#This was a piece I was going to do for inktober but time slipped away from me and I wanted to give it the time and attention it deserved~

[tinycurlyfry]

All that’s left Adrift for fifty years.

#Soul King Brook #Rumbar Pirates #brook op #One Piece #OP Fanart #myart #This was a piece I was going to do for inktober but time slipped away from me and I wanted to give it the time and attention it deserved~ #Most of the straw hats all have heartbreakingly tragic backstories but Brook's is one that is so much so that it is hard to truly imagine #50 fucking years all alone and never able to see the sun. Left to slowly lose his mind surrounded by the decaying bodies of his beloved crew #I legit cried when the enemies in Wano tried to trick Brook with illusions of his old crew. THAT WAS FUCKED UP. #Thriller Bark

[luna-lovegreat]

Wait...

It's November. It's November first. Yesterday was October 31st, so October is over. ...it's over. Is it over?

Inktober, artober, whumptober, flufftober, linktober, every tag ending with -tober that's been circulating for the past month... is it over? I don't know why it's just hit me but...

This matters. So I will try to get the message across, even though I'm not the best at it sometimes

Fanartists, fan writers, artists, fic writers, people making comics, every single one of you that has created art for the past month...

Thank you

This is my first October on tumblr. When I started seeing the "tober" tags, seeing the posts from artists with wips, saying they were going to make something every day to a prompt, making masterposts to update with each day, I thought "cool"

But every day this month, I have gotten on here and smiled.

And I don't mean smiled. I mean I smiled at least 20 times every time I got on the app because I saw all the art and fics. I got to see artists/writers connect stories through different day prompts. I saw people having the most brilliant ideas and creativity, flowing from their hands into their posts. I saw artists responding to continuous asks, telling them how amazing they are. I saw artists getting behind, and keeping going.

I saw Free. Beautiful. Emotional. Amazing. Original. Creative. Art.

Every day

I haven't committed to anything of this before, so I can't directly relate to what you guys were thinking and feeling. But I'm willing to guess; I think you probably enjoyed it, because most won't do such a huge project unless they enjoy it. I think you probably saw it as a challenge you were willing to fulfill, and an opportunity to grow and develop your skills.

... but I'm also willing to bet you did it for us. For people like me, who love art, but don't do this specific type, who are in fandoms, who love tracking and watching you art and sending you compliments, who take joy in your work. For the other artists (and writers!) who admire each others styles and love to learn from each other.

If anyone ever tries to tell me that humans are inherently evil again, I will strap them to a chair, pull up these posts and say look. Look at what these people did. Look me in the eyes and tell me these sorts of actions don't come from the most loving hearts. Tell me these people don't want to make others happy, that they aren't inherently good. And I will tell you you're wrong.

I have so much going on, yet somehow it slipped into my life that I was constantly looking at your art for the joy of it without me even noticing.

And how is it possible. That we have such a beautiful community of people here that we will share. And communicate. And exchange compliments. And literally do things and send asks solely for the purpose of making someone smile.

I'm almost crying by now. God I can't express it well enough! But I am so. So. Grateful

You guys brought me a month of joy! You gave headcanons, and art, and stories!

Even yesterday, Halloween, I was blown away. Because I had expected... I didn't expect anything. And then I log on and see people sending happy halloween asks, exchanging doodles of candy, and headcanons and gifs.

And some are still catching up to the schedule or whatever, and that's ok! But at the beginning of this post, when I was simply realizing it was November, I asked myself "is it over?"

Is it over?

... I don't think so. I've seen artists say they're going to continue and expand on a piece they made and especially liked this month. Some people are still continuing, catching up to a voluntary deadline. All those masterposts with your whump/fluff/link/ink tober art? I know many as well as myself will be going through, looking over your posts with smiles, catching up on some things they missed this month... it will continue in the people and artists I didn't know existed before, but now follow. In the skills and growth in creativity! In the community we've grown, and art you've made, and the art to come, at a normal rate like every other month, even if it's not October anymore!

But my artists, writers... thank you so much. I don't know if you guys know how valuable and amazing you are. How incredible it is that you exist! People say it's amazing we exist under a sky of such stars, but how incredible is it that you made a stranger on the internet smile every day! Your life is so. So. Valuable. I can't even express how grateful I am that you exist, that you somehow are selfless enough to share the most beautiful parts of yourself simply to create, and to create joy. Thank you so so much.

(And this applies to all artists, in any fandoms, not just mine. And I'm just as grateful to people who couldn't do something every day, or only one day! You still share your art, you're just as... incredible. You are incredible.)

Okay.

So I'm gonna do this, and if others want to do it in the reblogs that's great! I do not care at all about reblogging or likes, but I want to make the people that have brought me such joy some appreciation- I hope I can bring you even a smidgen of the light you have brought into my life. So I'm gonna tag all the artists/writers I know of/can think of that have done any sort of October challenge, all of you creators that have made me smile. If people wanna want to tag others in the reblogs or replies to spread love that's cool.

(Basically I don't know social customs or anything at all, so if you don't want me to tag or if I was supposed to do something different or something let me know I have no idea what I'm supposed to do)(if I like accidentally tagged someone who isn't an artist/writer or forgot someone I follow... sorry)

@skyward-floored @kikker-oma @adrift-in-thyme @blueskittlesart @zeldaseyebrows @smilesrobotlover @bahbahhh @soso-dedeck @lennsart @arecaceae175 @illcamp @breannasfluff @solarfire-art @26kabeuchi @cathianemelian @truffeart @scribbly-z-raid @uniquevoidflowers

To all the artists and writers out there: thank you so much!!! You are amazing and I'm glad you exist. Your life is precious, and you matter. Thank you so much for sharing your beauty with us, we love you too!!!!!

... yeah. Just want yall to feel loved... because you are. Again, thank you. Thank you so so much to my beautiful creators who create joy as well as art, who keep storytelling alive. Just... thank you.

:)

#inktober #whumptober #artober #flufftober #linktober #lutober #sentences and stuff later in tags #loz #linkeduniverse #artists on tumblr #art #original art #artists #writers #writers on tumblr #fan fic writing #artist appreciation #love #fanart #fanfiction #fanfics #I have anxiety and I am so scared right now #I don't know social rules- I don't know if I've messed up #but I'm willing to mess up if it makes you smile #I love you guys #please know how precious you are. just by being you #if this gets one notes that's ok #if it gets thirty that doesn't feel like failure to me #I will be kind #nothing can take that away from me

[namingtoohard]

I'm officially a week behind with this entry. My work schedule has been absolutely brutal over the past few days, so I haven't had as much time to write as I'd like. When I finally sat down at my computer today, it was such a relief to flex my creative muscles again. I'm hoping to smash out several entries in quick succession the next time I have a day off, so I'll catch up then.

Inktober Prompt 9 - Nest

Ten steps. That’s all that stands between me and my freedom.

I place my feet with care, crossing the uneven floor of interwoven branches and bleached bones at a snail’s pace. They grind against each other every time I shift my weight, filling the air with a sound like splintering wood. The discordant cacophony scrapes my nerves raw, and tweaks my imagination. Fills my head with images of what my fate might be if the floor decides to give way. The idea of plummeting to my death makes my stomach roll, but it’s still better than the alternative. Getting stuck would mean being forced to wait, trapped. I’d be dead, but aware enough to dread that fact. Possibly for days. Given the choice, I’d take the plunge every single time.

The wind stirs, tugging at my clothes and hair. I freeze in place, fearing for my balance, and dreading her return. Seconds stretch out into minutes, slipping by with impossible slowness. When she fails to show herself, I let myself take a shaky, uneven breath. I plan my steps out again, as a way of steadying myself.

Just four to go now.

Unable to help myself, I cast a wandering eye towards the eggs. All six of them sit at the center of the nest, clustered together like they’re huddling for warmth. Each one is tall enough to reach my waist, and wide enough that I’d struggle to wrap my arms around it. Their size seems absurd in isolation, but after meeting their mother, it makes a twisted sort of sense. They’re all tinged a faint blue color, and covered in irregular brown splotches. As I watch, I find myself praying to any god who will listen. I beg them to remain silent and inert for as long as possible. To not hatch until I’m far away from this place. Thankfully, they seem happy to oblige.

