head to press against her hand.  Mary’s fingers curled into the animal’s fur, and it curled up against her.  Mary giggled, the sound wet, as more animals emerged, gently pressing against her.  “Thank you.”

           A low hum went through the Forest as a response.

                                                              ~*~

             -The Forest asked, “Why do you talk to me?”

           Mary stopped pouring the water for a moment, startled by the unexpected question.  “I, um.  Do you not want me to?”

           The nearest tree creaked. “It is simply strange.  Humans do not often talk to me.”

           She wasn’t sure how to take that—as a reprimand, as a statement, as a question.  She tried to answer, anyways.  “Well, um.  It’s because I like having someone to talk to.”

           “You do not have humans to talk to?”

           “I do!” she hurried to say.  “I have Papa, and the kids at school, and lots of other people!  But, um.  They maybe don’t listen as well?  But it’s okay!  I know they’re just busy and have lots of other things to worry about and I’m just a kid who makes them worry and causes trouble and—”  She paused for breath, and found she wasn’t sure how else she could continue, so she just fell silent instead.

           The Forest waited.

           Mary whispered, “It’s lonely, sometimes.”

           The trees creaked. The wind echoed between them, making the whole Forest sound strangely hollow.

           Mary asked, “Is it lonely for you, too?”

           Birds fluttered overhead; vines twisted a little around the nearest tree trunk.  “I have never talked to anyone before.”

           “Is it because of the stories?  Because if it’s the stories, then—then I can make them stop!”

           A wingbeat fluttered near her ear.  “I do not know the stories,” it answered.  “I have never had need to talk to anyone before.”

           “Oh.  How come?”

           “Everything within my borders is connected.  The trees,” the trunks leaned forward, “the birds,” one rushed overhead, “the stones,” a couple pebbles bounced down the path.  “I can see, and hear, and feel everything that is connected to me.”

           “Even me?”

           “No.  You are not a part of the Forest.”

           Mary tried not to think about how strangely empty that made her feel.  “But you know I’m here.  You can hear me.”

           “Yes.  Through the ears of the birds, and the mice, and the deer. I can see you through the eyes of the ants and the rabbits and things humans have no name for.  I can speak through the voices of the wind, and the leaves, and the stones, and you will hear because of your presence within my boundaries.  I am many and one at once; I have no need to talk to others.”

           “Oh.”  Mary scratched a finger in the dirt.  “But, um.  Then.  Um.”

           The Forest waited, silent save for a bird call, somewhere in the distance.

           Mary chewed her lip, then took a deep breath.  “There are stories about people disappearing when they come here.  I thought maybe, um—maybe you were taking people because you were lonely?  But if you don’t need to speak to anyone—and it’s silly, anyways, I’m being dumb, because if people disappeared then you would’ve taken me and Blake and it’s just a silly superstition, anyways.”

           Something soft brushed against Mary’s legs; when she turned, it had already disappeared, eyes gleaming in the undergrowth.  “Sometimes,” the Forest said, “things from the Outside enter my boundaries.”

           Mary cocked her head.

           “Some find their way out. Others stay, and become a part of the Forest.”

           “Become a part of you?”

           “Yes.”

           “But, um, how does that—how does that work?  Do they build homes here?  But then why don’t they come back to see their families?  Dad had a friend—he thought he came here.  They never found him.”

           “No,” the Forest answered, in a long burst of wind that was more like a sigh.  “You do not understand.  They become a part of the Forest.”

           Mary frowned.

           “I can show you.”

           Some warning rang in the back of Mary’s mind, then; some instinct that told her that she should leave, that she would not like whatever she was about to see.  But she didn’t move, her legs too stiff, her eyes wide as she stared into the too-dark depths of the Forest.

           The undergrowth rustled and shifted.  A nearby tree creaked and cracked, loudly, and it took Mary a moment to realize it was turning, the roots tugging free of the ground and shifting.  Small lights flickered from the grass and popped around the tree’s trunk.  A large, bulbous growth had formed on the side of the tree, half-covered in bark and moss; the layers peeled back slowly with a cracking, snapping sound to reveal what lay underneath.

