#and thus inktober comes to an end once more

[dinolich]

FAQ

One click spot for frequently asked questions, pertaining to HELLAWEEN and art in general. This will be linked in my bio and updated over time.

HELLAWEEN -What was the inspiration behind HELLAWEEN/How did it come to be?

In 2014 I had just graduated college and moved across the country for a storyboard internship at a film studio. I had a huge quarter life crisis when the environment clashed with me in every way, which left me questioning if I had made a massive career choice mistake. To help take the edge off I decided I needed to come up with some characters that were as self indulgent as possible. So I asked myself "What if there was Halloween level of a Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater game?" and "What if My Chemical Romance wrote the soundtrack to Scooby Doo?" and thus, the main cast was born. Originally I didn't have any plans with them, I was just having fun drawing them for inktober and developing their personalities. Once the internship ended and I was able to set my career back in motion with some significantly better studio atmosphere fits for me in California, I started getting more serious about developing a linear story. I spent some time pitching different versions to tv studios and shorts programs. Got some great feedback but no real bites. Fortunately, I had a post blow up that caught the attention of my publisher who reached out to see if I was interested in doing a book instead and I LEAPED at the opportunity! HELLAWEEN is very much inspired by my own teenage years, growing up in the Bay Area, being surrounded by alt and skate cultures in the 2000's. As well as exploring identity, and growing up queer but the words for "how" didn't really exist yet. Plus a deep love for spooky cartoons and stylish anime, of course.

-What kind of music pairs the story/characters?

Great news I have playlists for everyone

Gwen- Ashnikko and My Chemical Romance Miles- 100 gecs and Oingo Boingo Sloane- PUP and The Cure Hiro- Gorillaz and Maximum the Hormone Bea- AFI and The Used -Do you have any voice claims for the cast?

I’d mostly want them to be played by actual teenagers. But I have a couple in mind that I think could work—

Gwen I could see Valeria Rodriguez (Lagoona and Spectra on the current MH series) Miles maybe someone like Zeno Robinson (Hunter Owlhouse) Sloane I have no idea, but definitely a VO who’s non binary

With Hiro and Bea it’s impossible to not hear Dante Basco and Grey Griffin in my head.

-What are the character's pronouns/orientations? Gwen- She/Her Miles- He/Him Sloane- They/Them Hiro- He/him Bea- She/Her In general I don't want to define their sexual orientations. I'm an aroace author and it's not something I'm interested in writing about. Ideally, I'd like to give the audience room to project themselves onto the characters. Don't get me wrong this book is QUEER and themes of identity are important, just don't expect any kissing in the canon story. Headcanons on the other hand, go nuts!!! Can I get HELLAWEEN in ____ country/language?

Getting it published outside of the US is not out of the question, but at the moment I don't have any concrete info on that. I've heard folks have had good luck getting the book through their country's Amazon site or Bookshop.org Can I draw fanart/make my own playlists/write fanfiction/make a character?

oh my GOD yes ART Who are your artistic inspirations?

Jhonen Vasquez and Aaron Alexovich, FLCL, Jamie Hewlett, The Muppets, Mike Mignola, Mob Psycho 100, Rem's Devil's Candy, 2000's age Neopets, Pokemon, plus online artists I’ve looked up to for years or grew up drawing with. What programs do you use?

Comics- Clipstudio Paint Sketching- Procreate Storyboarding- Storyboard Pro What ink markers do you use in your sketchbook?

Copic markers, pentel pocket brush, pilot brush pens, micron fine liners Check out my episode of Creative Block!

#ask dinolich #faq

[thirteenth-sword]

tis the mother fucking season……….once again

#don't use/repost without permission #otgw #fanart #otgw fanart #my art #inktober 2019 #and thus inktober comes to an end once more #this year was. significantly less stressful for me? #maybe bc i pushed myself a lot less #but i'm okay with that. i accomplished my goal of posting st every day and that's what matters to me #though i didn't expect all the oddishes. hm. #i just counted and i drew. 14 oddishes this month. hmmm. #whatever i love them and LJ is happy so its chill #now......nanowrimo begins. time to die!

[zipstick-writes]

Inktober 2020 Day 16 - Rocket

The crew of the brand-new Galactic Navy ship named the Skeld had just departed for a newly-discovered planet, Polus, that Earth scientists had determined would be able to support human life with minimal terraforming. Their mission was to join the established research centre and finish the job.

But for now, the crew, consisting of newly-trained Navy recruits Princey, Dad, Hot Topic, Logan, Trash Man, and Janusss, had to complete the in-flight maintenance to keep the ship in as perfect a condition as was possible while on board, as was made standard by the inter-planetary signing of the 3128-AD Quality Control Act.

Normally, this would be a relatively uncomplicated process. However, the crews of many other ships that had departed from the same Space-Dock had reported impostors murdering crewmates and interfering with vital functions of the ship, often resulting in total system faliures.

And thus, the crew of the Skeld were constantly on the lookout for any suspicious activity from their fellow Astronauts. This is their story.

-

 Day 1

 -

The six climbed down the ladder from the bunk-room above the cafeteria and checked the screen on the southern-facing wall to see which faults had been detected by the ship’s systems overnight. One by one they walked up and touched their tablets to the info-port on the side of the screen, logging their tasks to them.

“Looks like I’ve got to submit my bio-scan.” Logan said, reading from his tablet screen. “Would one of you please accompany me so that they can verify my innocence, should anything happen?”

“That’s quite suspicious of you, isn’t it, Logan?” Trash Man giggled. “Sounds just like what the impostor would say.”

Princey shook his head. “How do we know it’s not you, brother? Accusing another right off the bat like that-“

“Alright kiddos, that’s quite enough fighting.” Dad cut in, glancing at his tablet.

“I’m older than you, remember?” Princey interrupted again.

“Princey, will you shut up?” Sighed Hot Topic exasperatedly.

“I’ve got to scan myself in the Med Bay too,” Dad said through the mounting chaos. “I’ll come with ya, Lo.”

“Thank you. This will be adequate.”

-

Having downloaded the blaster records from the weapons room, Hot Topic was on his way to Administration to upload them to the International Space Agency database. He was at the door when he heard footsteps behind him in the cargo Storage. He turned around, seeing Trash Man standing in the door frame of the hallway.

“Hello, Hot Topic!” He greeted. Overly cheerful for there being a potential murderer on board, Hot Topic noted suspiciously.

“Trash man. Hi.” He responded, measuring his tone carefully so that his suspicion wasn’t noticeable. Hopefully. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I just came to swipe my card. How about you? What are you up to?”

“I’m uploading the data from our weapons systems to HQ.” He said, narrowing his eyes at Trash Man behind his helmet. Despite not being able to see past his helmet, Trash Man seemed to catch onto Hot Topic’s suspicion and stopped talking, moving on to attempting to swipe his Crewmate ID card.

“Ugh, why is this damn thing so goddamn difficult?” He mumbled, swiping his card furiously back and forth in the machine.

“Trash Man! Stop, you’re gonna damage the reader.”

Trash man stopped swiping and looked up at Hot Topic.

“It’s really not that difficult,” Hot Topic said, and having completed the upload was now walking over to where Trash Man was holding his card defeatedly. “Here, give me that card. I’ll do mine, then I’ll do yours for you. Okay?”

“Thanks, Topicy!” Trash Man responded.

“And don’t call me Topicy.” He said. Hot Topic swiped his own card, pleased when the light blinked green the first time. He then swiped, or rather attempted to swipe, Trash Man’s card, but was surprised when the red light blinked and the machine buzzed.

“A bad swipe? That’s weird.”

He was about to try again, when the warning lights began flashing and the alarm beeped loudly and repeatedly. The automated computer-voice repeated the phrase, Oxygen Filter Damaged, followed by a countdown of 30 seconds.

Hot Topic jumped, haphazardly throwing the card back at Trash Man and seeing him move from where he was leaning casually against the wall.

He rushed towards the oxygen room, hands shaking slightly as he inputted the code. Janusss and Dad were standing behind him, having entered O2 after him.

He breathed a sigh of relief. “That was close.”

“It sure was, Kiddo,” Dad remarked, “I wonder what could’ve caused that?”

“The Impostor, of course. Why else would the system fail?” Janusss said sarcastically.

“Oh of course, I’m so sorry for being so ignorant, Lord Janusss.” Hot topic snarked back, bowing over-dramatically. He (figuratively) straightened up, and said, more seriously this time, “I’m heading over to the Cafeteria. Trash Man’s acting off. And his card wouldn’t read in Admin.”

“Trash Man’s always acting off.” Dad replied. He paused to think for a moment, “But I suppose it’s better safe than sorry. I’ll come with you.”

-

EMERGENCY MEETING

-

The three remaining crewmates arrived at the Cafeteria and seated themselves around the central table.

“What happened?” Princey asked.

“There’s something off about Trash Man.” Hot Topic explained. “He followed me into Admin saying he was there to swipe his card, but the reader wouldn’t take it. Not even when I did it for him. And the O2 sabotage happened while my back was turned. He could’ve done it.”

“Was there any noticeable change of behaviour that indicated he was being imitated?” Logan asked.

“Well no,” Hot Topic replied, “But I can’t help but feel like the sabotage was a distraction to draw people away if he was about to.. y’know, kill me.”

“I’m sure that’s just your anxiety clouding your judgement. I realise my brother can be a bit… How do I put this? Bizarre, but that’s no reason to accuse him of sabotage.”

“I’m with Princey.” Logan said, and Hot Topic was sure he could hear him say ‘for once’ under his breath. “We understand your concern, but it’s simply not enough evidence to eject him.”

“Skip?” Dad asked.

“Skip.” Princey and Janusss responded in sync.

-

No one was ejected. (Skipped)

1 Impostor Remains

-

The nighttime alarm sounded, indicating the end of the work day, and the crewmates returned to their bunks and settled down to sleep.

-

 Day 2

 -

The crewmates once again descended the ladder and downloaded their daily tasks, this time in silence. There was no conversation as the six walked in different directions towards their daily tasks.

Logan and Princey set off towards storage to refuel the engines, and Dad went with Hot Topic towards navigation to set a course. Trash Man went off towards electrical maintenance to repair corrosion to the wires.

Janusss made his way over to the reactor.

Once inside, he opened a wiring panel to the reactor’s left. He took out a pocket knife and snapped a couple of wires.

Just enough to cause some trouble, he thought. Checking there was no one around, and glancing at the nearby camera to make sure it was inactive, and opened the hatch leading to the ventilation system. He quietly climbed inside, shutting the hatch behind him.

-

He lifted up the vent and poked his head out, checking he was alone.

Coast’s clear.

He climbed out silently, right as Trash Man rounded the corner. He was about to climb back in, but it was too late. He’d been seen.

Trash Man made to turn around, but Janusss was faster. He lunged, pulling out his knife, and stabbed him in the back.

“One down, four to go.” He hissed.

He was about to return to the vent when it occurred to him. He could get away with this easily.

Janusss opened the panel for the lights and flicked the switches up, disabling the lights on the whole ship. Satisfied, he then went back in the vents and crawled swiftly to the reactor. He poked his head out. Nobody was there. He set off back to electrical, and after a few moments Logan was beside him, having come from the upper engine.

The others were crowded around the panel, and as soon as a light switch was flicked into place it was switched back again.

I could get another one here.

He pulled out his gun, and fired at random. Logan dropped to the floor, and before the others could react, he hid the pistol in his pocket again.

The others abruptly abandoned the lights and looked around frantically. Janus did the same.

Dad was the first to realise who’d been hit.

“Logan.” He cried. “They got Logan!”

Janusss feigned a look of shock before realising that he was wearing a helmet that rendered his face unreadable. Princey stepped back, turning towards where Janusss had killed Trash Man.

“Look.” He said. “Trash Man’s dead too.” He knelt down beside his brother. “I swear on my beautifully manicured sword I will have revenge-“

He was cut off by Dad, who told him they were going to the Cafeteria to have a discussion.