Two more steps, and I make it to the edge of the nest. The outer wall makes for an easy climb. It’s only as high as my shoulder, and the uneven surface offers plenty of hand-holds. Within moments I’m standing atop it, peering over the edge at the sight beyond.

The nest is tucked into the cracks of a massive, ocean-facing cliff. We’re so high up that I can see the curve of the horizon, way off in the distance. Down below, the ocean ebbs and swells. Waves break against twisted spires of rock, exploding into showers of white foam. The view brings me comfort. A fall from this height could be lethal, even if I manage to miss all the stone, but it still gives me better odds than having solid ground below.

My gaze dances along the cliff’s face, slipping from one handhold to the next. It’s not long before I’ve got a rough path mapped out in my head. The climb won’t be pleasant, but what choice do I have? At least this way, if I fall, it’ll be a quick death. One of my own making. I take a deep breath, and spend a moment summoning up my remaining courage.

That slight delay quickly proves my undoing. Before I’ve worked up the strength to lower myself over the edge, the mother makes her grand return. The giant raven returns in a flurry of wings and talons, screaming her protests as she descends upon her nest from above. She’s as beautiful as she is menacing; her sleek, glossy black feathers shimmer with green and purple when the light hits them just right. She reaches for me with curved claws, and I dive away on instinct. Cold and calculating thrusts of her beak drive me back, away from the cliff’s edge, and the safety it promises. Within moments, I’m trapped right back where I started.

Forced into a corner, I wait for the final blow to come. Wait for her to pierce my flesh, or rip me into pieces. The moment never comes. The raven just settles on the edge of her nest and watches me. Turns her head and fixes me with one black eye. The intelligence in her gaze terrifies me, more than her natural weapons ever could, and her control confirms my worst fears. I’d be little more than a snack for her, but her babies? They’ll be ravenous when they hatch, and apparently she intends to make their first meal a fresh one.

Every time I try and move, she drives me back into my little corner again. I give up after the first few attempts, and try to think up an alternative. We’re both still sitting there, hours later, when a sharp tap reaches my ears. I watch, horrified, as one of the eggs twitches. It cracks before my very eyes, a beak the length of my forearm piercing the shell from within, and I know my end has come.

#inktober #inktober2022 #writing #creative writing #writing prompt #original writing #writing challenge #creative #tw death mention

[acreepqueen]

Inktober 2020 |Day 1: Fish|

Eek! Guess I’m doing Inktober this year! This isn’t the best thing I’ve ever written but, I really hope you guys enjoy this.

Word Count: 1,679

------------------------------------------------------------

You had never been much of a believer in anything you couldn’t see or prove. Even then, you were prone to doubt something you couldn’t explain. That was why, when the aquarium in town had announced it was revealing a newly discovered species, you were skeptical to say the least. The information they had released to the public was limited, but there was talk in the town of it being something monstrous. You’d scoffed at the idea but your curiosity was peaked. It certainly wouldn’t hurt to take a trip to the aquarium. You knew you’d enjoy the species they for sure had even if this new thing turned out to be a bust. 

The crowds at the exhibit’s debut were surprisingly large, though not entirely unexpected. After all, it had been the talk of the town since it was announced. You slipped through the hoard with only slight difficulty. Before long, you were able to see the exhibit. It was odd that there was a barrier put up to keep people away from the glass. The enclosure itself was rather ominous. It wasn’t as well lit as the other tanks and it was huge. You were pretty sure it could comfortably house a whale. Still, it was unnerving that you didn’t see anything but a couple small fish and a manta ray. You eyes scanned the crowd around you for any workers, but you didn’t have time to find anyone. 

Murmurs from the people around you suddenly quieted and you glanced back at the tank in slight confusion. You gasped as your eyes met a pair startlingly similar to yours. Although, with a start, you realized that the face of what ever you were looking at was much bigger than yours. You froze unsure what to do or feel as you watched the creature. Never had you seen something quite like it. It looked humanoid, the biggest difference being the giant fish tail in place of legs. On the tail, the scales were a murky black and sharp looking spines ran down it. What at first you had thought was hair you soon realized was a mass of tentacles on the creature’s head. Its eyes were pitch black voids which made it impossible to tell where, if at all, it was looking. Though, the your main concern lay with the creature’s mouth. Teeth that made shards of broken glass look soft sat in its mouth. You gulped slightly as you watched the thing move. It looked agitated to say the least.

Within moments the silence of the crowd was broken by jeering and the sounds of cameras clicking. Many had neglected to see or follow the many posted signs stating to turn off your camera flash. You winced as the creature bared its teeth. Something in your gut churned as people continued to ignore the rules. One young girl ducked under the banister and walked up to the glass. She stood about a foot away and turned her back to the tank. She smiled, posing briefly for a picture. 

You saw what was going to happen moments before it did. Without thinking you slid under the banister and pushed the girl often the side as it slammed into the glass baring its teeth once more. No one in the crowd behind you missed the loud smash, but with the blood rushing in your ears you didn’t hear it at first. You turned to the tank only to see two huge cracks stretching out from the places where the creatures hands had smacked into the glass. You felt a chill run through you. The glass was a couple of inches thick and it had been cracked as if it were nothing. 

Most everyone had run away by now, but you couldn’t make your legs move. You stood frozen in place making direct eye contact with a humanoid sea monster twice your size. Okay, yeah. This is not how you had planned your day to go. To your surprise it didn’t continue breaking the glass, instead it put its hands on it looking at you in a way you could only describe as curious. Still, you didn’t trust the look in its eyes. It blinked and that was all you needed to snap out of it. You slipped back behind the banister but continued to watch the creature. It was still watching you with interest, hands pressed up against the glass. You took some time to study it more closely. Its skin was a dark greyish blue hue that reminded you vaguely of the deep deep ocean. The more you looked at it the more it looked emaciated and even a bit sickly. Though, maybe that was just how this species typically looked. Afterall, this was the first time you’d ever seen one. 

Hesitantly you waved at the creature. With its sharp, boney fingers it waved back mimicking you. You couldn’t help the smile that slipped onto your face. It once again copied you, smiling back. Feeling more than a little amused you stretched backwards with your arms behind your head and it copied you again. You were getting ready to try something else when a voice behind you caused you to jump.

“Amazing. I’ve never seen em’ do that. Typically he’s pretty damn mean, that one,” a worker stated, looking at you incredulously. You weren’t sure what to say but the creature bared its fangs at the worker beside you and swam away. Only peeking out at you briefly from behind a large piece of coral behind ducking down again.

“He don’t like me one bit, I tell ya. Won’t take nothin’ I give em’. Spiteful lil’ retch would rather starve to death than eat the food I’ve got!” He ranted. You grimaced but listened on politely. So you were right about the creature looking unhealthy. 

“We’re gettin’ real desperate now. Everyone’s had a go at takin’ care of em’ but he’s just hateful. Ricky had to get stitched up after he got a little too close to em’.”

You weren’t sure you liked where this conversation was going. If you were about to be asked to do what you thought you were going to, you weren’t sure if you could refuse. You didn’t want the creature to starve to death and it would probably be a once in a lifetime opportunity. Although, you didn’t really have a death wish either.

“Maybe you’d like to give it a go?” the worker asked hopefully. You frowned slightly and he piped up.

“I’m sure they’d pay ya good money if they know he’ll take food from ya!” he encouraged. You glanced back at the tank, more specifically the large cracks in the glass. Looking back towards the coral your eyes locked with a pair of sunken black ones. To hell with it.

“Okay, fine. But I’ll for sure sue if I get seriously hurt,” you agreed staring down the worker. He clapped his hands excitedly and thanked you, before he practically dragged you along.

The nerves hit you like a trainwreck the moment a bucket of dead fish was placed at your feet. You stood a couple of feet away from the open tank absolute terrified. This was such a bad idea and you were totally going to get yourself killed.