           The thing might’ve been human, once.  It looked vaguely human-shaped.  The arms were twisted above its head, almost completely subsumed by the trunk.  A large branch curled through one shoulder, sprouting several large, faintly glowing flowers.  The legs had elongated into something that almost resembled roots, toes breaking through shoes that had half-decayed.  Moss patterned the lower portion of the person’s face like a beard.  Its eyes were half-lidded, glowing white and pupil-less in the dark.

           A jumble of emotions Mary couldn’t quite parse apart fluttered in her chest.

           Then the maybe-person’s mouth moved, and spoke in a voice that rasped with disuse.  “This is what I mean,” it said, and the words seemed to be echoed by the birds, by the leaves, by every single thing around them until Mary felt too hemmed-in.  “They are transformed by the Forest.  They become a part of me.”

           Suddenly it felt like the unnatural darkness of the Forest had lifted, and Mary couldn’t help gaping.  Each tree seemed to have something else attached to it—a deer skeleton, threaded through with vines, or a fox that still seemed mostly alive but was covered in mushrooms, or nothing more than a vague face that had been trapped in the hollow wood.  The mouse that skittered across the ground carried fungus on its back; the deer that pranced, just in view, had antlers that had twisted out of shape, greenery growing along its chin and neck, legs too long and too many. A many-eyed thing blinked at her, long claws trailing through the undergrowth.

           Mary didn’t know when she’d surged to her feet, nor when she’d started running, nor when her breath had gotten caught in her throat.  All she knew was that she needed to get out, out, out, back to light and safety and away from that thing in the tree—

           She burst into daylight, tripped, and fell, skidding across the grass and scuffing her palms. She lay there a few moments, shivering, hiccupping, waiting for something to step out of the Forest and follow her.

           Nothing did.  When Mary pushed herself onto her knees, the Forest was as silent as always.

                                                            ~*~

             -The man in the tree wouldn’t stop staring at her.

           She saw it whenever she blinked, or looked in a mirror, or caught something out of the corner of her eye.  She couldn’t stop seeing it, those glowing eyes boring deeply into hers.  It made her chest clench, and her breath shuddered.

           “Mary,” one of her teachers said, voice just on the edge of concern, “are you doing alright?”            Mary looked at her teacher, and for a moment, she thought his eyes were glowing.  She blinked, and it was gone.

           (I know what happened to the missing people.)

           Mary forced a smile and said, “Fine!”

           “I can call your father. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind picking you up if you’re not feeling well—”

           “No!”  Mary took a deep breath, then continued, “I’m fine. I don’t need to worry him.”

           The teacher didn’t look convinced, but he let it go.

           The day passed in a haze. One moment, she was sitting in class, staring at a worksheet.  The next, the end of day announcements came on, and she was wandering down the hall towards the office.

           Papa came to pick her up and speak to her homeroom teacher.  She couldn’t really focus on what they were saying; she kept staring at Papa, wondering if she should tell him.  (I know what happened to Uncle Ian.)

           Papa tugged her towards the car, and she didn’t protest, allowing him to usher her into the seat. Ask, a part of her whispered.  Ask me what’s wrong. Please.  I need to talk about it.

           Don’t ask, another part of her hissed.  I can’t do it.  I can’t say anything.  I don’t want you to be mad at me.

           She didn’t even realize how silent the ride home had been until they pulled into the driveway. Papa pulled her, roughly, from her seat and dragged her into the house.  He shut the door, but didn’t let go of her arm.

           Oh, she thought.  He’s noticed.  He’s going to ask now.

           “Mary,” he said, and for the first time she noticed how hard he was working his jaw, and how harsh his voice came out.  “One of my coworkers said they saw you running out of the Forest yesterday.”