-

“Who did it?” Hot Topic asked.

“It wasn’t me,” Dad said. “I was clearing asteroids with Princey. He can vouch for me.” It’s true.”

“It’s true.” Princey said. “We were together the whole time.”

“Well, me and Logan were in the top engine before the lights cut.” Janusss explained. It was a half-truth; as he’d always say, the best lies contain half the truth. “I was refuelling it and Logan was realigning it.” He could almost hear Logan (and probably Trash Man as well) screaming at him from beyond the grave. But he knew the others bought it. They had seen him and Logan enter together, after all, and they nodded along to the deception.

A sudden voice jolted Janusss out of his thoughts. “What about you, kiddo?” Dad asked, and it was directed at Hot Topic. “You’re the only one who’s not spoken yet.”

Hot Topic was hunched over, seeming nervous despite the space suit hiding his face. “I was in the Med Bay, inspecting the samples.”

I can get one more, Janusss thought. I just need to twist this a bit.

“It may just be me thinking this,” He began, “But it does seem a little suspicious that you’re the only one of us without an alibi.”

Princey and Dad nodded in agreement. “Although I hate to admit it, Janusss is right. You’ve got no-one to verify what you were doing.” Princey said. “Sorry, Emo.” He added.

Hot Topic sighed. “Fine. Eject me. But one of you is lying, I just know it.”

Princey and Janusss held Hot Topic’s arms behind his back as they led him to the airlock, and he didn’t struggle. Dad pulled down the lever to open the door, and Janusss smiled to himself behind his visor.

-

Hot Topic was not The Impostor.

1 Impostor Remains.

-

 Day 3

 -

There was no conversation as the final 3 remaining loaded their tasks onto their tablets. They each went in a separate direction. Dad towards communications, Princey to the Med Bay, and Janusss into storage.

Dad was scared. There were only him and two others left. One of them was the impostor, and they’d only know for sure if they were caught. If they didn’t, they’d all end up dead.

Dad’s hands were shaking as he frantically tried to fix the wiring of the computer.

He heard footsteps behind him.

He turned.

Janusss was standing in the doorway.

Dad froze.

This is it.

Janusss walked towards him, and time seemed to slow.

A gunshot sounded throughout the ship. Everything went black.

-

DEFEAT

-

“Dammit!” Roman slammed his fists on the table. “How are you so good at this?” He asked, glaring at Janus. “This is the third game in a row you’ve won!”

“What can I say?” He said, smirking. “Deceit’s my thing. This game was made for me.”

Patton rolled his eyes, smilling good-naturedly. “Alright, settle down. Who’s up for a rematch?”

“Oh, you’re,” Logan said, pausing to hold up a vocab card, “’On’.”

“If Jan gets impostor again he’s gonna win!” Roman shouted.

“I’m just better than you.” Janus snarked. “You’ll just have to deal with it.”

Virgil smirked. “I can’t wait till I get impostor. Oh, I am so gonna get my revenge.”

“Hey, revenge is my thing!” Remus shouted. “Who knows, maybe I’ll get it first.” He said quietly, smiling maliciously at Janus.

Virgil started another round. “Let’s do this.”

#fanfiction #my fics #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #inktober #inktober 2020 #virgil sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #among us #among us au

[astudyinimagination]

So, I’ve had this in my head for a little while now. It’s a continuation to the Mara-joins-the-Rebellion AU. Back in October, when I wrapped up Inktober, I did it with a drawing of Luke and Mara as new parents, specifically in this ‘verse. So, since I’ve already given away how this story “ends,” more or less, it’s time to go a little further!

•••

Luke chooses to honor his grandmother by naming, with Mara’s blessing, their firstborn Shmi. The honor is double-faceted: not only is there yet again a Shmi Skywalker in the galaxy, but she is also the first of her generation. It seems more than fitting to give the future matriarch of the family the name of the woman who would have been its first matriarch, had she lived. And, indeed, Shmi bears her great-grandmother’s dark hair (and her mother’s green eyes). Sometimes, Anakin could swear that his mom has returned in his granddaughter. Much like her (and also, much like his son), Shmi is quiet but strong, resilient, and kind.

•••

Two years later, Leia and Han have twins. It’s Han’s suggestion to name them after Leia’s parents, and thus there is once again a Breha and Bail Organa in the galaxy, as well as a Shmi Skywalker. The twins share their parents’ brown hair and Leia’s brown eyes. Bail turns out to be good with wildlife—too good, always wanting to adopt whatever new creature crosses his path—while Breha, the future Queen of the Alderaanian Remnant, can often be found tinkering in the Falcon with her dad or with her grandfather’s many speederbikes.

•••

When Shmi is four and the twins are two, something happens that is either wonderful or crazy, depending on who you ask. Mara and Leia conceive within weeks of each other (and, indeed, deliver on the same night). Han complains that Leia and Luke take “this twin thing” too far.

“Don’t name him after me,” Anakin tells Luke regarding his unborn son. “No child needs the burden of being an Anakin Skywalker Junior.”

It’s Mara’s idea to name her boy Ben, and she announces it with Obi-Wan in the room. Luke and Mara are treated to the spectacle of a ghost being shocked speechless.

Leia and Han can’t seem to come up with a name for their son. Lando suggests himself as a namesake, only half serious, and Han tells him that he can have his own kid and call him Lando Junior. ...but an idea is growing on Leia, and when she holds her baby for the first time, she knows it’s the right one. She has seen her biological father change and grow as a person over the past five years. She’s seen the way he dotes on Shmi—and the twins, as well, when she’ll let him. He is by no means perfect, but he is trying, all the time, to be a good man, rather than do one good act and rest on his laurels, and that’s important to her.

He weeps when she tells him that the baby’s name is Anakin Organa.

Ben inherits his mother’s red-gold hair and his father’s blue eyes, and, unlike his sister, the tempers of both parents, which Mara handles better than Luke. Anakin’s coloring is eerily similar to his grandfather’s, and he is also quiet and kind and an excellent mechanic and pilot—but he lacks the burdens of his grandfather’s upbringing, and so lacks his resentment and anger. Anakin Skywalker is relieved to see his namesake growing up with all the best of him and none of his serious flaws. (Recklessness, on the other hand, seems to be inescapable in this family.)

•••

Shmi is ten and Ben is six, and Luke and Mara are busy running the first Jedi Academy while Mara also does some side work for Talon Karrde. And in the busyness of their lives, Mara keeps being reminded of memories of her children as babies. Luke sees her wistfulness and deduces that she wants to have a baby again; Mara is startled to realize he’s right. Neither are old, both only in their early thirties, and they decide to try for a baby one more time.

Their new daughter is golden-haired like her father, and they name her Beru.

•••

There are now six Skywalker-descended children roaming the galaxy, and their grandfather’s heart is full. He hadn’t even dared to dream of such a thing when Padmé was still alive, and after his fall and her death… Even hoping for a future with Luke before Palpatine’s death had not gone as far as hoping for a future with grandchildren.

And they all adore him. One by one, they all learn the truth of what he had done to the galaxy, and eventually learn what he had done to his family. But they love him, and even this terrible knowledge cannot erode their love.

•••

Luke, Leia, Mara, and Han are no longer what any human would call “young,” but also neither is Anakin Skywalker terribly old, which is good, because fate has one more surprise in store for the Skywalker-Organa clan.

Leia, almost forty, conceives.

Han complains that they were so close to being finished raising kids and now they’re back at the starting line, but he doesn’t mean it, not really. True, the thought makes him feel very tired sometimes, but he can’t deny that, however difficult, his kids’ infancies were some of the best years of his life. He’s not old yet; he can do this, and he’ll never hear the end of it from Chewie if he can’t.

Anakin is shocked, but couldn’t be more pleased, helping his daughter in her day-to-day life so much that she has to tell him to take it easy, sometimes.

And Jobal Naberrie, whom Anakin had helped to reconnect with his children early on, is grateful that she has lived to see one last great-grandchild, her one regret being that her husband has not lived also to share her joy.

And her joy is too great for words when she meets the baby girl, dark-haired and dark-eyed, and is told that her name is Padmé.

#Luke Skywalker #Mara Jade #Anakin Skywalker #Star Wars #Princess Leia #Han Solo #the Skywalker Organa clan #Sky writes stuff #sw fic #Mara joins the Rebellion AU

[moderndaybard]

CR Inktober, Day 5

DRINKS: PUB CRAWL

 It was only a pub crawl by the barest technicality of definition. They did, in fact, drag themselves from bar to bar, but only because each place they went had a more depressing atmosphere than the last. Just when it seemed that evening was a lost cause, at last Vox Machina found a tavern that, but for a lack of food, was exactly the sort of place they’d been looking for to unwind after the day’s adventures.

Vax had been quiet most of the day—the dealing they’d been forced to do with the Clasp having dredged up old memories and fears, but though negotiations had been tense at some points, in the end, they’d been able to retrieve the traitor of Tal’Dorei more or less painlessly.

Less—Keyleth definitely would’ve said ‘less’ to that assertion, given the onslaught of glaive attacks against her for little to no perceivable reason. Still, between the various healing magics since applied and the giddy euphoria from the alcohol now flooding her system, the half-elf druid was feeling great.

Percy watched his red-haired friend carefully. She was a notorious featherweight and prone to extreme emotional swings when intoxicated that required a deft hand to guide. Still she currently seemed in good spirits, thus freeing him—for the moment at least—to enjoy both the evening and the company.

Vex’ahlia was certainly enjoying herself, now that they’d found a halfway decent bar, but she did find herself now and again looking carefully at the human beside her. Percy seemed nearly like his old self once more, but the thing he’d nearly become in Whitestone couldn’t be forgotten, and even now, the question lingered—just how in control was Percival? And, if he slipped again, would any of them be able to bring him back to the light?

For some who’d (at least, partially) traumatized and then killed a man not a few hours before, Pike was in an extremely chipper mood. She could hardly help it, though: she was here, with her friends, in actual, physical person! Astral form had been useful, certainly—far better than not being involved or present at all—and he was grateful that she could be there for the others for at least part of the struggle against the briarwoods, but it paled in comparison to rubbing shoulders and drinking deep with her best buds.

Grog was also delighted, though, in all fairness, that wasn’t all that difficult or surprising: they’d returned home triumphant, reunited with Pike, and had their names cleared; the fight had been brief but exciting, in its own way, and was at least followed by a wondrously bloody death; and now, there was ale. The barbarian drank deeply and without care, wedged as best he could at a table not meant for any humanoids that varied too far from ‘average’ size.

Fortunately, Scanlan was used to requiring some sort of makeshift boost when he frequented less-prepared establishments. It was still an embarrassing annoyance, to be sure, but hardly one to spoil the night. No, what kept sticking in his mind was the (accidentally intentional) loss of his entire purse, and the young gnome who claimed it—and who he could not now get out of his head. He would definitely have to ask Dranzel about her—and soon—but for now, the night, while no longer young, was one for carefree celebration, not pensive or pining musings.

Thus it was that Shaun Gilmore found them: his friends returned safe and in a partying mood. They waved him over, calling loudly and drunkenly for him to join them, and how could he refuse, even if something in the uncharacteristically somber and torn look the ever-enchanting Vax’ildan gave him caused him a moment of worry? Still, the shop owner happily entered the celebratory atmosphere, and, in a display of extravagance that only Vox Machina could draw form the normally-canny businessman, when they asked him about food, Gilmore could not help himself: heroes they were, a Heroes’ Feast they would have.

Thus, the evening wore on, the eight of them there each delving to different depths in conversation (and their cups). Meanwhile, far away—unbeknownst to the happy people—four pairs of colored wings began to carve their way through the pre-dawn darkness.

The Chroma Conclave was coming.