“Now, just scootch a lil bit closer to the tank and call for em’,” the man instructed. You inched forward on trembling legs with the bucket in your hand. Dead fish was certainly not a pleasant smell. 

“H-hey,” you called softly. Your voice was barely above a whisper. 

“He’s not gonna hear ya if-” the man cut himself off when a head peeked out of the water. God, up close he seemed so much bigger. You wanted nothing more than to bolt in that moment but you kept your feet planted firmly.

“Hi, I have food,” you stately lamely gesturing towards the fish. The creature upturned his nose at the bucket and you couldn’t help but let out a nervous laugh.

“M-maybe something fresher would be better...?” you inquired towards the worker. He shook his head.

“Nah, his kind clean off carcasses normally. We can’t feed em’ rotten fish though, they’re afraid it might hurt em’,” the worker explained. Your eyes widened a smidge, but that would certainly explain the teeth. You picked up a fish from the bucket and took a step towards the creature.

“I know it’s not what you normally eat, but you have to eat something. I don’t want you to die...” you trailed off, unsure why you were trying to converse with it in the first place. To your surprise it placed its hands onto the side and laid its head down on top of it. It still watched you warily but it didn’t seem malicious. Slowly, you set the bucket down and pulled out a fish watching it all the while for any sort of sign it might want to hurt you. You cautiously walked over to it and held out the fish. It snarled and you flinched, but stayed rooted in place. With what sounded like a heavy sigh it took the fish and plunged back into the tank with it. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding and turned back to look at the caretaker. His mouth was agape and he looked stunned. 

Finally, he asked, “Why didn’t you just throw the fish!? The hell were you thinking!? Why was he so gentle?! He won’t let anyone get within a foot of that tank!” he didn’t seem like he knew whether he should scold or applaud you. You just grimaced and let the man talk your ear off for a moment. Eventually, you swapped contact information and he said that he’d set up a time for you to be interviewed tomorrow. You weren’t sure the legality of all this, but you’d been meaning to find a new job for a while now. If it meant working at an aquarium with a potentially dangerous sea monster, so be it.

#inktober #inktober 2020 #exophilia #monster lover #merman #mermaid #monster x reader #monster boyfriend #writing #acreepqueen #I may or may not have drawn this

[jj-lives]

Ornament Inktober - Bmblb

“They’re on their way!” Yang heard a crash coming from Ruby’s room.

“Why didn’t you wake me earlier?” She screamed, skidding into the bathroom already half undressed.

“It’s noon, and you’re a big girl.” Yang admonished. “At least I didn’t wait until they were at the door to wake you.”

“Haha, you’re hilarious.”

Ruby threw her shirt in Yang’s direction before disappearing into the bathroom completely. The garment only made it halfway down the hall, nowhere near Yang, who was in the living room, piecing together the tree they’d purchased the day before.

A familiar chime sounded from her phone. She grabbed it off the table where she’d left it after receiving Blake’s last text saying her and Weiss were on the way over.

‘Is Ruby awake yet?’

Smiling at how well Blake seemed to know Ruby’s habits she typed a quick reply back.

‘Just woke her. Should be out of the shower soon.’

‘How close are you?’

Yang sent the second message as her impatience was only growing with the knowledge she’d soon see Blake again. Even though it had only been a few days. It always seemed like too much time passed in between her Blake fixes.

‘Close’ was her simple reply.

‘Blaaaake’

‘Yes?’

‘You’re being mean :(‘

Yang stood to put the top section on the fake tree. She didn’t bother unfolding the branches, something told her Weiss would insist on redoing her work anyway.

‘I’ll have to make it up to you then. Open the door.’

In her haste to get to the door she kicked the leg of the coffee table. Limping the rest of the way she threw the door open to find absolutely no one.

“She is so gonna get it.” Yang mumbled as she bent to rub her injured toe.

“Get what?”

She stepped into the hall to find Blake leaning against the wall beside her door. She glared, knowing she’d hidden on purpose.

“Do I have two things to make up for now?” She asked innocently.

Yang closed the distance between them, pinning Blake’s body to the wall with her own.

“Where’s Weiss?” She asked, lips ghosting the skin of her jaw. Blake’s body quivered against hers at the contact.

“Parking the car. We have a few minutes.” Blake’s fingers dug into her hips with enough force Yang was sure she’d have a few bruises the next morning. It was an injury she wouldn’t mind wearing.

“Good.”

The kiss wasn’t soft or gentle. It was none of Yang’s usual sweetness. It was rough, full of tongue and teeth. Blake moaned deep in her throat which spurred Yang further. One hand bypassing Blake’s many layers to feel the warm bare skin beneath. Her thumb pressed circles into the soft skin below Blake’s ribs. It pulled a sharp gasp from the girl in her arms and their lips parted.

It wasn’t enough.

Her lips found a new target as Blake continued to gasp lungfuls of air. Yang growled, irritated that Blake's scarf barred her from full access to her neck. Not having the patience to remove it Yang's mouth drew a jagged line along Blake's jaw stopping only to tug at her earlobe gently with her teeth.

"Yang," Blake groaned, tugging the hair at the back of Yang's neck.

When had she moved her hands from her hips? Blake forced their lips back together as she arched her back, moulding into Yang's touch.

"Would you two please not do that in public?"

Weiss's voice sobered them instantly. With more strength than Yang had yet seen her use Blake pushed their bodies apart. Yang's back collided with the wall opposite as Weiss strolled between them.

"Please try to restrain yourselves." It came off as an order, but Yang was realizing most things she said did. "It's my first Christmas Eve with my girlfriend and I don't want you two ruining it."

A mumbled "it's our first Christmas too," drifted across the hall and Yang laughed, blushing a deep red.

She held her hand out to Blake, who accepted readily.

“Weiss.”

Ruby’s excited voice rang out as they re-entered the apartment. She came running down the hall so fast Yang thought she was going to collide with her girlfriend full force. She skidded to a stop inches from bumping noses and Yang had to give Weiss credit for the fact she stood her ground. Girl must be brave, or perhaps she just trusted Ruby more than Yang would have.

A snicker filled the space as Ruby lifted her hand and held plastic mistletoe above their heads. Weiss scoffed but leaned in to fulfil the age old tradition.

“So they can kiss, but we can’t?” Blake pouted.

“I’d call her out on it,” Yang smiled, pulling Blake to sit with her on the couch. “But Weiss has the unfortunate ability to make Ruby unbearably happy.” They both watched the beaming smile that Ruby pulled away from the kiss with.

“To bring down the monster you would have to sacrifice the maiden.” Blake whispered into her ear as she moved to rest her head on Yang’s shoulder.

“Something like that.”

“You know,” Yang spoke after a moment. “You and Weiss aren’t so different.”

“Take that back right now.”

Blake pulled away, glaring daggers, and it took all Yang’s strength to pull her back into her arms.

“I will not.” She said resolutely. “Because as much as Weiss makes Ruby happy, you make me at least twice as.”

Blake laughed.

“You are so cheesy.”

“Should I stop?” Yang questioned pulling her in for a soft kiss.

“Never.” Blake whispered against her lips.

“Yang,” Ruby called. “It’s time to decorate the tree.”

“Okay. Okay, fine.”

Blake and Yang untangled themselves. Weiss and Blake started placing the branches on the tree while Yang and Ruby started unpacking the ornaments. Yang excused herself to make them all some hot chocolate and returned to a full on argument. She half expected Blake and Weiss to be going at it but for Ruby and Weiss to be arguing, it surprised her.

“What’s happening?” She asked as Blake took a mug from her hands.

“They are in a disagreement on when to put the top star on the tree.”

“It’s the last thing you put on… obviously.”

“You have to start at the top and build everything around it.” Weiss spun on her. “How else can you get it perfect?”

Blake turned and walked away, sipping her hot chocolate she sat on the end of the couch to watch the show.

“Hold up princess.” Yang replied coolly. She swatted at Weiss’ hand that came up to point an indignant finger at her. “I realize you may have grown up with everything just so and pristine, perfect trees, decorated immaculately. But there comes a time you have to learn things can be better, a little unperfect, a little crooked or off center.”