           Mary’s heart dropped like a rock into her stomach.  That’s not what I wanted to talk about, she thought, desperate.  That’s not how I wanted this conversation to go.

           “What did I tell you,” Papa asked, “about going to the Forest?”

           Mary knew she was supposed to say something, here, but she froze, Papa’s image overlapping with that of the man in the tree.

           “I told you,” Papa growled, “not to go back there.”  His voice lifted, rising to an almost hysterical pitch.  “I told you not to go to the Forest!  You could get hurt!  Do you want to disappear like all those others?  Is that what you want?  To disappear and leave me alone?”  He shook her, roughly, and her head spun.

           Maybe it was the disorientation, or Papa’s words, or the desperate attempt to get attention off her. Maybe she just didn’t know how to keep it in anymore, because she blurted, “I know what happened to Uncle Ian.”

           Papa suddenly went very, very still.

           “H-he—the Forest—it’s magic.  He became a part of it.  He’s still there.”  Mary looked at Papa desperately.  “I’m sorry.”

           Papa didn’t move for several long, long moments.  When he did, it was to hit her, sharply, across the side of her face.  Mary would’ve fallen, had Papa not still had such a harsh hold on her.  “Don’t talk about Ian,” he shouted, and he hit her again.  “He made his own choices.  It’s his own fault he’s gone.”  And again.  “I won’t let you make the same mistakes.”  And again.  He was crying, now, his voice near hysterical.  “I’m doing this for your own good.”  He hit her again.  “Don’t go back to the Forest.  Don’t go back there!”

           “Papa—”  Her head throbbed.  She was crying too, she thought, but her world was spinning, and she was having trouble focusing.  “Papa, please—”

           She woke up on the floor, with the house dark, and Papa gone.

                                                            ~*~

             -Mary hadn’t intended to go back to the Forest.  Not really; not after seeing—

           Eyes glowing, moss coating its chin, Mary wondering desperately if this was how the Forest knew her—

           But she was tired, and lonely, and hurt, and she no longer knew where else to go.

           The route to the Forest seemed longer than before.  She wondered, absently, if Papa would notice that she left and come after her.

           (Did it matter, if she didn’t come back?)

           Mary dragged herself up the slope; she shook, a little, her heart thundering in her chest.  She pulled herself inside the tree line, but didn’t make it very far before she collapsed, curling up against the trunk of the tree.

           The Forest was silent. That was good; Mary wasn’t sure what she would’ve done if something had come to see her.

           She stayed curled against the tree, shaking and silent, for a long time.  “Is Uncle Ian here?” she whispered.

           The Forest didn’t respond, save for a quiet wind that, if she listened closely, she thought might’ve whispered Ian’s name.

           “It’s just—he went missing.  Like a lot of people.  Him and Papa were really close.  They used to tell me stories—Ian was really fascinated about the Forest, you know. But then he disappeared, and Papa stopped telling stories.”  Mary pulled her knees to her chest, but it couldn’t quite stop her shaking.  “Why?” she whispered.  “Why do you take people, and—and—”  She couldn’t quite bring herself to say the words; she didn’t know what she might’ve said if she did.  “Can you let them go?” Mary asked instead.  “I-if Uncle Ian were—if he came back, then maybe Papa would change back, too. Maybe he’d stop—”  She broke off, a fractured part of her brushing against another thought she didn’t really want to have.  “Please let him go.  Please.”

           The Forest was silent for a long moment before something gentle brushed her shoulder.  “I can’t.”

           “Why not?”

           “They are interconnected to my magic.  They are part of the greater consciousness.  I do not know if their consciousnesses can be unwound.”

           “Oh.”  Mary leaned heavily against the tree.  “Do you think,” she asked tiredly, “I could become part of it, too?”

           The Forest went still.