#crinktober #crinktober 2019 #my post #critical role #critter #daily writing #crinktober day 5 #vox machina #shaun gilmore #vax'ildan #keyleth #percival de rolo #vex'ahlia #pike trickfoot #grog strongjaw #scanlan shorthalt

[codicesandflora]

Ineffable Inktober-Day Twenty Two-Golgotha

In the Bible, Luke 22:43 mentions that an angel appeared to Jesus while He was praying on the Mount of Olives (or the garden of Gethsemane according to the books of Matthew and Mark) to comfort and strengthen Him in preparation for the Crucifixion. Thus, I do head canon that Aziraphale was the angel who came given how he was already dwelling on Earth and later attended the Crucifixion. It fits neatly with how Aziraphale loved humanity and would feel a great attachment to God in human form.

Sacrifice (AO3 Link)

“But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on him”

“And by his wounds we are healed.”

Aziraphale stared silently as the Roman soldiers led the Son to what would be His execution. He had hoped that he would be numb after seeing the numerous tortures that God the Son had endured up to this point, but the sight of this latest punishment was another wound to his heart.

“If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down; for it is written, 'He will give his angels charge of you,' and 'On their hands they will bear you up, lest you strike your foot against a stone.” Isn’t that what Crawly had told Him? It was one of the few times that Aziraphale could remember when Crawly demonstrated his current ignorance of the nature of angels.

The fact was, the Son did not need to goad Aziraphale into protecting Him. Aziraphale knew without question that he would offer his protection willingly and without hesitation, even if it had meant his own destruction.

Aziraphale could hear Him pray for the humans who were persecuting Him, and fresh tears welled up in his eyes. He refused to let them fall. Heaven was more likely than ever to be watching him and he wasn’t going to give them an excuse to remove him from his post.

Not when he had a promise to keep.

-------

It had started, as so many important moments of Aziraphale’s life did, in a garden.

He had just received news from Gabriel that the Holy Son was to be a sacrifice for humanity’s sins. A decision that broke Aziraphale’s heart.

“But what of all His work on Earth? His teaching? The miracles and blessings? His presence will spread light all over the world.”

“Aziraphale…it is not for us to question the Great Plan.”

There were many other things on the tip of Aziraphale’s tongue, but he knew that those words were meant to be the end of the conversation. There was no point in discussing it further with anyone in Heaven.

Instead, he searched for the Son and found Him praying alone in a garden. At first, he wondered if he was intruding on a moment that was meant for Her alone. But then he heard an anguished sob and knew that he couldn’t walk away.

Fortunately, any further decisions about what he should do were made for him a second later.

“Aziraphale, come closer.”

Aziraphale nodded and crept toward Him. They had met several times over the years: the night of His birth, a couple of times when He was a boy growing up in Galilee, not long before His baptism, and just after His temptation in the wilderness. Even though Aziraphale always felt the weight of reverence when he approached Him, he was also surprised to feel none of the anxiety he often felt when he visited Heaven.

“My Lord,” he said, bowing his head. “I, I just heard….”

“Yes,” He said. “It will begin very soon. By tomorrow, I shall be dead.”

“My Lord, is there no other way?” Aziraphale cried. “There must be something else….”

“It is the will of God who is in Heaven,” the Son replied. “You and I understand what that means.”

“But they mean to destroy you,” Aziraphale blurted out. He moved closer and clutched at His sleeve. “Please, My Lord, let me take you somewhere safe so we can think of another way.”

A sad smile appeared on His face. “Would you tempt me too, Aziraphale?”

Shame twisted Aziraphale’s features as he let go and bowed even deeper. “Please forgive me Lord. I, I shouldn’t have….”

“I forgive you,” He said, placing a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “When you were in Heaven, you were a Guardian of the Throne. It is only natural that you still wish to protect me.”

He gently squeezed Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Besides, how could I not forgive you when I had the same thought myself? Frailty is one of the prices I must pay to exist in this body.”

Aziraphale raised his head. “Is there nothing I can do?”

The Son turned to look at a group of humans that were sleeping nearby. “My disciples have abandoned me. As I knew they would.”

“I shall not abandon you, Lord,” Aziraphale said, his voice steel. The Son turned to look at him again.

“You cannot interfere, Aziraphale.”

“I won’t. But I still won’t leave you. I promise.”

Another hint of a smile appeared on the Son’s face, but Aziraphale’s heart clenched as beads of blood appeared on His brow.

“Then I ask you to stay with me for this moment,” He said. “Before it begins.”

He sank to the ground, and Aziraphale lowered himself down next to Him. Once they were sitting on the grass, Aziraphale unfolded his wings and held out his arms, the Son willingly falling into them.

“Soon, I shall rejoin God in Heaven,” He whispered, His voice strained with pain. “But you shall remain on Earth, Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate. Never forget your duty to the people of this world.”

“I won’t,” Aziraphale said, holding Him close. “I will watch over them.”

The Son took one of Aziraphale’s hands into His. “I know you will. You were chosen with purpose, Aziraphale. Hold that to your heart.”

Then He fell silent, continuing to pray and allowing Aziraphale to embrace Him. Aziraphale closed his eyes and allowed the Grace inside him to radiate love. He hadn’t exhibited his angelic nature so openly since he was assigned to Earth, and he could sense his halo growing brighter as it reflected the light of that love.

It wasn’t enough. It never could be. But that didn’t stop Aziraphale from praying that the Son could find some comfort in this gesture.

What seemed like only the span of a breath later, He pulled away.

“It is time. Farewell, Aziraphale.”

-------

Back in the present, Aziraphale felt his lip tremble, but made sure to show no other sign of emotion. The Son’s suffering was nearing its end, and the angel was grateful that the peace of Heaven would soon envelop Him.

Would this be enough to save humanity? The eventual Apocalypse had not been erased from his celestial awareness, so apparently the Crucifixion would not stop the War of Everything that was in the universe’s future.

Nevertheless, Aziraphale was certain now that he would follow the example the Son had shown and do whatever he could to protect humanity as a whole. Offering his sword to them had been easy.

Would he have the courage to make a much greater sacrifice to save them? Aziraphale prayed that, when the moment came, he could find even a portion of the strength the Son had had.

------

Author’s Note:  The verse quoted at the beginning of the chapter is Isaiah 53:5. The one that Aziraphale quotes later on is a portion of Matthew 4:5.

#good omens #fanfic #My fic #ineffableinktober

[dolphin-bouillabaisse]

GO-ctober Prompt, 7

Inktober except without the ink, and with drabbles instead.

Prompt #7 - Enchanted

(previous | next | beginning)

(find it all on Ao3)

(Note: A completely different thing this time, because this is only Chapter 1 of a fic now! I liked the idea so much I decided to run far, far away with it. The next chapters will get to Ao3 sometime this month, I hope.)

Crowley stared at the bag hidden inside a cupboard of Aziraphale's kitchen that he knew the angel never opened. (Why he had it then, he wasn't quite sure, but it had been a good place to hide everything from surprise baked goods to secretly stolen wine. Maybe it was his sheer stubborn belief that Aziraphale would never find it there that made sure he actually didn't.)

What was hidden inside the bag itself was a moral dilemma. Crowley was not a big fan of those. He usually left them for the humans to hem and haw over. Demon's didn't have morals, so there was nothing to have a dilemma about.

Except.

Except when it came to certain angels and certain relationships-that-weren't-really-relationships but might have a chance to become actual relationships if either of them had ever dared to talk about possible relationships.

As it stood, this was a moral dilemma for Crowley himself to work out.

And all because of that dam-bles- that witch.

                                                        -*-

They'd spent an almost agreeable afternoon tea with her and her boyfriend who'd only said something incredibly rude once, or maybe twice, without realising until Anathema had kicked him under the table hard enough. (That was always good for a laugh, the humans thinking they'd somehow insulted the two of them. As if either of them cared. Well, Aziraphale maybe, all puffing up and fiddling with his buttons. Crowley was, of course, too cool to care.)

They'd had tea and biscuits and some very sweet, very sticky little cakes Anathema had made after her great-grandmother's recipe and Aziraphale had practically swooned over. They'd made chit-chat, or at least Aziraphale and Newt had, while Anathema and he had dived down their on-going discussion about conspiracy theories. (This would've made round 15 of this particular debate, and neither would admit they liked it. They absolutely did. Aziraphale had caught Crowley re-searching the newest arguments for and against certain conspiracies prior to the last two times they'd met up.)

And then, for reasons beyond Crowley's understanding, Anathema had asked him to help with clearing the table. Usually it was Aziraphale almost falling over his own feet trying to get up and help, only to be put back into his seat with a stern smile of the witch and her assurance that she and Newt would manage just fine. (They never did, though, as Newt would end up dropping at least one of the cups or plates. He was lucky their pottery was already a random mix of donation store and flea-market finds.)

He'd gotten up, begrudgingly (but surprisingly fast, Aziraphale noted – it usually took far longer to convince Crowley to do some kind of help, unless you were a particular angel in trouble of course), and trotted into the kitchen with a full tray, Anathema and the plate of biscuits (minus two, which Newt and Aziraphale had quickly nabbed) behind him.

“Thank you.” She smiled in that mysterious, annoying way she had while putting the dishes into the sink.

“Don't thank me.” Crowley shuddered. “Tell me what you want instead.”

“What I want?” “You clearly had a reason for getting me alone. What do you want?”

Anathema sighed. “Do you always assume the worst?”

“Demon. Job description.” Crowley waved the now empty tray around, miraculously not hitting any of the shelves in the tiny kitchen.

“Yes. Alright. Makes sense.” Another sigh. “I only wanted you away from Aziraphale because I have something for you, and I know he'll be so delighted he'll rip it out of your hands before you even get to look at it. And that kind of defeats the point.”

Crowley watched her rummage through a cupboard, followed by a few whispered swears (there was a reason she was one of the few humans he might someday admit he enjoyed the company of), until she pulled out a little paper bag and held it up. They exchanged a pointed look between each other.

“Oh god, stop acting as if it's going to bite your hand off. It's a gift. Just take it.”

“Why would you get me a gift?” He took the bag, though, peering inside for just a second. It contained more small bags. Rather suspicious.

“It's nothing special, don't worry, I didn't think of you or showed you any kind of nicety with this, I know how much you pretend to hate that.” (Anathema's mocking smile was another point for the list of 'things I might actually like about this human'.) “I've started experimenting with tea-blends for spells, and I figured you had a better use for this set than I do.”

“Tea for spells? What am I supposed to do with that? I'm a demon, not a witch. I don't do spells.” He sniffed into the bag for a second, hit with a wave of all sorts of spices, herbs and tea. He counted six little bags, exactly enough for a pot of tea each.

“You drink them, you doofus.” (Daring enough to call him that without flinching at his evil glare that followed? Another point for the list.) “Or rather, you have someone drink them.” A pointed eye-roll into the direction of the living room, where Aziraphale was still chatting away as Newt only nodded and 'mhm'ed from time to time.

Another moment of shared looks, another sigh. “Crowley, for all I care, throw them in the bin as soon as you get home. Or not. Maybe just give them a try, and see if you like the results, is all I'm saying.”

                                                      -*-

And that was that. And now he was standing in Aziraphale's kitchen, having offered to make the tea this time, for reason beyond his understanding. Or maybe not completely beyond, but for a reason he did not want to actually admit. Thus, the moral dilemma had been born.

He could make some normal tea. He knew where the bags of Earl Grey were, or the box of loose leaf Darjeeling. He could make some tea, bring it back to Aziraphale, have him drink it while reading, watch him enjoy it from the couch, end of story. Evening spent as usual. No problem at all. No enchanting or magickying or bewitching or whatever you'd call it. No influencing the innocent angel. No pushing on the door to that whole 'relationship' business they'd so neatly packed away without ever mentioning it.

The little bags of tea in the big bag were also very neatly marked. Anathema's handwriting was squiggly and slightly off, and actually made it easier for Crowley to read, (a discover which he pretended to hate for a little while, before being busy hating the descriptions on the tea). He'd read the notes over and over and over again by now, and was glad for a short second that Aziraphale was once again too engrossed in reading to notice how long he'd been gone.