Weiss rolled her eyes as she scoffed.

“How could anything be better than perfect?” She asked.

“Life. Love. Family.” Yang replied slowly. “Ruby, and Blake… none of those things and neither of these two are perfect. But” Yang removed her eyes from Weiss and locked them with Blake’s amber ones. “I wouldn’t want to change either of them for anyone’s definition of perfect.”

“That’s sweet,” Blake cooed. Standing to kiss Yang on the cheek. “Such a charmer.”

“Fine, the star can go on last.” Ruby squealed happily. “But the garland goes on first!”

“Okay, I’ll allow that.” Ruby agreed.

Yang and Blake took a backseat, looping hooks to ornaments, as Weiss and Ruby twirled around the tree placing them. Yang caught Weiss adjusting a few of Ruby’s whenever her back was turned but she didn’t want to start another argument between them so she kept quiet. Ruby picked up the star as Weiss placed the last bauble on the tree.

“Hey Ruby,” Yang jumped up, Blake slipping from her lap. “Let Blake place the star.”

Ruby’s bottom lip stuck out and where normally it would have Yang giving in, today was another matter. She couldn’t get the way Blake said that it was their first Christmas together earlier. She was right, and Yang wanted it to be special.

“You and Weiss decorated the entire tree. Blake’s a part of this family too now.”

Ruby handed the star over dejectedly.

“It’s okay, Yang. Ruby can put it on if she wants.” Blake spoke up.

Shaking her head she held a hand out for her. “No, no. You aren’t getting out of this that easily. Come here.”

Ruby dragged Weiss into the kitchen promising to return with snacks and more hot chocolate, already forgetting her disappointment regarding the star.

“Alright, give me it if you’re going to make me do this.” Blake’s voice was steady, uninterested, aloof even. But she was smiling, a soft, grateful smile. It made living through Ruby’s pout worth it to have Blake feel a little like she belonged.

As she rose to her tip-toes, Yang stepped up behind her. “Let me help.” Her arms wrapped around Blake coming to rest on the now exposed skin of her midriff. Blake placed the star before sinking into Yang’s arms.

“This is how you help?” She purred her approval, resting her hands on top of Yang's.

Yang still couldn't believe the incredible girl in her arms chose to be there. She buried her face into Blake's neck and held her tighter.

"Stay."

"What was that?" Blake asked through derisive snort. "Couldn't hear you cuz I dont have ears on my neck."

"Stay." She breathed directly into the shell of Blake's ear. She shivered in her arms. "Stay here tonight."

Yang was well aware she was begging and all her pep talks about how taking things slow being a good thing, how she was waiting for Blake to be ready, or for the timing to be right; all washed away. She didn't care. There was no shame in not wanting to say goodbye to Blake tonight.

Yang steeled her nerves for the possibility Blake might refuse. She might not be ready for that step, and Yang would be okay with that.

She'd already waited twenty three years for her. She would wait an eternity more if that's what Blake wanted.

"Alright."

"Yes?" She needed to hear it again because she couldn't trust her brain not to warp Blake's words into what she wanted to hear.

"Yes." Blake responded again.

One word shouldn't be able to elicited so much happiness. She couldn't contain her excitement at Blake's answer. Not knowing what to do she grabbed Blake and twirled.

Blake squealed through her laughter. And it was the girliest thing Yang had ever heard come from her she nearly dropped her.

"Yang!" She called gripping her arms tight for support. "Let me go."

She stopped spinning, letting Blake's feet find the floor.

"Never." She said with resolve, placing a kiss on Blake's shoulder before releasing her. She took hold of her hand and pulled her into the kitchen to see what was taking the other two so long.

"If you two are making out you better stop. Blake and I are coming in."

This was going to be the best Christmas.

Ever.

#bumbleby #yanx xiao long #blake belladonna #whiterose #my writing #inktober #ornament #fanfic

[morallygreyprompts]

InkTober 2019 #31

Ripe

And last but not least. IDEK, maybe if I hadn’t been so lazy and spent more time and effort on this it would have been a lot better or I might just be being Little Miss Zero Confidence, who knows? Anyway, I might have just invented a new genre of sad fluff so whoop whoop. Villain found Hero sitting under the peach tree in the acres of land Villain owned. Hero contented themselves with watching the sunset. Even from here, Villain could see they were nursing their shoulder, wincing. Their memory flashed back to when Other Villain had attacked Hero, left them for dead in an alleyway. Pure chance had resulted in Villain finding them in time and saving them. It had only been a matter of time before Villain had fallen in love with them and done everything they could to help their recovery. They were convinced Hero knew.

“Hey,” Hero said timidly.

Villain snapped to attention and felt the heat rise in their cheeks. “Sorry,” they said quickly. “I wasn’t meaning to snoop.”

Hero smiled, “It’s okay. Could. Could you keep me company? My thoughts have been drifting...”

Villain didn’t hesitate to come closer, to help them keep their thoughts away from such horrid memories. They reached up into the branches, took down two pieces of fruit, and offered one to Hero as they sat down. Hero very gently took it from them, murmuring thanks.

For a moment there was quiet, with Villain watching Hero try to rub their shoulder to ease the pain. They bit their bottom lip to deal with it, something that would usually drive Villain mad if there wasn’t such pain in their features. “Need some help?” they asked, “I’m pretty good at massages.”

Hero nodded, but flinched as soon as Villain’s hand touched their shoulder. “Be gentle, please. It’s really sore.”

Villain nodded and carefully set to work, slowly helping to ease the knots and aches in the muscles. Hero groaned and let their head fall back in relief. Villain smiled with a quiet ‘hmph’.

Hero started nibbling at the peach Villain had given them and Villain chuckled as Hero tried to stop the juice slipping down their chin. “Pretty ripe, huh?”

“Delicious though,” Hero said.

“Uh-huh…” Villain could see Hero’s barely bruised skin, they could feel the heat rising into their fingertips. They wanted Hero. They wanted to confess everything and run away with them, away from everything that had ever hurt them. Words failed them, and they took the chance of kissing Hero’s shoulder lightly when they’d finished with the massage, taking Hero a little by surprise, but it didn’t seem unwelcome.

“[V.Villain], I...” Hero turned to face them, their face looking a little brighter than before. “You… kissed me?”

“Just kissing it better,” they said, hoping that they hadn’t messed up. What a stupid thing to do! Hero wasn’t interested in all of that right now, hell, they’d probably never be interested in Villain.

Villain melted into Hero’s hands as they brought their hand up to Villain’s cheek. They turned their head slightly and kissed their palm.

“I… I love you, [Hero]. I realise now might not be the time, but I just had to tell you.”

Villain looked into Hero’s sea-like eyes, so deep, so full of wonder and distant mystery. They were surprised when Hero looked down to Villain’s lips.

Villain was sure time skipped because the next thing they knew their lips were locked against Hero’s. So soft and sweet and ripe, better than any peach. Villain couldn’t get enough, they carefully eased Hero into lying down on top of them as they kissed with fire in their hearts. Villain’s paradise was cut short when Hero pulled away, only to choke out a sob. Villain shuffled into a half-sitting position.

“Hey… it’s okay. It’s okay, shh.”

Hero pressed their face against Villain’s chest and cried. Villain held them with one arm, the other propping them up. They kissed the top of their head. “I’m scared,” Hero whispered.

Villain had to breathe back their anger. Even now in such a perfect moment, Other Villain was haunting Hero’s thoughts. Their threat of destroying everyone and everything they loved still lingered in their mind.

“I’m not going anywhere, [Hero]. I swear it.”

Like my stuff and want to support what I do? Then maybe consider buying me a Kofi? Ko-fi.com/morallygrey

#Inktober2019 #Inktober #Hero and Villain #writing prompts #hero #villain #good villain #recovery #kiss #sad fluff #i tried #i think I'm going to have to take a break soon this is getting ridiculous #i just wanna scream in frustration at myself #but never mind #have a good night guys

[bloody-bee-tea]

Inktober for Writers 2019 Day 8

AU - Frail

 When Lan Xichen wakes up in the hospital he lets out a sigh. He tried so hard to hide the strain his body was under, but apparently his body had different plans.