           “I don’t know what to do,” she whispered.  “Papa’s always angry or worried or—he’s not happy.  A-and I don’t—he scares me.  I don’t want him to scare me, because I know he loves me, but he does, and it’s—!  And I keep thinking about the—the person in the tree, and I can’t sleep, and Papa won’t listen because he’s just mad that I went into the Forest, and I’m tired!  I don’t want to go back, and I don’t want to think about—about what happened to Uncle Ian, and I don’t want to be alone anymore.”  She didn’t know when she’d started crying, but once it started, she couldn’t stop.  She shook and heaved, great shuddering sobs rattling her chest and she pressed herself against the tree trunk.  “If I disappear into the Forest,” she whispered, “then no one would mind.  Papa would be sad for a while, but then he wouldn’t have anything to worry about anymore.”  Her words died out slowly, and she just sat there, a heavy sense of exhaustion weighing down on her chest.

           The silence went on for a little longer.  Then, in a voice so quiet she might not have heard it, had it not been magic: “I hurt you.”

           Mary curled up tighter.

           “I hurt you,” the voice repeated, and it sounded so strangely human that Mary couldn’t help thinking about the person in the tree again.  “I am sorry. I am sorry, I did not mean—I only wanted to explain—I should not have showed you that.”

           Mary shrugged, shoulder scraping the bark.  She winced, but didn’t move away.

           “If I hurt you,” the Forest asked, “why did you come back?”

           Mary didn’t know how to answer that for a long moment.  “Papa hurts me, too.  But he does it because he cares.  I—I know you didn’t mean it.”

           “That does not make it okay.”

           Why do you sound so human now? Mary wanted to ask, but didn’t, almost afraid of the answer.

           (A part of her wondered if it was because of the people who were a part of the Forest’s consciousness; if they gave the Forest a way to understand what humans were like.  She wished it had worked a little sooner.)

           “What can I do?” the Forest asked, the trees creaking.

           “Just let me stay here. Please?”

           The Forest didn’t respond, and Mary took that as an affirmative.  She stayed, curled against the trunk of a tree, until faint sunlight started to peek through the tree line.

           She knew she should leave, then.  She didn’t want to.

           (Didn’t want to go back. Didn’t want to stay.  Didn’t know what she really wanted anymore.)

           Eventually Mary stood, her legs stiff.  She hesitated just inside the tree line.  A part of her thought of turning and running deeper; going so deep that she’d be lost in the Forest forever.

           (She wondered if that was the reason so many people went missing; if they had just gotten so tired of living in the town that they’d decided leaving for the Forest was better.)

           After a few long moments of deliberation, she took a step back into the sunlight.

                                                              ~*~

             -Mary made it back to her room as the sun was coming up, tumbling into her bed and falling asleep almost as soon as she’d hit her pillow. Papa came to wake her up barely a moment later.  He didn’t say anything; he just ushered her along, shoving her school clothes at her, driving her to school in silence.

           (Mary didn’t want to go, but she didn’t want to stay.  The car felt suffocating with its silence, and she practically held her breath until they reached the school building.)

           The whole day seemed to pass in a sleep-deprived haze, but that was alright; it meant she didn’t have to think about Papa so much, and about his reaction and what it meant.

           But she did think about the Forest, her mind twisting in useless circles as she tried to make sense of her feelings.

           (She liked the Forest. She liked that it listened, and she liked the mystery, even if it scared her.  But she didn’t like that it took people, and that they ended up like the thing in the tree, and that maybe there were other people out there like Papa who—

           But the Forest had been upset to find out it had hurt her, and it had apologized, so maybe—

           Papa never apologized.)

           She hiked back out to the Forest after school, tired but determined, and set foot into the tree line with a mission in mind.

           The Forest spoke, much more quickly than she’d anticipated, the ferns lifting to brush her legs, lights flaring in the darkness.  “You’re back.”

           “Y-yeah.”

           “You did not have to come,” it said, “if I made you distressed.”

           “I-I know,” she said. “I wanted to.”

           The Forest didn’t say anything to that, and Mary gathered herself, trying to find the words.  “What is it like,” she asked finally, “deeper inside?”

           The Forest was silent for several long, long moments.  “Are you sure you wish to see?”