'Receiving Gifts', one bag said. 'Words of Affirmation', the other. 'Quality Time' and 'Acts of Service' had caught his eye at first, but were quickly interrupted by 'Physical Touch'.

At the bottom, slightly smaller and neater tucked away, lay the worst offender.

'Eternal Love'.

This is ridiculous. He stood up to put the kettle on. As if drinking some tea would have any effect like this. He took out the the angel-wing mug. As if a human was able to create something that would have any influence over an ethereal being. He stared at the paper bag now sitting on the counter. As if he was going to try to enchant the angel with something as ridiculous as a cup of tea. He dropped 'Receiving Gifts' into the cup.

Steeped and strained, with one spoon of sugar and a splash of milk, the tea found itself softly placed next to the angel, currently deep into a giant tome of something or other he'd found just last week and couldn't tear his eyes from ever since.

He tore them off of it now, though, to look bewildered at the cup, then, somewhat softer, up at the demon who'd placed it. He'd apparently all but forgotten that Crowley had said something about making a cuppa only – oh, fifteen minutes or so ago.

“Figured you might need a drink after breathing in all that bookdust.”

“Oh, dear boy.” Aziraphale curled his fingers around the cup, breathed in the steam coming from it. “That's very thoughtful of you.”

Crowley made a rough noise while staring at- the cup? The angel? Hard to tell. His thoughts were all over the place, yet he was definitely not thoughtful. Especially not this time. Selfish, more like.

“Don't go down that route, angel.”

“Sorry. But thank you, still. What tea is this?” Another sniff of the aroma, decidedly not Earl Grey. Something deep, something herby. Utterly lovely.

“Beats me. Something I found in your cupboards. Pour it out if you don't like it.”

Aziraphale gave him an almost scolding look (as if he'd ever pour tea down the drain instead of enjoying it thoroughly) before taking a sip.

“Oh, it's lovely!”

Crowley swallowed down the rising feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Nothing seemed to have happened. Why should something happen anyway? They'd returned to their places, Aziraphale over his book, Crowley on the sofa, trying his very best to hang off of it as nonchalantly as usual, and somewhat failing. Far too focused on watching the angel take sip after sip, until the cup was empty yet again. Waiting. Watching.

For what? Nothing was going to happen. It was tea. The witch had played a prank on him, or anyway her work was far too simple to have any effect on a non-human, and it's not like he'd actually expected anything to-

Aziraphale got up. Crowley's mind stilled.

“That reminds me!” (What reminded him of what, exactly? Aziraphale's train of thought was impossible to follow, as always.) “I have something for you.”

“You what?” Crowley only managed to stutter, but Aziraphale had already disappeared behind a bookshelf, returning with a small plastic box.

“Here, I found this at the same Antiques' store I found this lovely tome.” Crowley stared – at Aziraphale this time, definitely. He was still holding the box in his direction. “I remember, you said the last one had turned in your car again. I hope I got the right one?”

He wasn't quite sure what exactly he was doing as he took it from his hands. The thing. The box. He should look at the box. Not at Aziraphale. The box. Look at it, you doofus.

It was a cassette tape of the Velvet Underground. (Crowley wasn't sure if this record had actually ever come out as a cassette tape, but where there was an angelic will, there was apparently a way.)

“Well?” Aziraphale interrupted the myriad of thoughts racing through Crowley's mind. “Is it the right one?”

“It is.” His voice was surprisingly hoarse, as if he had been screaming. (He had, inwardly. Hopefully only inwardly.) “It absolutely is.”

Aziraphale gave him a smile, one of those smiles, the ones that made him feel all melty and soft and nice like he shouldn't feel. Especially not now. Especially not the way he had caused it.

“The right kind of Bebop, yes?” He joked, expectantly, and Crowley stifled a laugh, as he was expected to do. He didn't have much of a mind to play their usual game right now. Luckily, Aziraphale didn't seem to expect much more, as he went back to his desk and tome. Crowley went back to staring at the tape.

'Receiving Gifts', he thought. And then his mind raced to the other 5 bags hiding in the cupboard.

It was going to be a morally tough week. He was not a fan of those.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #my writing #prompts #october prompts

[explodingcrayon]

i’ve been working on something secret for the upcoming holidays and a bit of a wrench was thrown into that (nothing bad, just now more work than initially intended), so I’m probably going to drop out of inktober this year. I’m a little disappointed with myself, because 2017 I barely popped out a few doodles, and then in 2018 I made 31 full illustrations! I wanted to do that again, to keep improving, but...

I just need to focus my time on other things. And, tbh? I wasn’t really... having fun like I was last year. I don’t know if I’m tired, or just ended up not being as excited for doing the list as I was making the list, but each day coming up with a picture has been exhausting and kind of... boring! I like a few that I’ve made, but I can feel myself forcing out the ideas, and thus I’m not excited about the results. Last year I loved almost every inktober I made--I STILL do! This year, I’m sort of slogging through it for the sake of “completing my own list.”

And I do want to! Just... maybe after this little project is on its way, or once a week, instead of once a day.

#cryptpals is year ‘round, so I might finish the list another time, and I’ll keep checking on the tag on different sites for those that are keeping up with it!

#cryptpals #txt it #i really want to finish it for the sake of like #being the person that made the list and then doing it? #which seems silly and like no one cares who made the list lmao #it's just been fun to like... #help lead the charge??? #which isn't quite the feeling but it's the closest i can to articulating what i'm feeling #so i'm sort of disappointed in myself on a lot of different levels #but i also don't want to just pump out boring crap? #and i'm also so......tired #i dunno man

[mysticsparklewings]

Ink Dance

I feel like it's very ironic that a break from Inktober art on my front looks like the regular Inktober content from a lot of artists. Why is this a thing when I normally don't do ink drawings like this? First of all, I was just really in the mood to draw something princessy and romantic/sweet; Second of all, probably because of all the seasonal ink drawings going around, I had kind of an itch to give more a "classic" Inktober approach a try, especially since I didn't have any super strong ideas for a color palette once I had my romantic-type sketch ready to move to the next stages. Third of all, while I was thinking about where to take the sketch and possibly doing ink things, I watched a video by one of my favorite YouTubers where the challenge was to make a drawing with nothing but dots--aka Stippling. And from that, since I didn't really want to add anything else to the silhouette/shape of the skirt after I spent what felt like way too long trying to get it right, I thought maybe stipple-shading it would be a good way to make it look more interesting by making it look kind of glittery/sparkly. Now, if you've known me long enough, you may remember that I do not have a great relationship with the concept of stippling after a certain art project I had to do years ago. Problems in that scenario include The subject matter, the "twist," the size of the drawing, etc. This time, I'd be doing the stippling on my own terms on a significantly smaller scale, and I would not be limited to stippling and stippling alone. I was still apprehensive about the idea because as much as I liked the sketch I really didn't want to start stippling and end up totally hating the final product because of it. And a full disclosure that the actual act of stippling is still pretty tedious, but this time it was more bearable because I wasn't running on four hours of sleep in a brightly lit classroom with no other option for mental stimulation/distraction, repeatedly stabbing a gigantic piece of paper, unable to stop and take a break if necessary for fear of getting in trouble or not finishing the darn thing on time, but you can't just not pay attention and zone-out because then you're going to end up with dots in the wrong place and-- Do you see why I didn't like my high school art classes? Anyway. I did my best with the proportions/pose since I couldn't find a good reference for the exact pose I had in my head and I got tired of trying to find one (and I really didn't want to settle for something that was "close enough" but still not what I wanted). So I had to go largely with what I saw in my head and my best instincts. I also purposefully used the girl's dress skirt to hide the guys' legs because I didn't feel like trying to draw guy dress shoes. Or feet, for that matter. This was largely about just having fun with some cute imagery and ink techniques, not "let's draw perfectly accurate formal clothing including shoes." And you know, I think considering I had to make it up as I went along, it still turned out pretty well. After that, I transferred the sketch to a piece of mixed media paper and went on with the ink. I did the lines around the characters first, naturally, to set the boundaries of whatever ink techniques I ended up using, and then I started with the stippling. I think I started with the guy's jacket, but as I went I did end up doing so back-and-forth between the stippled areas to try and keep the shading and contrast relatively consistent. I had decided to do his jacket as stippled during planning for a little more visual interest since otherwise, he would've been a lot of just lines/hatching. It also makes the stippled dress look less out of place. (And also in real life I wish it were more common practice for guys to wear sequined formal jackets because I think they're just a cool fashion item.) After that, I moved on to doing their hair, which was a pretty obvious thing; the hatching/lines technique is just a really nice hair texture. Though getting it just right to leave the shine did take a little extra care. And really, other than his bowtie, the rest of the ink techniques were all hatching/lines, since those seemed like the best-suited textures for his pants, shirt, and her crown since those are all supposed to be relatively smooth items. Technically, the bowtie probably would be too in real life, but I like the slight difference in tone that cross-hatching it gives. Originally, I didn't really have a plan for their skin and that held true after I did everything else. I really didn't want to accidentally ruin it with too much texture or the shading being too harsh, so after some consideration, I just decided to use a few gray Copics just a little bit for shading, kind of like what happened on Roses in Your Eyes. It's barely noticeable, but I think it's just enough to get the idea across that they're not stark-white like the paper. The only bad thing about the markers is that the ink line for the guy's chin did end up smudging just a little, so in person, it almost looks like he has some stubble or a goatee that I hadn't planned on being there. I touched up a little on the scan, but it's still kinda there. There's nothing inherently wrong with that, and some might argue it really works since my style of drawing guys tends to lean more feminine as-is, it's just not what I was expecting. Also, since they're so small, I left their eyes alone as far as any further shading or coloring goes. It just didn't seem like a good idea to try anything in such a tiny space. And from far away you really don't notice the difference. Or at least I don't. And it was mostly unintentional, but I do like the contrast of how the guy's colors are mostly pretty dark, while the girl's are more mid and light-toned. After all, that was said and done though, it still felt like it was missing something. Thus, I couldn't help myself and once I'd thought about it, I ended up adding a red box behind the characters using a Stardust gelly roll pen. So in real life, it's also nice and glittery.  And I tried my hand at doing the white outline in reverse; instead of drawing it in with a white gel pen after the fact, I just colored in the box right up to the characters and tried to leave the space behind. I did have to touch up one or two spots where I got too close, but it was an interesting experiment that worked out pretty well. Red felt like a good color to go with because of how it contrasts with the black and white, and also I thought the whole "black white and red/read" joke was kinda funny. And yet still, it was missing something. I ended up going around one more time with a Pentel Sparkle Pop, one of the pens I had considered for the box behind them but nixed because it seemed too heavy/dark, and in the end, I think that was a good call. Together, the box and the outline with them a sort of grounding and add a nice pop of color without being too distracting. Overall, this was actually fairly simple and it turned out being much faster to polish off than I expected, probably largely because of the lack of color and not having to work about picking out the right individual values and getting the blending/shading smooth between different colors or having to build up layers over time. It may not be the greatest pen-and-ink drawing of all time, but considering this isn't something I normally go for, I'm pretty happy with it. And if I'm being completely honest, it was nice to take a break from my way of Inktober and make some art using more traditional methods in the spirit of the season. Speaking of which, I can hardly believe we've come so far already; there's only like a week left to go!   ____ Artwork © me, MysticSparkleWings ____ Where to find me & my artwork: My Website | Commission Info + Prices | Ko-Fi | dA Print Shop | RedBubble |   Twitter | Tumblr | Instagram

#inktober

[md3artjournal]

venting angst productivity failure time sleep practice progression

12:10 AM 3/25/2019

My daily figure photo series "Waiting for Ryuji" plus the daily/monthly drawing challenges I keep doing, are both destroying my days.  x____x;  It's been more than a week, and I haven't even finished the 23 paopu halves plushies I was supposed to do within 1-2 days!  I have so many projects to do for artist alley in early July!  ;O;  So many new products I want to make, but I have no energy!  It's becoming clearer that I only have energy for 1 (maybe 2) projects per day!  ;O;  That's just the 2 daily art projects/challenges to keep my art muscle in shape!  ;~;  Aughhhhh!  ;o;!  