 “Brother,” Lan Wangji says from besides him and Lan Xichen turns his head to look at him.

 Lan Wangji seems tired, face pale and hair almost in a disarray and Lan Xichen immediately feels guilty.

 He knows his brother is feeling the strain from not meeting his own soulmate, and while Lan Xichen is three years older and it has progressed much further with him, Lan Wangji has a hard time hiding the own symptoms he already feels.

 Lan Xichen never meant to worry him like this.

 “I’m okay,” Lan Xichen promises him as he pushes himself into a sitting position.

 He feels weak, almost frail. Like a wrong move could shatter his whole body, make him splinter into a million different pieces without a way to put himself back together. The everpresent pain isn’t helping at all, either.

 His brother throws him a look that states clearly just how believable he is and Lan Xichen sighs again.

 “I will be okay,” Lan Xichen amends his previous statement.

 “Not if you don’t find your soulmate,” Lan Wangji says, accusation hidden in his voice. “You should go out more, try to find them.”

 Lan Xichen turns his head away, tries to ignore the sharp pain in his chest at the sudden unbidden memory of a dimpled smile aimed at him, a soft voice in his ears and even softer hands in his. He still misses him and Lan Xichen hates himself for it, just a little bit.

 “He is gone,” Lan Wangji says as if he can read his brother’s mind. “And he wasn’t a good person.”

 “He was to me,” Lan Xichen mutters and then bites his lips because he knows, he knows, just how many people Meng Yao killed, directly or indirectly, just how many people he hurt, Lan Xichen included, but still.

 It still hurts.

 “Brother, please,” Lan Wangji tries again, “the doctor says you don’t have much longer.”

 Lan Xichen knows that. He feels it every time he loses his breath over the easiest things, how he bruises all the time, how he barely sleeps or eats. He knows he’s not going to last much longer.

 But the thought of going out there, trying to meet a person, having to build up trust and a relationship only to have it all shatter again; it’s almost too much to bear for Lan Xichen.

 So he does something that’s much easier. He focuses on his brother.

 “If I don’t have much longer, than you only have a little bit more time,” he gently says and Lan Wangji immediately tenses.

 “I’m not the one in the hospital,” he says stiffly.

 “Yet,” Lan Xichen gives back and smiles when Lan Wangji just glares at him.

 “Get the fuck away from me,” someone in the hallway suddenly yells, and Lan Xichen raises an amused eyebrow at that.

 “Jiang Cheng, get back here,” another voice whines, only to be followed by “Ouch, you didn’t have to slap my hand that hard, Jiang Cheng!”

 “If you don’t stop touching me, I’ll slap something else. Now get your hands off me,” the angry voice demands again. “I’m leaving.”

 “You collapsed because you’re frail and missing your soulmate, you can’t just leave!”

 “I’m going to give you frail,” the angry voice says. “Besides, you’re one to talk. I’m not the one who broke his arm falling off his bike and then just got back on it,” is the reply and Lan Xichen outright laughs now.

 He knows a long-suffering brother when he hears one.

 “That’s different,” the cheerful voice informs him only to yelp when the angry person presumably tried to slap him again.

 “I’m gonna get shijie, and she’ll get you into bed with just a glance, like you deserve. You just wait here.”

 “Wei Wuxian!” the angry one yells, but going by the fading laughter, the other isn’t listening.

 “Ridiculous,” Lan Wangji mutters, and while Lan Xichen has to agree, he’s also strangely amused by the two brothers.

 The smile slides right off his face though, when the door to his room opens and a man in hospital clothes slips inside.

 “Please let me hide here,” he says as he turns around and when his eyes meet Lan Xichen’s the breath is knocked out of him.

 It’s him, he thinks, and he can see the same thought on the other’s surprised face.

 “Oh, fuck no,” the man, presumably Jiang Cheng, mutters under his breath and then straightens up. “Listen here,” he demands and Lan Wangji takes a menacing step forward.

 “Wangji,” Lan Xichen calls out, voice still breathless with the revelation that this is his soulmate, and Lan Wangji stops in his tracks, a questioning look on his face. “It’s him,” Lan Xichen says and Lan Wangji understands him without another explanation.

 “This is not happening,” Jiang Cheng says. “I do not care for this shit, no disrespect meant,” he tacks on when Lan Wangji’s face darkens again, “and I absolutely will not give Wei Wuxian the satisfaction of being right. There’s no way that is happening.”

 “Your brother?” Lan Xichen asks, because he wants to know everything.

 “Adopted,” Jiang Cheng immediately replies and Lan Xichen has to hide his smile.

 Jiang Cheng stares at him for a long moment before he says: “I don’t know why you’re here but I’m not going to look after you.”

 “Missing soulmate,” Lan Wangji helpfully chimes in and Lan Xichen wishes he stood closer so he could slap him too.

 “Oh,” Jiang Cheng mutters and Lan Xichen has to agree.

 He is not ready for this. Meng Yao is still too close to his heart, has hurt him too deeply to just trust the universe in something like this.

 “Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian sing-songs outside and Jiang Cheng goes a shade paler.

 “Please don’t tell him,” he begs them as he steps away from the door. “I just have to get my clothes and then I’ll make a run for it.”

 “Ridiculous,” Lan Wangji says again and marches over to the door.

 Jiang Cheng looks like he wants to strangle him as he reaches out for the handle but in that moment the door is janked open.

 “Oh!” Wei Wuxian says, clearly surprised that someone wanted to do the same but then he does a double-take. “Oh,” he says, sounding much like Lan Xichen had felt just a few minutes earlier.

 Lan Xichen can see the breath hitch in his brother’s throat, can see the faint flush on his ears, can see the minute tick of his fingers, already wanting to reach out, and he can’t help but smile again as he leans over to Jiang Cheng who retreated back to the side of his bed.

 “Maybe you can hold this against him,” he whispers and Jiang Chengs lips reluctantly curl into a small smile.

 Lan Xichen finds himself thinking that he would like to see a real smile one day.

 “I definitely can,” Jiang Cheng agrees, glee more than apparent in his voice and Lan Xichen feels something relax inside of him.

 Meng Yao has never been this free with his emotions, never wore them on his sleeve like that, and Lan Xichen thinks that maybe he can work with this.

 “Do you want to watch them make eyes at each other for longer?” Lan Xichen finds himself asking and Jiang Cheng only briefly looks back at their brothers.

 “Fuck no,” he says and then holds out his hand for Lan Xichen. “The cafeteria is supposed to be shit. Care to check it out?”

 Lan Xichen chuckles and takes the offered hand. “The company might just make up for that,” he says as he carefully makes his way out of bed, already feeling stronger than he had five minutes ago.

 He’s delighted to see Jiang Cheng blush and laughs when the other scowls at him.

 “Shut up,” he mutters under his breath and Lan Xichen obeys his order.

 He thinks he might just enjoy getting to know this man.

#bt writes #inktober for writers 2019 #untamedfest #xicheng #the untamed #lan xichen #jiang cheng #soulmates #also some #wangxian

[sketchy-saram]

Just a little tidbit I wrote to start getting into the writing habit again, especially since I want to write some more stuff about these guys in the future. (Maybe after Inktober?) I’ve read this like 100 times over, so forgive me if it has any mistakes--I’m incapable of seeing them anymore. xD Enjoy!

Comfort

Something was wrong.

Advieh knew it as soon as Felix walked in the room. And that made them uneasy, since nothing was EVER wrong with Felix. In the entire time they’d known him, they couldn’t think of a single thing he couldn’t laugh off; no situation he couldn’t spin to his weird brand of optimism. It was bizarre. Sometimes it was exasperating. But in the end, it was part of what made Felix, well...Felix.

But today something was off.

He walked into their office, where they were doing some ledger work, and solemnly sat on a cushion at the windows. He didn’t do any of the normal things to announce his presence; didn’t ruffle Advieh’s hair, or kiss the top of their head, or tell a joke, or try to feed them some weird (and potentially location-changing) dessert. He didn’t say anything at all. He simply sat, staring blankly out into the fog-covered courtyard.