           Mary steeled herself. “Yes.  I want to know if—if there’s anything—I just need to know.”

           “I hurt you last time. I do not wish to hurt you again.”

           Mary smiled, despite herself.  “I-it’s okay. I’m choosing to do this, this time.”

           “That does not—” The Forest broke off, and Mary was struck again by how strangely human the sentiment was.  “If it is too much, then please say so.  I will guide you back out.”

           “Okay,” she said, voice shaking a little.

           Carefully the trees pulled back, inching along the ground, dragging their roots from their places until there was a long, grassy path into the darkness.  Lights flickered along the edges, guiding Mary inward.

           For a moment, Mary remembered the stories about those lights, and how following them could lead to a person getting lost forever.

           But she also knew that the Forest wouldn’t mind if she chose to turn and walk out, instead.  Slowly, hesitantly, she edged forward, walking carefully along the path.

           The pathway was bright, lit by brightly glowing balls of light that kept the darkness in the rest of the Forest at bay.  Trees and stones and animals continued to move out of her way, extending the path further and further into the Forest’s center.  She wondered if she could keep walking and come out on the other side.

           (She wondered if Papa would come looking for her, or if he’d just stay in his empty house and grieve.)

           The trees stopped moving, and Mary stepped into the center of a large, dark clearing.  She blinked, trying to peer through the darkness, willing her eyes to adjust.

           Lights flickered in the clearing, a rainbow of blue and pink and yellow, flooding the grass and the trees with brilliant, fractured hues.  The long strands of grass shimmered with dew, waving in the slight breeze.  A massive tree grew in the center of the clearing, trunk twisted so that it looked like it was made up of dozens of smaller trees.  Bird nests filled the upper branches, protected by a thick canopy of leaves.  Tiny hatchlings peered out of their nests at Mary, feathers still dull, but scattering small bursts of light as they ruffled their downy wings.  A larger bird flew overhead, gliding towards one of the nests and perching to feed one of the chicks.

           Something emerged from the trees, and Mary gasped as a large stag walked towards her.  Its antlers looked like gnarled branches, chipping apart in areas to reveal bursts of color.  Its neck seemed too long, its legs too spindly, and when it huffed, it breathed mist.  Mary was almost afraid, until a doe and fawn stepped out behind it.  The fawn looked much like its father, if a little more proportionate, but had a pair of extra legs it bounced on.  It jumped towards Mary, curiously lifting its head and nuzzling at her hand.  Mary giggled, stroking its velvety fur.

           “Being part of the Forest is not always death,” the Forest said, and it took Mary a moment to understand it was coming from the stag.  “There is life, too.  One is given power and care through life, and when they pass, they become a part of the Forest again, to help support life.  It is the way of things.”  A pause. “But I should not have shown you the man.  It distressed you.  That was wrong.”

           Mary knelt, scratching the fawn under the chin.  “You didn’t know.  You, um. You hadn’t interacted much with humans before.”

           “It was still wrong. I should not have hurt you.”

           A bird fluttered near her, and the Forest shifted, voice coming from it, instead of the stag.  “I do not always understand human morals,” it said, “but I understand harm.  My concern has always been whether or not harm has been done to those that are a part of me.”

           “Y-you said that’s why you chased us out before.”

           “Yes.  I allowed you to stay because you did not cause harm. I should not have then caused harm to you.”

           Mary stood.  A couple more birds fluttered around her, stirring her clothes and making her giggle.  “It’s beautiful,” she admitted.  “I wonder if that’s why people stay here, sometimes.”

           The Forest went quiet, suddenly.  “They get lost,” it said after a long, long moment.

           “They can’t find their way out.”

           “Sometimes. Sometimes, they are lost in their minds, rather than in the physical world.  They stay here and do not leave.”  A pause.  “I do not want that to happen to you.”

           “But you can always guide me back out.  Right?”

           “Yes.”

           “And—and you can guide others out, too?”