Thank goodness I take notes for how long it takes me to draw different stages of a drawing, or else I would never have noticed I've been taking 3 hours per sketch.  O~o?!!!!  How is that?!  I'm not trying to be polished with those!  That was supposed to save time!  I mean, I'm not doing all-nighters anymore, like I did for Inktober 2017, so that's an improvement.  But 3 hours?!?????????  It takes me 10 minutes to do the primary sketch.  I know I can have problems designing a costume or conceptualizing a monster design, but 2 hours and 50 minutes?!?!?!??????  Omg...  I'm so hopeless.  Is this worth keeping my illustration muscles/skills in shape?  I've already accepted that I'm not an illustrator.  I suck too much.  I usually call myself a crafter, a jewelery, or a clay sculptor...Even though I've been drawing more frequently than ANY of those in a LONG time.  x~x;;;;  Is all this time really worth just TRYING to become better at drawing?  ;~;  I wanted to be able to nurture this skill so I could express myself with drawings, whenever I needed to express something.  But today was "Kiss Ryuji Day" and I was still too intimidated to draw anything for it, because I'm too afraid of how bad my attempts always turn out.  I couldn't even draw a good hug between Ryuji and Akira during OTPtember2018!  (It was such a bad drawing...That I tried SO hard on! ;_; )  I mean, I have to admit that I could turn some of my Magical March and MerMay challenge drawings into merch for artist alley, but objectively, none of it is good.  It's good *for me*, but compared to the competition in artist alley...What am I even doing there?!?  Looking at my sales data, the answer is I'm selling polymer clay sculptures, so again the question becomes, why am I using so much time to learn to draw, just so I can express myself, when it eats all my time away from making more clay sculptures that actually sell?  Is being able to express myself such a hang-up for me?  ...Yeah.  ~.~;  

So what about the figure photography?  I'll admit that those answers are simple.  It's a good way to practice an "eye" for composition, lighting, posing, etc.  I suck at it, and I don't put much effort into my lighting to mean anything against such greats as Kixkillradio, Love Pink Cheeks, Nendo Stories, etc.  When I look at their stuff, I can recognize how little I'm trying, and I have to ask myself "why am I even trying?".  Considering my self-expression fixation, figure photography is a good fill-in medium until I can better develop my drawing skills.  And I did originally start collecting figures to use as drawing models, which unavoidably funnels me into figure photography, so it's not like it's something I'll fully stop doing even if I stop setting up photoshoots and dioramas.  But I also really like making miniatures, figure accessories, diorama props, etc.  My sister said something like that if something makes me happy I shouldn't feel guilty about it and I should pursue it.  Whether I vent about how terrible I am for spending so much money on Nendoroids or when I refrain from buying supplies that could make my life less irritating out of frugality.  Maybe just feeling happy from doing figure photography is enough to justify it.  So maybe I shouldn't stop.  ...But I need to stop spending hours on Photoshop elements for figure comics.  That needs to seriously cut down, especially for a daily photo project.  

I know it never works when I resolve to stick to a schedule, but I really need to cut down how much time I use for these daily art projects, when artist alley is in a few months.  I don't outsource my products.  I have to make each and every one by hand.  That's the curse of the crafter.  I need to use more time for these crafts.  Jewelry, sculpting, designing, problem solving fabrication, etc...It's all stuff I love to do and once I start I don't want to stop...  But at this rate, I'm never going to get to it.  And then it'll just be a repeat of my horrible history.  Sure, last year I was able to finally make enough polymer clay Wayfinders to not sell-out my entire stock, half-way through Anime Expo---for once!  But it was still a situation of crunch time focused only towards my essential products and past best sellers, vs the thing I really wanted to do, which is making new products as well.  I waste so much time watching productivity videos, trying gameified motivation apps, and so much time wasted trying bullet journal techniques, thinking that if I just use this tracker or try this analog gameification technique, I'll finally stick to a schedule and thus be able to do everything I need and want to do....  But it always fails.  I really can't do more than 1 thing reliably per day.  And I have to practice daily to keep my skills up---my skills are too low to keep it to a once-per-week practice session.  

And it's started to wear down on me how much all these attempts and failures at a schedule are ruining my sleep cycle.  Everyday, there's a midnight I don't manage to get into bed on time, or a midnight in which I don't manage to be truly productive before midnight, so I have to stay up to get something done so I can go to bed, feeling good about myself as a person.  It's not as bad as school, but it is still a daily sense of failure, like school.  I recall the months (years?) that I resolved to no longer try to have a normal person's sleep schedule and just simply work on my projects as long as I have the will for, and than collapse into bed whenever.  I worked hard to have no social life, to have no one in my life vying for my time, so I should have no need to live in the same Time as anyone else.  But I had a breakdown last year, where I had to accept that I wanted the revive the good relationship I used to have with my mom, and I had to resolve to put some effort towards that.  So now I guess I have to live in the same Time as other people.  So I can't just be noctural and asleep while everyone else in my life is awake.  Yesterday, I think they tried to wake me to go to my uncle's birthday party/luncheon/dinner, but I sleep during the day and wake at night now.  I don't have FOMO for parties, being an introvert, but the next time---or rather how many times has my mom wanted to spend time together and I'm just in a different Time than her?  They go to movies every Tuesday sometimes invite me, haven't mentioned it in a long while, and for the past 2 weeks, I haven't even been able to be awake enough to go to two movies I've wanted to watch during the Tuesday-discounts.  Even right now, I'm staying up late again because I got sleepy during the day, and had to nap (and quite frankly I get better quality and more productive recuperation during daytime naps) so now I'm all rested to be awake...and it's past midnight.  Last week I finally got to a place where my sleep cycle more resembled a normal person's pattern, after 2+ weeks of work towards that.  And then one or 2 projects that went into the night, and all that progress was gone.  Sleeping like a normal person wouldn't be such an issue for me if I would actually be rested enough to be awake for when I want to get to work.  But I can't sleep even when I'm trying to sleep.  I'm amazed how spectacularly my attempts to sleep fail whenever I get to bed early ("early" as in a normal person's sleep pattern).  Is this all a lost cause?  Just like the rest of my life?  

Ugh.  I need to eat and sleep.  

2:13 AM 3/25/2019 Earlier today, my mom seemed to imply we could watch a movie on cable together, but I was in the moddle of a project.  I was fixated on a project instead, since sleep/fatigue had taken all my time, so the rare moments of productive will I have, I don't like to let go of it whenever I happen to have it.  It may ruin me, but in the end, I'd rather pay the cost of an all-nighter to get a good piece done, and have something as proof that I can be proud of myself (as well as use for artist alley for years to come), vs getting sleep on a normal person's pattern and have done nothing that stretched me beyond the limitations I thought I had. I like that proof of worth. (I've been seeing posts lately about "your productivity/skill is not your self worth" but I can't completely buy into that for myself anyway.) With my lack of memory and sense of self disappearing along with it, having artwork left along the way, as proof of who I was, what I'm capable of, and as concrete encouragement, proving that I can do great things, I have that inside me, even if those "great" things are just stretching beyond my subjective limitations by only milimeters...those are memories and senses of myself that I want and value.  ...And having new pieces in stock, ready to be turned into new artist alley products at the last minute, while I'm feeling bad that I hadn't had time to make anything new, is also great.  

#please ignore my idiocy

[regina-mortis]

Inktober Writing Challenge

(I have been really struggling with the challenge lately. This piece was especially hard given I accidently lost the whole work, thus had to re-write the entire story. I have little time to catch up, but I'm trying. Hope it fucking scares you)

Day 22: A Creepypasta

The Story

I debated bringing this story to light for weeks. It haunts me as clear and vividly gruesome as if the nightmare had unfolded a mere hour ago. I spent day after day wallowing in vodka, however no amount of alcohol rescued me from the bottomless gulf of heartbreak and guilt, or dimmed the abysmal horror lingering like poisonous thorns goring my ailed heart. It seems I have no choice… I shall succumb to insanity looming over me and pull the trigger if it  remains silently locked under my ribs, and my dear friend will have perished in vain. And her kid… He sincerely wanted to help. All this madness, death and agony he roused for me. I must unveil what happened, perhaps then I can breathe once again. I am to keep personal details as vague as possible, for if authorities find out my relation to the tragedy, I may land in more trouble than I can handle.

It began a few months ago. I was a horror author in the spring of career. My first novel, Miasma, had been published the previous year, I found myself in a storm of praises from readers and critics alike. Everyone was starving for my second book rumored to come out the following Halloween. Nobody could possibly know the truth… How hollow I had become, a mummified shell of the creator I once was. I drowned myself in spirits and melted my brain with cocaine to make existence bearable, distancing from friends and loyal admirers. Except one. For the story’s sake, I am going to name her Nellie. We… were morning against midnight, summer against dead of winter. Nellie was a single and eight months pregnant bachelor in family studies with a dream to one day run her own daycare. She had not as much as glanced at my book, far too squeamish for things I depicted, but cherished every part of me. I scorned Nellie for it. Who could adore the cynical addict I was behind a charming mask of blossoming talent… In my mind, no one. Nobody sane at least. I will divulge my soul and sincerely admit Nellie would have been the first person I shunned if not the stubbornness so aberrant to her naive and gentle self. She would not let me decay in peace, ringing the doorbell every fucking day with a flowery paper bag of home-cooked food and a rented DVD. Sometimes, she would even have me tag along to a tiny local coffee shop around the corner, where somehow, I smiled to the green-haired barista and signed a couple of autographs people asked me for. Nellie was the sole reason why I chose not to end it all. And I’m certain she knew. She was mellow, yet not a fool neither blind.  I loathed her, but found it impossible not to love her. She knew I could not bring myself to let her find my lifeless cadaver with skull blown off and brains all over the wall.

Upon stirring awake and noticing it was six in the evening, I caught myself both dismissively relieved and slightly concerned. Nellie always showed up around three in the afternoon to drag me out of bed and scold me for downing five cans of Red Bull to stay restless till ungodly hours of dawn again. Swallowing the worry and assuming she got caught up in university work, I stalked to the kitchen, only to freeze in sheer astonishment oozing with faint and abstract sense of primeval terror. Among the clutter on the table, sat an object which definitely had not been here before - a neatly folded piece of paper. Frowning, I snatched the mysterious item and frantically stared at the elegant note within. Gravely wind gushed through the balcony door I had not realized was open, and my skin grew pale as bone.

“End of the road behind the city park. I shall be waiting upon your wake”

Before spiralling into perpetual gloom, I used to be an avid urbex explorer. I’d gladly risk getting injured or arrested to sate my fascination for the cryptic and the macabre. Even Miasma, my novel, was inspired by an abandoned hospital a few streets away. Thus I certainly was aware about a deserted road behind the city park despite never having stepped a foot on it due to work and later misery devouring all my time. It was enlaced with legends and eerie stories told in slumber parties, university students organized ghost tours there for Halloween, high schoolers filmed themselves sniffing around to impress their crushes. Older folks feared the road like ants fear fire, claiming a curse plagued it, and monstrous specters roamed it on moonless nights. Nobody had dared to complete the route in last two decades, or lived to tell the tale, but an abandoned church was said to still stand at the end quite firm, held together by forces of ancient evil which infested it.

Though I doubt there is any need to mention urbex was no passion of Nellie’s.

I tossed the crumpled note away, grabbing my coat and bursting through the door, not bothering to brush my hair or change the jeans and shirt I had been wearing for last five days. All I hoped was that the hood will obscure my face enough for me not to be recognized.