And they were already losing a lot of work time trying to figure this out, they thought with a sigh, so they might as well do it properly. They closed the book on their numbers and leaned back, brushing their long red hair out of the way.

“And to what do I owe this particular visit?” they asked. There was no answer. In fact, Felix didn’t look as if he had heard it at all. Advieh’s brow furrowed, and they cleared their throat, feeling almost awkward.  “Ah, Felix. Are you… are you all right?”

Nothing. Unnerving silence. He might as well have been on another planet for how present he seemed at that moment--the thousand-yard stare into space accompanied only by his persistent gnawing on his thumbnail.

The pit in Advieh’s stomach was dropping lower and lower. They stood up, trying not to allow the alarm show on their face.

“Felix. 

Hey, Felix. 

Felix!”

He started. Being pulled out of his own head felt like being yanked out of a tar pit, so deeply had he been embedded in his own thoughts. There was a tangy, bitter taste in his mouth, and as he blinked, he could see Advieh knelt in front of him. Their face was concerned, bordering on panicked; their hands holding his too tightly.

And they were bloody. 

“Ad! What happened? Are you okay? Why are you bleeding--”

Advieh’s eyes, brown like his but with that alluring amber sheen, softened just a bit before narrowing again.

“That isn’t my blood, it’s yours. You were biting your nails down to nothing.”

It was true; Felix could see now, the ragged remains on his right hand where blood sluggishly oozed out. In his mouth, the coppery flavor suddenly made sense. The pain accompanied this realization in quick succession.

“Ouch,” he managed, smiling weakly. Well, that was all right then, as long as Ad was fine. They were already bandaging his finger with magic, which he could have done himself, but there was a hollow satisfaction in being tended to right now. 

And then, just like that, he was remembering everything again, and his face fell. He shouldn’t even be there right now. Why was he here? He didn’t remember walking to Ad’s office; couldn’t recall anything after leaving the kitchens earlier, lost in thought. Felix felt his hands shaking.. No, he couldn’t bother Advieh with this. He wasn’t even thinking straight. This was too much...he needed to process it; needed to be alone. 

“Where are you going now?” they asked, one brow lifting elegantly.

“Away. I’m sorry I interrupted your work. You should, ah… you should get back to it.” He paused for a second, looking at the clock. “But not too long. Don’t forget to have lunch.” his smile was weak. It felt heavy on his face. 

Felix turned again to go.

Advieh stood by the table only a moment before they reached out to grab his arm. They didn’t even have to think about it; they knew they couldn’t let him go like this. Who else would think to tell them to take a break for lunch? Who else would sneak them into the seedy bars near the docks, or slip them enchanted muffins that made your eyes change color for 24 hours? 

Like it or not, they were invested in this man.

“Ah ah. You already forced my hand and took my attention, so you might as well make the most of it. My time is precious, after all. Use it wisely.”

His arm, warm tanned skin under a rainbow of colorful cloth, trembled in Advieh’s grasp. His eyes were distant and desperate at the same time. He bit his lip, teeth tugging at the old scar across his mouth. 

How could they be so familiar with Felix, and yet so unfamiliar with the version of him in front of them now?

“Talk to me,” they added, lower this time, more gently.

And they could see his walls shudder and crumble.

“I...my dad was here,” he began softly.

“Julian?” The slippery knot of anxiety tightened. They really liked Felix’s family; his ex-pirate, questionably medically-trained father was charmingly rakish, and always full of the most exciting stories. “Is something wrong with him? I can--” 

But Felix shook his head and sighed, hands mussing his already-messy mohawk. Instead of its normal rooster-like proudness, it looked as sad as he did. 

Words didn’t seem to come. Instead he paced, grappled with the air, and finally relented, going to sit again in a chair by the windows. He beckoned them over reluctantly.

“No, not… not that dad. My, ah…”

Advieh wasn’t stupid. They blew out a long breath, the pieces falling into place.

“You mean your birth father? He was here? At the palace?” 

They had never seen Felix look more miserable, even as his face scrunched up in disgust and anger.

“Yeah, that one. Not my dad. Just the man that abandoned us.” His fists tensed again; Advieh placed their hands over them in consolation, waiting patiently for him to continue.  “I didn’t change my name from the one he gave me, so I guess when he started to ask around, it wasn’t so hard to find me...The magical baker who works at the palace? Yeah, not hard to find at all, if you’re looking for me.”

A hard, tight laugh escaped his lips. “Which he didn’t for, oh, how long? Twenty-five years? I guess one day he just woke up and thought, ‘I wonder what happened to my kids?’. Expected us to be dead in a gutter somewhere years ago. Ha. Imagine his surprise when we weren’t dead at all? It’s almost funny, when you think about it.” 

But it wasn’t funny. No one was laughing. 

Advieh sat somberly, their legs neatly tucked beneath them. Their thumb was rubbing soothing circles on his white-knuckled grip. He took comfort in their presence. He always had. Maybe that was why he had walked here, even when he didn’t realize it himself. Now that he had started, the words came easier, fueled by all the emotions he’d been battling as they flooded through him freely.

“Anyway, so someone showed him to the kitchens when he came around asking for me. He wanted...he wanted to see Wren, and I told him there was no way in hell. She was a baby when he left--she doesn’t even remember him. Not like me. She doesn’t even have the ghost of a memory with him in it. He called her ‘Renard’ for Gods’ sake--he doesn’t know anything about her, Ad! And he doesn’t deserve to. Bastard. I told him she was fine, and that was all he needed to know.”

Felix could keenly, so keenly that it hurt, bring to mind that sense of loss. He could still feel the dawning horror that he had felt all those years ago when he woke up to realize his father was gone. The increasing panic of understanding he wasn’t going to come back. Three days he waited patiently, like an abandoned dog for its master; until all the food in the house was also gone, and Wren had nothing left to eat. And then he left that house, a five-year-old with a baby, off to find some way to keep them both from starving to death. Finding so much fear and pain before Asra intervened.

“What would have happened to us if Asra hadn’t found me in that alleyway? If he hadn’t taken us to my parents? Wren would have died. I wouldn’t have been able to keep her alive by myself, and could have gotten killed trying. I almost did anyway, and I… I would have done anything for her, you know. She was all I had--all I had left, and I...I would have…”

His sentence ended when he couldn’t speak anymore, choking over the sobs that threatened to consume him. He felt cool fingers gingerly cup his cheek; a thumb brushing away bitter, angry tears. 

To Advieh they felt unbearably hot, and the uncomfortable feeling they had harbored since earlier thundered in their chest once more. They weren’t sure what it was, but it was so hard to contain.

After a minute, Felix regained his composure and sighed. 

“It’s stupid to still feel this way after so long. He wasn’t...he wasn’t a monster, Ad. He was just a broken man who failed. He failed as a father, and he failed as a human being. I get it, but…” He held up the bandaged hand in front of him, flexing it slowly, staring at it transfixed. “But why is it, if I can understand all that with my head and my heart… why even now, after all this time, can’t I shake this horrible feeling that it will happen all over again? That every person I know will disappear and abandon me too, just like those people did? How can it still hurt this badly, Ad? I don’t--”

They couldn’t take it anymore. With swift and decisive movement, Advieh wrapped their arms firmly around Felix’s shaking shoulders, pulling him close. His face burrowed into the crook of their neck; his hands wrapped desperately around their back. They couldn’t deny this defensive, fierce need to protect him any more. Even if what they felt for him was too much, too raw, too early to name, they could not resist this urge to give him what he sought. Advieh would have given anything to ease away the naked fear in his eyes.

“I won’t abandon you,” they whispered in his ear. He smelled like sugar, and cinnamon, and the same kind of patchouli-based herbal mixture as Asra and their father. Their voice was hoarse, but clear and determined. “I won’t abandon you, Felix.”