           A pause.  Lights flickered, lighting up a path.  “If they choose,” it said finally.

           “Good. Because—because I don’t want—I don’t want people like Ian to go missing anymore.”

           The Forest stayed silent for a long time.  Mary didn’t mind; she let the silence grow, absently petting the fawn until it felt like things had grown too late.  Then she stood, letting the Forest guide her back to the edge, lights flickering along the path.

           The Forest stopped her briefly with a whisper of, “Mary.”

           She cocked her head.

           “You are always welcome here,” it said, “if you need refuge.”

           Mary smiled, a small thing that felt more real than anything she’d given over the past several days.  “Okay.”

                                                             ~*~

             -Mary hadn’t really meant to talk to anyone about the Forest—at least, not until she had a better plan.  She didn’t know how to explain what she’d learned (didn’t think anyone would listen), and so cautiously hoarded the information to herself, going back to the Forest when she could in order to speak to it and learn more.

           But then it was the weekend, and Papa was having people over from his work, and they’d gotten into the adult drinks and gone red in the face and started hollering and laughing in the living room.  Mary knew that she wasn’t supposed to go in there—wasn’t sure she wanted to, really—but she’d heard one of Papa’s friends say, “All those stories about the Forest are bullshit.  Mark went in a couple days ago, and he came back out, perfectly fine.”

           Mary paused, hovering close to the doorway.

           “Maybe he just—maybe he just got so lost that he came out the other side.”

           “Nah, nah, I’m telling you—he said he saw these colored light things.”  The words were slurred, but Mary couldn’t help her grin, and she pressed her hands tightly to her mouth to keep from giggling.  “Said they led him right out.”

           Papa said, “You shouldn’t tell such stories.”

           “Oh, come on, Rick, lighten up.  It’s all in good fun.”

           “You shouldn’t—you shouldn’t talk about stuff like that.”

           Something in Papa’s voice made the hairs on Mary’s neck stand on end.  She peered cautiously around the doorway.

           Papa was leaning forward in his recliner, bottle clasped in his hands, his expression distant and haggard.  “Ian talked like that,” Papa said.  “Ian talked about that all the time, about his—about how the Forest was magic, and how he’d go see it one day.  Nobody believed it.  People just—just fucking ran away.  But Ian believed in those stupid fairytales, and he wouldn’t stop looking.  He believed them so much it killed him.”

           One of the men laughed, and slapped Papa’s shoulder, and said, “Right, a story’s what killed him.”

           Papa shoved the man’s arm away.  “He wouldn’t leave it alone!  He kept—he obsessed over it until—until there was nothing left.  He’s dead, now.  Maybe if people didn’t talk about those damn stories—”  He shook his head and took another swig from his bottle.

           Mary stepped into the living room, and without truly pausing to think, she said, “But they’re true, Papa.”

           All eyes were very suddenly on her.  She quailed under them, suddenly wondering if she should run back to her room.

           “Look at this!” one of the men said, pointing at Mary.  “Kiddo’s going to join us!  What’ve you got to say, kiddo?”

           Papa stared at her, a dark look on his face.

           (Mary remembered telling Papa about what happened to Ian.  Papa had been so angry, then.  She wondered if it’d be different now, with friends around.  She wondered if it mattered.)  “I-it’s true, though.  The Forest—people disappear because they become a part of it.  But it’s not trying to!  It’s because of the weird magic stuff.”

           “Weird magic stuff,” someone repeated, laughing.

           “Yeah!  It’s not all scary, though.  Some of it’s really pretty, too.  A-and we worked out a way to maybe keep people from disappearing? That’s what those lights were.  I talked to the Forest about it the other day, and—”

           “You went back to the Forest?” Papa asked.

           The room suddenly went very, very quiet.

           Mary took a hesitant step backwards.  Papa’s scowl had deepened, his eyebrows so low that they cast his eyes in deep shadow.

           Papa stood.  He stumbled, a little, and nearly dropped the bottle.