The city park laid an hour away from my home on foot, and took an hour more to cross it. Without a physical possibility for the police to monitor the entirety of such a large area, the place could get extremely dangerous at night, lunatics, rogue criminals and homeless heroin junkies lurking in the bushes. Yet I could not care less about peril. Dread of something unnamed and far, far more cruel than a knife or a gun awaiting at the end of my destination pulsing like sick, festering aura around me likely  pushed any attacker to turn around anyway. My muscles were burning, sharp twigs whipping my face as I took every possible shortcut. The air was thick and heavy like butter, it felt as if my lungs had been flooded with slowly stagnating slime, robbing me of oxygen and making my head foggy, sight growing dark. I bit my lip harshly, rough, warm taste of iron dripping on my tongue, and pushed forward, struggling not to collapse.

I wish a gasp of ardor had erupted from my throat when indeed, outline of a small, crumbling church of gray stone emerged from the dark. I wish I had gingerly leaped forward, clutching my camera and already spinning a chilling tale in my head. Not limped towards impending doom growing clearer and clearer in front of me, ankle sprained in the rush refusing to obey my sizzling nerves.

What I found inside the forsaken sanctum surged me with such sepulchral, abysmal sensation I fail to flesh out earthly words to recount it. The horror… Oh, the spine-crushing horror. Nellie was here. She gazed straight at me, starry blue of her gaze now glassy, final visage of sheer fright and despair chained in the milky prison until maggots gnaw it away, mouth agape in a wordless greeting muffled by raw red muscle stuffed withing. She laid so heinously beautiful on the split, mouldy altar, broken arms motionless by her side, bare intestines slumped over the edge, blood and yellowish, reeking stomach fluids still trickling and spreading around as if a morbid halo. Her chest… Torn open, flesh and fragments of fractured bone scattered around, a dusty golden Chalice set in the middle. I stumbled backwards, screeching soundlessly. On top of it… placed a severed head of an in infant, so tiny, but almost fully developed, ruthlessly gouged out of a lifeless womb.

What… What in the name of all Saints and Sinners… Was this all a nightmare?.. A hallucination?.. Let it be, please, let it be!..

“Do you like it?” a voice rumbled from my left, guttural, yet serpentine,  shaking every fiber in my body with shock so intense I broke out of paralysis, jumping and turning around to face four blazing amber orbs in the shadows.

The figure rose seven feet above ground, without counting the enormous crooked horns sat upon his head that is. Black as obsidian, his skin merged flawlessly with the murk, or was he cloaked I could not tell.

“I beg you, fear not… I did this all for you” he continued without waiting for a response of mine “For your story. A child once lost a scripture of yours on the road that I wandered. I gave into curiosity, and the way you weave words of terror has bewitched me. I have watched over you ever since… I saw how uneasy your slumber was, I witnessed the pain drained ambrosia has brought you. Please…” he gestured towards the desecration “drink inspiration for your new story”.

#inktober 2018 #october writing challenge #creepypasta #original creepypasta #horror #horror story #my story #my creepypasta #my writing #my words #writers on tumblr #original horror #the story #demon super fan

[thunderpot]

Oh look a wild AU appears! This is something I’ve been playing around with for ages, so I kinda have more stuff for it than I originally planned /cri. At first it would be just a very plain, ordinary witch au but then I thought: well kwamis are already a huge extrapolation of the thing and I wanted them in, so why not go full crazy? 

So I did.

I am no writer and I am creating/deciding stuff as I go, so there will be no actual fanfic for it, even though the events in my head have some linearity. I do plan on drawing/sketching some key moments I have in mind for this though — like some of you might have seen already.

Hope you guys like it! :*

P.S.: Sorry for the long post! 8′D

Whenever a star dies, it can be reborn in many forms  to finish burning. Sometimes, they  choose to come back on earth  as humans (or other entities) with special habilities. The Supernova is both their death and their [re]birth.

Reborn stars (such as mari) have only one physical detail that differs them from ordinary people: a schematic broom flower tattoo on their hands and feet. These are their “birthmarks” and never fade. Thankfully, they can easily pass as an uncommon tattoo.

The fact that one does possess magic does not exclude them from learning to properly use and control their habilities. To this end, they usually go through various learning paths.

Most of these individuals, however, choose to remain solitary practitioners and ecletics, as to protect their particular situation. Sometimes, they might search and befriend other stars or be blessed by kwamis (and keep them as magical companies).

Kwamis are nature spirits that might bless an individual for varying reasons. More often than not, they attach themselves to a particular item to stay close to their chosen individual most of the time.

The blessing consists in one or more (usually up to two) powers/habilities. The blessed person might not always know they are blessed, thus carrying on with their lives unaffected (or not). 

If a reborn star is blessed, they will get enhanced powers for a short period of time  and be able to perform small "miracles" if they fuse with the spirit. This does consume their burning life, however, and must be used wisely. 

The kwamis talk about a single star who, obsessed with life, got consumed with dark magic to keep on living endlessly. Marinette and Alya both brush it off as jibber-jabber: even spirits like to play.

A stray black cat regularly shows up at Mari's house and she gently calls him chat noir. 

Mari's best friend is Alya, an oak dryad (and the only dryad mari has knowledge of). Marinnete think's she too was a star before being reborn, although Alya won't tell what is the truth no matter what.

Aside Alya, Marinette has a frienemy with whom she talks (through a difficult ritual) from time to time, whenever the stars are in the right position. This friend is dying, and while she cannot change their situation, she tries to help with their fears whenever she can.

Mari was performing said ritual the night Adrien caught sight of her during a college party in the woods. 

Adrien and Nino are finishing university soon, and at the time of the party, had 0 knowledge on anything out of the ordinary.

On that same week, very far from that place, a red-haired guy found an old peacock enamel pin on an trip in search for some inspiration.

that’s all for now! Expect my inktober drawings to start showing later today and once every day for the next couple weeks! They might or might not have some more info that is not here ´v`

#magemiracu #ml #miraculous ladybug #I like to think mari follows a modified version of stregheria #Aradia would do a fine star #But I haven't decided on that for sure yet #I've also been wondering about #if stars have real magic #what would normal practitioners be? #comparing to cosmic stuff they would be satelites #being aided by those beyond the veil #and the ones who do have some powers #say premonitions or talking to spirits #could be descendants from stars #on varying levels #hmmmm that sounds good #just me thinking loud on my tags #see that's how my thought process goes #I am so trash #god halp meh #marinette #alya #adrien #nino #chloe #nathaniel #that does sounds good tho #so I might use it #8'D

[nightsmudge]

I'm really enjoying what I'm doing for Inktober this year, it's been a while since I've been able to sit down and just let my creativity loose

For many of these, I ended up using various random generators to help me with inspiration on what kind of character to draw, and to help me with figuring out things like what species the character is, how old they are, what sport they play, etc. (also yes I know the first set of drawings says Days 1-3, I did a dumb and scribbled on the labels without thinking) I'm probably going to just dump all my Inktober drawings on weekends since I'm usually too busy with work and school during the week And now, a description for each character if you are interested

Day 2: Wispy Skeleton Dog Her design is based on the Welsh Springer Spaniel My current idea for her is that she’s the pet of a famous witch celebrity/model. Though she’s been trained to be well behaved and to sit in front of a camera for photoshoots, as well as being surrounded by glamour and luxury, she still lives the life of a normal dog for the most part. Her owner is pretty down to earth, letting her visit regular old local parks to play with other dogs roll around in the dirt, and do typical dog things. 
When her owner is on tour doing signings or meet-and-greets, she’s usually sitting right next to them patiently, happy as can be, and receiving the occasional head scritch
 She is good girl, best doggo, very pretty and photogenic Day 3: Tired Plague Demon For this day, I looked over a couple other October drawing prompts, and from there picked “Fatigued” 
So, I decided to make a demon character who looks old, sickly, and perpetually tired
 And thus, I made an old demon with Plague magic. I think I’m going to have her be the grandmother of a background character idea I’ve have for a while; a plague demon who’s a fairly well-known and renowned doctor in his local town.
 The grandmother is probably going to be the cranky and slightly entitled type, though cranky mainly because she’s old and kinda lonely. She might feel entitled to get care from her grandson whenever she feels like it, since she helped him pay for university, but there are times where she admits she’s proud of him for being a hero. Day 4: Classy Skeleton This little guy is part of a species I’m working on called a “necroform,” who are basically skeletal creatures that assist the Grim Reaper in organizing the inner workings of the afterlife and documenting all the souls that come through This guy in particular doesn’t have anything too special about him, he just thinks it’s neat to carry around an old radio in his ribs.

Day 5: Guardian Angel He just an angel with a sword big enough to gain the attention of a Final Fantasy character 
I don’t have much story-wise for this guy, but the design inspiration came from D&D Paladin armor
 Though admittedly her looks a tiny bit more like a Spartan soldier eh, it still works Day 6: Red Squirrel Kookaburra He’s a part of a species I have called “griffans,” which are humanoid chimeras who are one part bird, one part any reptilian or mammalian animal. This guy is large bit cheerful and a good bit humble, living the simple life of farmer. His main line of work is pumpkin and gourd farming, and shipping out the harvest every fall. He usually likes to set up a little patch by the edge of town or in local parks so he can sell pumpkins directly to people, just so he can see people’s smiles firsthand when fall comes around.
 He’s very friendly and happy fella, though be careful if you get him laughing, it’s hard for him to stop Day 7: Rich Vampire This guy is a pure blooded, or full blooded vampire, also known as a dhampir. 
Pure blooded vampires usually congregate into different houses, each house containing descendants of old vampire lords or other royalty. These pure bloods take heavy pride in the household they are part of, and are often shamed by all of dhampir kind if they forcefully kicked from their clan. 
That’s what happened to this guy. He was once a wealthy descendant of a duke, but after embezzling money from the family’s collective funds, he and his only direct family member; his niece, were kicked out. Both were lucky enough to be taken in by a separatist house, one that consists of other pure blood vampires who were exiled from their family house for various reasons. Despite the generosity he was offered, he still acts snobbish and entitled, and he likes to act as if he’s still an honorable duke. Day 8: Toothy Fear Demon
 He has a face that only a mother would love.
 Since he naturally looks terrifying, and his magic is based entirely on instilling fear, he was kind of set up to have a hard life since the beginning. He can’t exactly land an honest job since most places don’t want customers to be greeted with his scary mug, so he had to turn to shadier business in order to make a living. 
 If you go down the right alley or go to the right part of the woods, you’ll find him selling bootlegged curses, counterfeit charms, and possibly illegal potions. Because the only ones who don’t have a problem with his face are the ones who are the most desperate Day 9: Track and Field Angel 
I had a hard time figuring out a good design for this one, all I knew was that if I wanted to use the theme “throw,” it’d make more sense to get a sport involved. One random generator told me to draw a half-angel, the other told me to do track and field 
So yeah, high school student who does shot-put 

#Inktober #inktober challenge #inktober2020 #skeleton dog #wisp #fatigued #radio #rodent #vampire #fancy #demon #teeth #angel #blade #throw #shotput

[artisticvicu]

Altruistic Endeavors | Inktober 2020 - Day 6: Rodent

He frowned, looking at the window. The sheer shade obscured a lot of the view but he could make out the faint shapes of trees passing slowly by before there was a soft jerk forward and the camper stopped.

“There’s no way we’re already there, is there?” Beckett asked, a frown on their face.

He shook his head, getting up. “Not a chance. It’s a thirty minute drive without traffic and if enough people got the notice, we’ll hit traffic.”

He opened the bedroom door and moved to the front seats. Beckett’s footfall was soft behind him. The front curtain was open and he didn’t wait to speak up. “What’s going on? Why’d we stop?” he asked, gaze going out the windshield.

The winding road disappeared around a cliff side but he could make out a portion of it in the distance. The flashing lights were hard to miss.

“Might have been an accident,” Cole offered, “could have been a landslide. Either way, I don’t think we’ll make it to the pass.”

“Do we want to just hunker down at the cabin, then? We had already planned on being there for a week.”