Advieh stared down at the numbers on their ledgers again, but their train of thought was constantly being derailed, and it might as well have been Julian’s handwriting they were trying to read. Felix was sleeping--calmly now, but fitfully at first--in their room next door. Part of their attention was devoted to keenly sensing him and his current state; the other half was spent telling themself that they shouldn’t hunt down his father and sentence him to death. It was not the most clear-minded impulse, and Advieh was usually nothing if not level-headed, so they were able to recognize that this thought was neither helpful nor wise. It didn’t stop their blood from boiling, or their baser, uglier side from wanting to do it anyway. 

What was the point in being part of the ruling family if you couldn’t feed your enemies to a pit of hungry lions?

They rubbed their temples, letting out a half-chuckle, half-sigh. Of course that was extreme, and they didn’t have a pit of hungry lions besides. It should have alarmed them how violently they felt towards a person they had never even met before, on behalf of another person they had been desperate to avoid not that long ago.  When had everything changed? They couldn’t begin to say. But the change was insistent, and demanding, and quite frankly a little scary. Where would this path lead? They didn’t know; couldn’t begin to fathom a guess. This hadn’t been their plan at all. And yet...why was it so tempting, nonetheless?

“I made a promise,” they mused, thinking earlier of their madly murmured words of reassurance. Maybe they hadn’t been a real promise, but Advieh intended to keep to the spirit of it regardless. 

Their magically-enhanced senses heard Felix shift in bed; heard the sheets crumple around him. Heard his breath catch, then continue regularly. A bad dream? They should go check, they thought as they stood up, ledgers and numbers forgotten.

Yes, they intended to keep their word on this one. For whatever time they had, as long as it was in their power. He was their person, after all.

And they would never abandon him. 

#Felix #Advieh #Advieh and Felix #my oc #other people's ocs #writing #fanfiction #the arcana next generation #fluffy angst #felix backstory #the arcana #the arcana game #otp #just kinda channeled Advieh for most of this #hope you don't mind Lazy ahahaha #comfort #sorry for the very messy doodle #just limbs and hair EVERYWHERE

[tresity]

“I'll consider this practice.” Chat Noir sighed as he slipped a sapphire ring on Marinette's finger.

“Huh? Practice for what?” Marinette peeked at her partner's face through her bangs.

Chat chuckled, still holding the girl's hand. “Nothing. How's the fit?”

Marinette felt her cheeks warm up at the sound of Chat's laughter. “It fits perfectly. What is this ring for?”

“It's a protection stone.” Chat brushed the sapphire with his thumb. “You wear it to reduce the damage you take in battle.”

The two stood still for a moment, hands connected by the light hold Chat had on Marinette's finger.

“So this is klutz insurance?” Marinette sighed.

Chat laughed again, but a bit louder. “Something like that,” telling himself to keep the ring size tucked away for another occasion.

So I’m going to be slow on inktobers since I’m a slow writer and all that anyways. 

I also tried out a new form of ink for this piece. I don’t know how I feel about them. They’re so damn blendy. They want to blend all the time. I like to put the solid black down first and fill in with colors, but I can’t do that with these without dragging black into the other sections. They’re the tombow dual brush pens. The colors are also nice, but they’re so bright, and I prefer my colors to be less saturated.

#inktober2019 #inktober #legend of miraculous

[saphsilver]

Inktober Day 22: Offering

Prompt from @ttimemachines​ ‘ inktober

Fire Emblem Awakening Grimleal Prince Robin AU

Part  [1]   2   [3]   [4]

AU Explanation in Part 1 ☝️ But basically it’s an AU where [FE:A spoilers] Robin doesn’t run away from Plegia and lives as the Fellblood prince. He lives a very sheltered life and remains a mystery to those outside the Plegian palace until his Beautillion Ball [see part 1] where he is introduced to society. There, he also meets Prince Chrom and they hit it off. From then on, they become buds and Chrom visits him often. The friendship between them eventually grows into good ol’ slowburn requited affection.

Little do they know of the “Grand Destiny” that Robin’s father and the Grimleal have planned.

***

Prince Chrom had received a letter from Prince Robin himself, inviting him to the Plegian palace for a visit. It had been several weeks since he had last received a letter from his dear friend, so seeing his own name written in Robin’s careful lettering made his heart flutter. It was to be a quick visit, since Robin’s days had reportedly been spent in preparation for ‘important Plegian affairs.’ 

Whatever they were, Chrom was excited to hear Robin tell him all about them as they stroll the gardens or ride through the field behind the palace. 

It had been about a day’s journey by horseback and boat to reach the Plegian capital. Prince Chrom and his entourage had been received warmly by the Plegian people, and especially by Prince Robin. After formalities and a dinner, Chrom and Robin finally get some time alone together.

The two princes stroll the outskirts of the palace grounds beneath the stars of the dark Plegian sky. They catch up on each others’ past few months since they had last met face-to-face.

Once they are as far away as possible from any prying ears, the two let out a sigh of relief. All formal pretenses are finally tossed aside.

“It’s so nice to see you again, Chrom,” Robin says in his now lilting tone. This is what Chrom had awoken at the break of dawn and traveled all day for. This and that beautiful smile of his. This was the real Robin that he had longed to see.

“You don’t know how glad I am to see you too,” Chrom smiles back. He dares to take a step closer to his friend. “I can’t bear to see you all stone-faced and indifferent. I don’t know how you keep that up all the time.”

“It comes with the occupation,” Robin shrugs. “In Plegia, we keep our emotions to ourselves. Especially as royalty. You said it was different in Ylisse?”

“Yes, very different.” Chrom suddenly perks up. “When you finally leave the palace, I hope you’ll be able to visit my home someday. You’ll love it there!” Chrom goes on about his palace, his sisters, and things they could do in the capital. Robin smiles as he tries to imagine the bright days and warm nights that the prince paints for him, but something else occupies his thoughts. Chrom takes notice and stops. “Is something the matter?”

Robin frowns and hesitates to speak. “Chrom, there is something I need to tell you.”

“What is it?”

“This may be your last time at the palace. I had to beg and negotiate with my father to even allow us this visit,” He says with a grave look on his face. “Chrom, I called you here to say goodbye.”

 “What? How come?” The thought of not being able to see Robin strikes him in his heart. “Was it something I--”

“No, no it isn’t your fault, Chrom.” He interrupts. “I don’t know how much time is left, so I’ll warn you now.” There is a mournful look in his eyes. “Chrom, it isn’t safe for you or your people to be here. After this visit, it would be wise for you to get as far away from Plegia as possible.”

“Robin, what are you trying to say?”

The silver-haired prince purses his lips for a moment, trying to maintain his composure. “I had to tell you myself because I couldn’t trust the messengers. My father’s followers, the Grimleal, have been doing something to me. I don’t know what exactly, but here are gaps in my memory. The only thing I’m certain of is that they’re planning something big.” Chrom is surprised by this revelation. Robin grips his own arms, holding the fabric of his clothing. His jewelry shines in the moonlight, painting him like a matching piece of the shining dark palace in the distance. A bird temporarily flown from its gilded cage. Robin looks up from the ground with his dark brown eyes that glint a shade of violet like the jewels that adorn his clothing. “Do you remember at the ball, when everyone spoke of my “Grand Destiny?”

“Yes, that’s all the Plegian people kept saying about you.”

“All my life, they’d been telling me of it and preparing me for it, but I never knew exactly what it was till I overheard my father a few days ago.”

Seeing his friend in such distress makes Chrom move closer as he listens intently. “What did you hear, Robin?”

“Do you see this crest on the back of my hand?” Robin raises his left hand to show the violet mark with its glaring eyes and twisting tendrils. “This is the crest of the Fellblood and the first in my bloodline to be a full mark. It means I am to be an offering as a vessel to the Fell Dragon, Grima.” His eyes begin to shine with tears, so he covers his mouth and turns away. “I’m sorry, Chrom.”