           Mary scrambled back further.

           One of the men said, “Hey, Rick, maybe you shouldn’t—”

           “I told you,” Papa said, low and quiet and fierce, “not to go back to the Forest.”

           Mary’s eyes darted towards the door.

           “Look at me!”

           Mary whipped towards Papa, who had come much, much closer than she’d expected.  “I-I’m sorry.”

           Something sharp stung her cheek.  She fell and sprawled across the floor, hands scraping roughly against the wood.

           “Rick, hey!”

           “Why did you go back there?” Papa snarled, and the way his face contorted made him seem more like the not-human from the Forest, rather than the Papa she’d known as a child. “I told you not to.”

           “I’m sorry!” Mary said, scrambling backwards.

           Papa lifted his hand again.

           One of his coworkers caught it, hissing, “Rick, I think you’ve had a little too much—”

           “Let go of me!”

           Mary scrambled to her feet and ran.

           Papa roared behind her, but she didn’t look back, crashing through the door, sprinting bare-foot through the darkening streets.  She wove through the houses, and after a while she heard an angry shout of, “Mary!” from behind her.

           Papa was chasing after her.  Papa was far away, now, but he could catch up quickly.

           (What happens when he catches her?)

           (“I will give you refuge, if you need it.”)

           Mary stumbled from between the houses and onto the field, the Forest looming dark and silent ahead. She hurried up the slope, chest rattling, breathing heavy, scrambling up, up, up, one hand reaching frantically for the trees.

           Heavy breathing and footsteps sounded behind her, and she’d just made it to the tree line when Papa grabbed the back of her shirt.  She stretched an arm, frantically, towards the Forest, but Papa dragged her backwards, lifting her like a disobedient cat.  “Where are you going?” Papa asked, shaking her, and it hurt.  She fumbled for his arm, and she shook her again.  “Huh?  You think you’re going back there?”

           Mary choked on a sob. “Help,” she said, and it was more a sob than an actual cry.

           “Help?”  Papa snarled. “I am helping you, I’m keeping you from ending up like Ian.  You should be grateful, but you never know how—nothing but trouble.  We’re going home. We’re going home, and then you’re going to—”

           A harsh wind echoed between the trees.

           Papa stopped.

           Mary dangled, the tips of her feet touching the ground.

           (“He has caused you harm,” something that sounded eerily like the Forest whispered in her mind.

           He’s protecting me.

           Is he?)

           “You aren’t helping me.”

           The world went very quiet, and it took a long moment for Mary to realize she’d said anything at all. When Papa responded, his voice was low and dangerous: “What?”

           Mary swallowed, but continued, one hand reaching to grab Papa’s arm.  “You’re hurting me,” she said. “A-and I know it’s because you’re scared, but—but—but I want you to stop hurting me!”

           “I’m trying to keep you safe.”

           “Then why do I feel safer in the Forest then with you?”

           Papa’s face contorted into a snarl.  He shook her, roughly.

           Mary grimaced, her head spinning, one hand silently reaching back towards the Forest. Something brushed against her fingertips.

           Papa growled, “We’re leaving.  You are not to come back to this Forest.  You are not—”

           And then the Forest spoke, long and low and rumbling, like it was shaking the very earth. “What are you doing?”

           Papa froze.  His grip loosened, just enough so that Mary could drop to the ground, coughing and sputtering.

           Rough hands—almost like wood—gently touched Mary’s arm.

           Papa’s voice came, low and broken and uncertain: “Ian?”

           Mary blinked up, and for a moment she saw Uncle Ian’s face as it once had been, soft and friendly with a twinkle in his eyes.  Then it shifted, a little, and she noticed the rough, cracked edges of his face and the bushes along his back.  He lifted Mary carefully and turned towards Papa, face contorting into a scowl.

           The trees leaned forward ominously.  “You have done harm to the child.”

           Papa took several steps backwards, eyes too wide.  “I’m protecting her,” he said.  “Ian, I’m making sure she doesn’t get hurt.  I’m trying to keep her from ending up like you.”