“We could send you lot on ahead. You’d just have to be without whatever’s at the cabin till the pass clears out.”

He caught a glimpse of the little notification on the map about an accident ahead before he closed the app. “Let me call Orlean.” A few quick taps and the sound of the phone ringing filled the small space.

“Yo,” Orlean answered.

“You’re on speaker,” he informed him.

Cole took over the conversation. “There’s an accident up ahead. Even going around will make it near impossible to stop at the cabin AND make it through the pass. We can stop by the store and brave the masses for what little more we need supply wise but if you guys are up to being without whatever’s at the cabin, I’ll send Artemis and Beckett to you now and you guys can take the back route to the pass.”

“The Doppler’s got the storm moving to hit the pass first,” Sam interjected, muffled at first until she got closer. “We’d just as likely get caught in it trying to leave now as we would trying to go around this.”

Beckett presented their screen. “It just updated.” Lora took the phone so that she could show Cole while he kept his eyes on the traffic. “The storm shifted from the predicted enough to be a problem.”

“Then we hunker down at the cabin. We’ve already got enough food to last the week but I want to stop by the store and get a bit more just in case.”

“Best bale now, then.” He pointed at the coming turn. “We can take that to get to the store.”

“Orlean, follow as best you can. Artemis, can you go ride with them and help navigate in case we hit troubles?”

“Traffic’s moving,” Orlean pointed out, “and we’ll be fine. I’ll stay on the line and Beckett’s already texting Sam. We won’t lose you.”

Cole sighed, taking the turn as soon as it was clear. Artemis got a brief glimpse of the other camper’s bumper as it followed close. “Sorry about this, guys. Hadn’t intended to get us all caught in a snowstorm.”

“Hey, some things can’t be helped,” Orlean countered.

Sam added, “The snow wasn’t predicted to come in till tomorrow and only with a few inches. It didn’t ramp up to this severity till a few hours before the alert went out; this is just how rapidly things can change. At least we now have the systems to warn people.”

“Did it really come out of nowhere?” he inquired. “I thought our weather tech was better than that.”

He could practically see her shaking her head as she explained, “They were keeping an eye on it but it’s hard to tell what a storm cell will do until it happens. Even the prediction of heavy snowfall can be inaccurate but I trust what they’re seeing happening to the west that we’ll at least have blizzard conditions for the duration it’s over us.”

“There’s already snowfall?” Cole asked, alarmed.

“Yeah, it’s a big system. If Beckett still has their phone, they can zoom out on the map and show you where the snowfall is at. And it’s a good thing that it’s hitting something other than us right now. Gives meteorologists time to gather more data before ensuing more panic if panic is needed.”

He frowned at that. “So there’s a chance it could be worse than predicted?”

“Only in longevity. It could settle over us for a few days but right now the winds are pushing it through rather quickly, thus the blizzard concern. Even a lack of inches can create blizzard conditions if the winds are right. But if this settles in the valley, we really could see feet worth of snow by the end of the week, let alone this evening.”

“Then let’s hope the winds keep it going,” Cole said. “We’re about a half hour out from the store and, depending on how busy that it, could be another two to three hours before we make it to the cabin. When is the snow supposed to start?”

“For the area?” There was a pause. “They’re still expecting it heaviest around noon but we should start seeing it a few hours prior. Most likely we’ll get the winds first, though I am surprised we haven’t gotten them yet. The temperature difference between yesterday and today is ridiculous. From their expectations, we’ve already reached the high for the day. It’s only going to get colder.”

“So take the winds as the first warning, then.”

“Pretty much.”

Cole sighed. “Alright. We’ll hit the store for food and water.” There was a pause and he watched Cole’s hands flex around the steering wheel. “I know this is probably overkill but when we get back, I’ll need an extra hand to remove the two water tanks from the campers and we’ll take them in to use as backup on the off chance something goes wrong.”

“Nothing should,” Lora added, her voice light and reassuring as she gave Cole’s arm a gentle squeeze. “The cabin’s been made to withstand more than a simple blizzard and the pipes will be fine. But, if it will ease your mind, we’ll pull the tanks.”

“I’ll help with the tanks, Cole,” Orlean put in as Cole shot her an appreciated look that looked a little pinched.

“So will I and Sam, if you need any other help,” Dean added.

“We trust your judgment in this,” Sam finished off. “If you want to be set for a week without running water and electricity, let’s prep for it.”

A look crossed Cole’s face but Artemis was at the wrong angle to understand what it had been. “Thanks, guys. Hopefully it’s just me being paranoid.”

Orlean spoke up again. “Nothing wrong with a healthy dose of caution.”

There wasn’t much conversation after that beyond small talk between Dean and Lora with a random comment here and there from the others. It passed the time and was enough of a distraction that by the time they made it to the store, Artemis realized that the winds had arrived. The entire camper shuddered against the force of one gale as he rummaged through what had been left in the camper looking for a coat or sweater. Lora was on the other side of the bed while he could hear Cole and Beckett talking in the main space waiting for the others.

The air pressure in the camper changed as his hand wrapped around a familiar sleeve. “Found them, Lora,” he announced, pulling out first the sweater he had grabbed before going and pulling out the rest of the pile. It was measly to say the least but there was enough there to keep everyone warm. Lora went through it as she made it a more manageable pile as Sam and Dean’s voices drifted into the room. The pressure settled back to normal. “Hopefully some got left in the other camper as well.”

He followed Lora out. There was a pile on the table that Lora added to. “Oh good. You were able to find some,” Lora commented, pulling out one of the heavier sweaters and passing it and a jacket to Cole. “Here.”

Beckett snuck closer and started digging through the pile. Artemis moved over to Orlean. He could wait till the others were done. “How cold is it out there?”

“Enough that I want a second sweater once there’s room,” Orlean deadpanned with a flat expression. “The wind’s brutal.”

“See if you can’t find something else for me while your in there,” Dean interjected, voice low. “What I picked is too tight.”

Artemis looked over Dean’s choice. “Take it off. Beckett will probably fit that better anyways and we’ll get something that’s looser.”

Dean nodded. There was an attempt to get the sweater off but it really was too small for him to manage it on his own. It took Sam and Orlean to get him out of it without hurting himself or the sweater. Artemis took it, not missing Cole passing Sam a heavy coat for Dean to try. Artemis passed the sweater to Beckett who was already in one sweater. They didn’t hesitate to pull on the one Dean had been wearing.

“Here.” Beckett handed him a rather familiar sweater. It had been old when he had last seen it and to see it now still relatively whole was amazing. What felt remained of the image on the chest was the base and a vague shape of some rodent. He pulled it on even as he asked, “What had been on this? A mouse?”

“Rabbit,” Beckett supplied, passing him a lined wind breaker that was definitely too big. He pulled it on anyways.

“What happened to the rest of it?”

Beckett looked at the chest of the sweater. “Either the hot glue melted or the pieces got torn off.” They met his gaze. “I’m surprised you remember it at all. You saw it, what, once?”

He shrugged.

“Alright,” Cole called out, drawing everyone’s attention. “Everyone bundled?” There was a murmur of affirmations. “Good. Let’s get in and get some supplies.”

It was still early enough in the morning that the store wasn’t as busy as he had somehow expected it to be. There were a number of cars in the parking lot - a good number for almost nine on a weekday - but it was as if it was a normal day and they were the only ones stressing the coming storm. Once inside the store, it was clear they weren’t, but there was still plenty of water to get and plenty of groceries to pick from.

Lora and Sam broke off from the group in the produce department while Cole and Dean went for the meat. It had been agreed that while they were going to prep for a week, they were also going to still eat well. Still, Beckett took one of the carry baskets and started on the soup aisle as he and Orlean were sent to go get water and the few other essentials they would need.

Orlean stopped at the start of the water aisle, eyes already on the paper aisle. “I’ll go get toiletries if you’ve got the water.”

“Go for it,” he encouraged. Orlean walked off, leaving him alone with the cart.

He pulled four of the largest jugs available onto the undercarriage of the cart before wandering down the aisle. He knew if water went out for a week, it wouldn’t be nearly enough, but he trusted that it would only be for a last resort. He grabbed an assortment of sports drinks and juices before grabbing two cases of soda. There were already several at the cabin but it wasn’t like they wouldn’t get consumed at some point if they weren’t trapped there for a week.

Orlean found him as he was putting the soda in the cart and there was a pleased glint in the other’s eye that had him stop second guessing his decision. Orlean tucked the two large packs of toilet paper on top of the neatly packed drinks before tucking in a few boxes of bar soap, a small bottle of dish soap, and a large tube of the toothpaste he knew Beckett and Cole favored. He raised an eyebrow at Orlean. Orlean shrugged. “They’ve got good taste. If anyone runs out, we’ll have a spare and it’ll get used eventually.”

“You don’t think we’re going overboard with this, do you?” he found himself asking, tugging on the cart to start for the others.

“I’d much rather be over prepared and lack the stress than under prepared and stressed the entire time.” Orlean stopped at the frozen chicken breasts and grabbed two of the large bags. “Besides, this way we can camp out in the cabin for the next week and ignore the rest of the world. As much fun as camp sight hopping sounded, after this morning I’m all good for holding up in the cabin and not coming out till we have to leave.”

#All the Creation #Creative and Prompt Writing #Inktober 2020 #Day 6 #Altruistic Endeavors

[alecatmew]

Checkpoint

As many people have probably found, the pacing of this year’s been all out of wack. And so we’ve hit August, a time where I’m usually feeling at least some… kind of restlessness… and it’s taken nearly half the month for me to even feel like I have anything worth saying.

I did want to make some kind of post this month. The only other time I’ve missed Blaugust entirely I ended up regretting it. Seeing the archives completely lacking in a waypost for 2017 felt wrong, and it’s something I really wanted to avoid repeating. I know I’ve used this this turn of phrase before, and I expect it will return in every August to come – in fact I hope it does – so that I can guilt myself into making some kind of contribution.

Loose Threads

When I opened the blog to start making this stream-of-consciousness mind-dump, I found a left-over from last year. Did I double post this? Did it miss publication? It seems to be the post for 21st August that…. just didn’t make it out into the wild. I guess I’ll hit publish on it once this post is up.

Motivation

I haven’t been very disciplined about my art of late. I haven’t done any crafting in the last year really either. There were a couple of high-activity moments – I participated in Inktober last year and mostly got a piece done each day of the month. It was good to just draw for the sake of drawing, but perhaps it fostered too much of a disposable attitude towards art – the same things that made it so liberating – “this piece doesn’t matter beyond today” perhaps made it harder to return to long-term projects.

Thus the projects that I’ve had that would take multiple sessions to bring to life haven’t gotten off the ground. And my desire to post things here on my blog is almost entirely gone – after all, the ease of posting something to Twitter for instant gratification leaves this blog rather disadvantaged.

Besides that I’ve also been… I guess disenfranchised. I’ve known for a long time that I don’t really have a unique perspective or special story to tell and… it’s hard to create when those doubts linger. Plus so many other clever people are just out there making mindblowing art. It’s not that I’m indulging my competitive side it’s just… I don’t feel the need to compete on this playing field at all. I’ve been thinking of dropping out of Artists Alley if I’m accepted for the January AVCon, because I just don’t know if I need to do it. I have a day job and I don’t intend to turn my art side-hustle into anything bigger, so tabling is purely an exercise to feed my ego.

Holding Up the Mirror

The alternative path that I should possibly put more thought into is that… my creative mind doesn’t have enough space for nourishment at the moment. Maybe Inktober was successful because of the ratio of brainstorming/concept development to actual art creation was really high. I could spend time in advance thinking of a prompt and then do the actual art in a single session.

It’s harder to consider larger pieces at the moment because if they can’t be done in a single session, then other factors come into play. Each time I return to a piece I’d have to find my rhythm with it again. Plus I’d have to intersperse the completion of the piece with the day job – and an outstanding piece of art can be quite the distraction to work with.

Is it possible to cut down on other demands on my time in order to focus on art? One would think that these recent periods of isolation would have been a great field to explore this in, and my failure to do produce any art in this time perhaps proves that it isn’t the solution. But on reflection I just failed to put any focus on art – I’ve been setting speedrunning goals, twiddling with coding side projects, I taught the cat new tricks, I invented some new recipes, I practiced my accordion, I played quite a few rounds of Terraforming Mars.

My father, a retiree, said a couple nights ago that he too thinks up too many projects and can’t make enough time for them. Oh woe, I thought that was only a problem for me presently because I work during the week! To think it will forever be like that. I guess I may need to stop indulging my wandering mind and examine if I truly want to be doing more art, and set goals accordingly.

Still, I can’t help but envy John – who is presently working 2.5 days a week – and wonder what I could achieve if I had the same amount of free time, if not more.

Looking Into the Mirror

I think at this point in life, I’m no longer struggling to carve out my identity. I just… am who I am. So I don’t feel a need to prove myself in art (or coding, or getting a top spot on the Untitled Goose Game speedrun leaderboard…). And while it’s comfortable to not need to pursue those things I’ve failed to find alternative sources of motivation.

Maybe I’m less upset about the lack of art specifically, insomuch as my actual concern is mourning this lack of motivation. What used to drive me to post during Blaugust?

Next Steps

After all that rambling I think I’ve finally thought of a couple things that I ought to put up here. I made a dang fine yuzu crème brûlée recipe that should probably be properly documented (Twitter threading didn’t treat it well). Maybe I should scan and touch up some of my Inktober pieces. Maybe some other old art ought to be documented here too. Maybe some of my coding escapades could afford some introspective blog posts. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll find it in me to make some new art.

Thanks for reading, hopefully I’ll see you again before the end of the month.

"Checkpoint" was originally published on Proairesis

#blaugust #meta

[youveneverbeenalone]

Inktober for Writers/Fictober:

Day 25- Friend (Darejones)

So, I love Trish Walker. I just want everyone to know that, and I hope I’ve captured her voice. And I just really love the idea of her and Matt getting closer as Jess and Matt get closer. Thus, today’s prompt. Continuity-wise, fits specifically with the Start of Something series, and most of the other prompts from this month, at some point when Jessica and Matt are getting closer, but she still hasn’t decided to give it a try with Matt. As usual, prompt list here and links to the other days at the bottom. Please let me know your thoughts, if you’re so inclined!

Also, holy cow, we’re almost done! I am hoping to get caught up this weekend so I can finish on time, so cross those fingers for me. Also, thank you for reading and sticking with me all this time. :)

Day 25- Friend

He’s not all that surprised when Trish texts him. Honestly, from what he’s heard of her, it makes a lot of sense that she would reach out and get to know him. And he’s quite curious about her too, considering how she’s managed to keep Jessica alive and (mostly) well for the last however many years. But that doesn’t keep Jessica from giving him shit about their lunch date when they hang out for their weekly bullshit session later that evening.

“So, I heard you got an interesting invitation today. Scared, Devil Boy? ‘Cause you’ll be going up against Trish Walker, herself.”

He huffs a laugh under his breath. “Not at all. In fact, I’m looking forward to it. From the admittedly limited interactions I’ve had with her so far, she seems lovely. I can’t wait to meet up with her.”

She has to be rolling her eyes at him. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”

He just smiles as he takes a sip from his glass. How bad could things possibly be?

A week later, he arrives twenty minutes early to the exclusive new restaurant with rave reviews that Trish had suggested. He stalls outside for several minutes, using his breathing exercises to calm his elevated pulse. He can’t help but feel a little out of place at an upscale restaurant like this, though he knows how to pretend like he doesn’t- though it takes him a minute to work up to it.

After he feels sufficiently calm, he walks in and is lead to a table toward the back where she is waiting for him. She stands as he approaches the table, tone bright and body language open.

“Matt, it’s good to see you. Thank you for coming.” She reaches out and takes his hand in both of hers, a hybrid handshake that feels welcoming without feeling too professional. It brings a smile to his face as he sits down opposite her.

“Trish, always a pleasure. But I think I should be the one thanking you for inviting me to this marvelous restaurant.”

She hums, a soft smile on her face. “Well, what fun is it to be a local celebrity if you can’t share the perks with friends?”

He can hear the note of teasing threaded through her voice as she speaks, and he chuckles. He appreciates those who can poke fun at themselves, and it’s just another reason he likes Trish. Plus, it reinforces his hope that this meeting will go well.

It takes him a long moment to decide what to order- every scent coming from the kitchen is just so good- but he finally does. Then as soon as the waiter finishes taking their orders and turns to walk away, he hears her suck in a deep inhale. And as she does, he takes his own deep breath to brace for whatever queries she might throw at him.

“So, Matt… Jessica tells me that you have been hanging out more frequently lately. That you’re becoming rather good friends.”

He’s impressed by the way she is able to keep even the slightest hint of accusation out of her tone, simply stating facts then looking at him intently and allowing him to read in between the lines. He knows the tactic well because he uses it himself. No wonder she’s so successful at interviewing.

But his familiarity with the tactic allows him to breathe a little easier under her gaze. His tone is calm and collected as he answers her, a slight smirk on his face.

“Really? I’ve been promoted to ‘good’ friend. That’s great.”

She huffs a laugh at him. “Jess wasn’t kidding. You’re clever and charming. No wonder she likes you.”

But he stills and his heart stutters violently at that. No matter how much he had hoped for that to be true, he definitely didn’t expect her to say it.

Jessica likes him?

He fights a blush at the thought, but then as quickly as the surprise hit him, anxiety silently slides into its place. Because, what does that mean, exactly? He’s unsure what it may or may not signify in terms of her willingness to engage in any sort of relationship with him in a more than platonic way. He guesses that wouldn’t be so bad, as long as he could still be her friend, but he can’t deny that the idea is a disappointing one. And that’s a concerning thought that he will have to continue pondering later, because Trish is speaking again, voice careful neutral, as she breaks him out of his reverie.

“You look surprised. Is that news to you?” She’s leaning forward, like she’s trying to read him and pick up every available bit of nonverbal information he’s providing to her right now.

Shit. He’s really backed himself into a corner here. And he can’t see a way that it ends well, particularly if he tries to play coy or bullshit her. So he sighs deeply and decides to be honest. Or, as honest as he can be.

“Not necessarily. But, I’m hesitant to set any expectations or jump to any conclusions about how she feels or where we are without her explicit say-so. For obvious reasons.”

She’s quiet for a beat, and his anxiety begins to rise in the seconds that collect between them. But eventually she clicks her tongue at him, a smile in her voice.

“Well said. So, if you don’t mind my asking, what kind of a relationship are you hoping for?”

Her gaze is intent, unwavering, and just the slightest bit intimidating. He suddenly finds himself wishing he had taken Jessica’s words to heart and worried a little harder about this meeting. But with a deep breath, he relaxes a bit and tries for some humor to help him get his feet again.

“Right. So, is this the part where you ask me about my intentions with Jessica and threaten bodily harm if I hurt her in any way?”

He barely covers a smirk as she laughs heartily at him, leaning back in her chair.

“Well… now that you’ve brought it up, I don’t have to. But seeing as she’s my best friend and the only family I’ll willingly claim, I highly encourage you to tread carefully.”

He simply nods at her, expression solemn. “Noted. And I absolutely plan to.”

This seems to be the correct answer, because she smiles softly at him again. She opens her mouth and is just about to speak again when the waiter arrives with their food. And a temporary and unspoken truce goes into effect as they go about fixing their meals and preparing to eat. But after the first few bites and pleasantries about the food are exchanged, the pause is lifted.

As she spears a cherry tomato, she looks up at him and resumes their conversation.

“She’s been through a lot, you know. So please be patient with her. There really is a caring, warm person under that leather jacket, if you can show her you’re not going to try to control her and you’re not going to run when things get difficult for her.”

He sets his fork down, smirking softly because he’s seen glimpses of that already, and he is bound and determined to see more. “I’m not planning on going anywhere. And really, I’m just hoping to help her through some of those difficulties, in whatever capacity she needs me. I’ve had a number of them myself, and it’s always a little easier to face them with some support.”

Trish nods. “Well said. I hope you can help her with that, too. But… a word of advice?”

She has set her silverware down and has her hands steepled, elbows on the table, and he can feel the weight of her gaze. She’s serious about whatever it is she’s about to say.

He cocks his head at her as he also sets his silverware down. She lets out a sigh, and when she speaks, he can hear how earnest she is coming through in her tone.

“Be careful.”

His eyebrows furrow because he can’t understand why she’s suddenly warning him about getting involved with Jess after everything else they’ve talked about. But before he can think any more about this strange advice.

“She told me about your … second job, though she didn’t share many details about how you do that job. But even if I don’t understand how, I do understand that it’s dangerous work, particularly if you have an idealistic desire to save the world.”

She chuckles under her breath at that, making fun of herself again. From what Jess has told him about Trish, this does sound like an issue they have in common. Maybe they could sit down some time to talk about it. But for now, she’s not quite done with their heart-to-heart.

“But try to remember to save yourself from time to time, too. I’m not sure how much she’s been able to verbally say on the subject, but I know she cares about you. And she was devastated when she thought you were gone. So please- take care of yourself, for both your sakes.”

He can do nothing but blink a few times, dumbstruck as he takes in her words. There are so many questions racing in his head, so many things which he is now wondering about, but mostly just wondering how much she really does care about him and what that might mean for them in the future. But these are questions he will need some time to process before he begins the process of answering, so for now he will just focus on his response to Trish. The most grateful one he can muster.

“Fair enough. Well, I will definitely bear that in mind.”

She nods once, then picks up her fork again to resume eating the last several bites of her lunch, and he follows suit. And as they switch to decidedly less emotional topics, he can’t help but feel a warm, bright hope blooming in his chest. Because he thinks he just got the best-friend stamp of approval, and this helps him to believe that he’s not crazy to believe that one day, he and Jess might be together. And that’s a lovely thought.

After they’ve finished with their lunch, when the waiter returns with the check, he snatches the bill before she can even reach for it. He may have been cheating, just a little, but it’s totally worth it.

“Matt, that’s very kind of you, but you don’t have to do that. And I did invite you out.” She shrugs, extending a hand in his direction.

But she shakes his head. “I appreciate the offer, but I insist.”

She lets out a huff of laughter. “I’m sure you two get along perfectly, what with both of you being bullheaded.”

He chuckles as he takes out his wallet and reaches for his card, which he gives to the waiter. “You have no idea.”

She laughs, low and soft, at that. “I’m rooting for you, by the way. I think you’re just what she needs. If she could get out of her own way.”

A smirk breaks across his face. “I’m hopeful that with just a little more time, it won’t be a problem.”

“Hopefully so.”

The waiter returns his card, and they gather their belongings, slipping on their jackets as they head for the door. Once outside, she offers to take him home, but he politely declines. They say their goodbyes and make tentative plans to meet up again, just to chat (and won’t Jessica be thrilled to hear that), but just as she is turning to leave, he calls to her.

“Trish, wait. I just wanted to say thank you. For everything, but especially the advice.”

She raises her eyebrows and shrugs. “Like I said- I’m rooting for you, Murdock. So don’t fuck it up.”

He chuckles under his breath. “I’m going to do everything in my power not to.”

She smirks and nods once. “Bye for now.”

He waves and echoes her goodbye before turning and heading toward his apartment. And as he walks, he feels as though he’s floating. The lunch went just about as well as it possibly could have, and he is buzzing with hope and excitement about what Trish said. Because he may just have a chance after all. And he’s going to do whatever he can to ensure he doesn’t blow said chance.

Day 24 | Day 26

#inktober for writers #fictober #my fic #a prompt a day #darejones #messica #mess #matt murdock/jessica jones #matt x jessica #mattjess #matt murdock x jessica jones