           “This is not protection,” the Forest rumbled; Uncle Ian’s chest reverberated with the words, and things moved behind him, large and dark and intimidating, gnashing teeth and snarling loud enough that the cries seemed to blend together.

           “Sometimes,” Papa said, but his voice was wavering, “sometimes you have to hurt people to protect them.  Ian, you have to understand.  Sometimes—”

           The wind roared through the trees, moving so quickly that it stirred Mary’s clothes and nearly knocked Papa off his feet.  “No,” the Forest said.  “You have done her harm.”

           Papa’s expression contorted, into something angry and feral and frightening.  “What do you care?” he snapped.  “You’re not really Ian.  You’re not really here. You’re just some sort of—some sort of crazy hallucination.  Just a bunch of trees.”

           “I have many names, and none at all,” the Forest boomed, and it sounded like the thunder of falling stones, of countless animal cries and the crash of waterfalls.  “I have been here since time began, and even before. I have seen humans far stronger and braver than you.  I have seen love, and life, and death and pain.  I have survived throughout the ages, and I shelter those who would take refuge within my trees.  And I will protect my own.”

           A creature lunged from the depths of the Forest, massive and snarling ferociously, covered in bark-like armor with long claws that stretched like shadows towards Papa.  He scrambled backwards, panicked, as it swiped at his chest.  More appeared, wraith-like and warped, a mass of long fangs and claws and eyes.

           Ian’s fingers curled tighter around Mary, and she lifted a hand to grip his shoulder.

           Papa looked at Mary for a moment, then to the wall of darkness that snarled at him.  He stumbled a step back, and then another, and then turned and bolted back to the town.

           The creatures stayed where they were for a few moments, waiting until he was out of sight until, one by one, they moved back into the trees.

           “Are you alright, Mary?” the Forest asked, Ian carefully setting her back on her feet.

           Mary hiccupped and shook, but she said, “Y-yes.”

           The Forest did not answer, and she found herself admitting, “N-no.”  She sat, and hugged her legs to her chest, and tried not to think about how much her neck hurt.  “I-I can’t go back.  I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.”

           “Then stay here.”

           Mary’s head whipped up, but she had no one to look at, save the empty expanse of the Forest. “I-I don’t—I don’t want to end up like—”

           Ian stretched out a hand, slowly, and reached to gently touch the space above her heart.  Light flickered through his fingertip, warm and bright and alive.  “I cannot stop that from happening, if you choose to stay here permanently,” the Forest said, and for the first time it sounded pained.  “But I can give you refuge, when you want it.  I can guide you to the edges, so that you won’t be lost for so long that I overcome you.  I can provide you with a piece of my magic, so that even if you travel, you will have my protection with you.  But,” and its voice went whisper-quiet, “only if you want it.”

           Mary touched Ian’s hand, gently.  “You’d look after me?”

           “Yes.”

           Mary grinned, then laughed, and though the tears still stung, they didn’t feel quite as bad anymore. “Okay.”

                                                              ~*~

             -Most of the time, nobody goes to the Forest outside of town.

           There are stories, though; of a young woman who lives within the Forest, who can do strange magic and plays tricks on travelers, who has traveled through the world herself. They say that she was the daughter of someone who lived in the town, once, and that her parents died, or moved away and left her there, or were stolen away by the Forest itself so that it could have their child.

           Sometimes people claim to see her—a wild-haired woman in hiking gear or a mismatched dress or heavy winter clothes, sitting in the trees or talking to animals or yelling at travelers when they get too close.  She’d guide people out of the Forest, sometimes, and those people talked about the fantastic things they saw within—about fairy lights, and unusual creatures, and shifting trees.

           Most people don’t believe the stories—a forest is just a forest, after all.  But every so often, someone gets curious enough to go to the edge and look in.  And, when they do, they sometimes find her grinning back at them.

#original fiction big bang #forest child #my writing