Chrom’s eyes darken. “You mean that Grima? The ancient dragon?!” He can’t believe his ears. “If that happens, Grima’s going to--”

“Bring the end of the world, I know.” He nods in confirmation. His shoulders are quaking as he tries to contain himself. He speaks in a whisper, “Chrom, I’m so scared. I don’t want any of this to end. I don’t want to hurt you, I don’t want to die--”

Robin is suddenly taken by a warm embrace from behind. He knows he shouldn’t, but he melts into the other prince’s arms. “Stop,” he says weakly. “You’re only making things more difficult...” Warm tears flood his eyes as he quietly sobs in Chrom’s arms for a while.

“Robin,” Chrom whispers gently as he begins to calm down. “None of that has to happen. You don’t have to do what they tell you.”

“What do you mean, Chrom?” He says through his tears; his distress grows by the second. “That’s not an option for me! If I refuse, I can’t imagine what they’ll do to m--”

“Robin,” The way Chrom speaks his name sounds like his heart is breaking. Even so, he speaks with a voice like honey as he holds him tighter. “Run away with me. I swear to you that I won’t ever let them hurt you again.”

Robin is silent for a moment. “What you’re offering me is treason... But you make it sound so easy,” he holds his words so closely, for fear of the idea slipping through his grasp.

“We’ll find a way. If it’s for you, I’ll pluck the stars from the sky myself if I have to.”

“Chrom...” Robin smiles and clings to Chrom as if for dear life. Tears are in his eyes, but this time for a different reason.

***

#fire emblem #fire emblem awakening #chrobin #inktober #fe14 #chrom #ttimemachines inktober #chrom x robin #m!robin #gay chrobin #Grimleal Robin AU #Spoilers: he says yes #also I know the bg is from FE:Fates don't @ me there's almost nothing of Plegia #uh oh i really love this AU #I've forsworn publishing on time #i wrote this all on the spot ngl #Anyway if you're reading this thank u and i love u

[escherenigmart]

Inktober 2019 Retrospective

This is mostly for my own benefit.  Fair warning, I slipped into “self assessment at work” mode, so the language is a bit odd.  A reminder, I have no formal art training, but do have formal engineering training.

So read on if you want my thoughts on my own work.  Or, y’know look away.

Summary

My goal was to “finish” Inktober, posting 31 fully inked drawings over the course of the month.  A secondary goal was to use and practice with the shiny new Copic markers my dearly beloved, @godsdamnednamethieves, gifted me back in September.

I achieved both these objectives, and while there were some rough patches, and many nights where I stayed up far later then I should have, I’d say it went fairly well.  It was helped that I took a week-long “staycation” in the middle of the month.

That said, there is clearly room for improvement in my art, time-management, and process.  It is my next objective, moving forward, to incorporate what I have learned, about my self-discipline, art, and tools, into a stable plan that promotes growth.

Onto specific issues.

Tools

For Inktober 2019, I used three sketchbooks, Pilot’s “color eno” mechanical colored pencils, gummy erasers (I’ve had them so long I don’t know the brand), my Copic Multiliners, and my Copic Sketch markers.

Sketchbooks:

Adhesive pinding, flip-on-short edge.  This was the book I started on, and has been my primary sketchbook this year. The pages were already tearing out infrequently, but once I got started in Inktober this accelerated and many pages tore out.  Would not recommend.

Slightly yellow paper, bound with thread in smaller numbers.  For Inktober I just used this to keep sketch ideas and play with layouts, and did not put any “final” illustrations in it.  It lays flat on the scanner, and no pages have torn out.  I’ve been very happy with this style of book, and plan to continue with this style for my future sketchbooks.

Hard-bound thick paper, thread-bound and glued to the hardback.  About a week into October I ordered a new sketchbook, and ordered this one.  Thick paper, holds the colored ink well, looks nice.  Does not easily lay flat for scanning or drawing, though this was mitigated by leaving more margins.

The colored pencils worked well enough, though I quickly discovered that colored pencils and Copic markers do not play well together.  This led to me refining my technique and relying less on detailed pencil sketches before I began inking.  Need to order more light blue lead, as that is the color I go through fastest by far.

Multiliners are still a hit-and-miss.  My 0.3 multi-liner from the B-2 pack had the nib fall out, and from what I can tell that style of marker/pen/whatever can not have the nib replaced.  My 0.3 Multiliner SP wound up being my work horse pen, though I also used my 0.1 Multiliner for fine detail, and my 0.8 and 1.0 for borders and some lettering.  Oddly, before my 0.3 multliner failed me for the last time, it was reliably giving narrower lines from the 0.3 multiliner SP.  I don’t know if this was just a lead-up to the nib-failure, or if there’s a bigger difference between the SP and the pens from teh B-2 pack.  But even beyond that, the SP feels nicer in my hand, and was more reliable.  When I need new pens, I’ll probably bite the bullet and get more of the SP variety.

Copic Sketch markers.  This was mostly a learning experience, figuring out what works, what doesn’t, how to use them, and so-on.  Overall I’m very happy, but I’m still very bad at choosing colors.  I repeatedly went to my husband to make color choices for me, often to great effect.  So if you like my color choices, give him the credit.  If you think my color choices are awful, give me the blame.  A few things that bothered me were that I noticed some of my drawing picking up little splotches or dots far away from where I was working.  This is particularly notable on the “Warrior of the Beach” picture.  My theory is that either I’m getting ink on my hand, then transferring it to the page when I rest it, or that when I’m putting caps on/pulling caps off, I’m sending little droplets of ink flying.

A few of my markers gave me a little trouble, but I’m not sure if it’s just because I don’t know what I’m doing or because I really did use W1 and C1 that much.  I need to get a small scale so I can see if they’re actually low on ink or if I’m just a noob.

Process

The days where I was most happy with my work was when I had an idea, toyed with layout in my sketchbook, and then redrew the whole thing.  When I was least happy was often when I floundered about with no ideas, and then tried to draw something, anything, around 9 pm.

What this means (to me) is that I’m still relying too much on “inspiration” rather then discipline, which is a long-term problem.

Beyond that,taking the time/luxury of a full sketch (in a different book) to plan layout, workshopping text with the hubby, and splitting up inking from coloring (by hours or days) improved the quality of my work.  Even still, some of the pieces I’m very happy with had little to no planning.

For example, “Ripe” was done with basically no planning.  After deciding to do a dude doing pull-ups, I started on the text on the bottom with a ruler.  About half-way through drawing the dude I decided to make it Dave.  At some point I hit the “clever” idea of making it an immovable rod instead of a mundane pull-up bar.  And then I cursed myself, because I came up with a better text layout, “Immovable Rod, Ripe Bod”, but it was too late to use it.

The Art Itself

The big part.

Some days I was very happy.  Some days I floundered (can you guess which category my “pattern” piece falls into?).  Overall though, I think I showed improvement, both in line-work and color-work, over the month.  That said, “Mindless” and “Bait” still make me very happy.

I also realized that I strangely enjoy text.  Whether it was using little banners, comic-style speech and narration boxes, borders and fancy fonts, it was a lot of fun and helped contextualize the pieces.  Incorporating text is definitely something I want to continue to do.

Playing around with layouts, borders, framing was also unexpectedly fun.  The later pieces where I restricted my “work area” with borders I think turned out much better for the limitation, with the framing devices often helping tell the story.  In comparison, pieces like “Overgrown” or the early “freeze” and “build”, don’t have a firm ending, and felt lacking to me.

Flaws: hands, feet, and legs in general.  And as much as I enjoyed playing with layouts and borders, I can’t use that as an excuse to not draw feet and more complicated leg positions.  I clearly need to spend more time doing simple figure sketches, both whole-body and specific body parts.

Conclusion

Inktober was great, if time permits, I’ll probably do it again next year.  But probably not the “full marathon”, dropping down to “half marathon” so I don’t stay up quite so late.

Also, I need to do a nicer illustration of Xanadeux.  She’s only got that one panel.  She needs more love.

#Retrospective

[codicesandflora]

Ineffable Inktober-Day Twenty Three-Shakespeare

Sadly, I have fallen behind again, but I still hope to finish by the end of the month. We’ll see what happens....

This takes place a few months after the Nearpocalypse. I’m going to rate it Teen just to be on the safe side.

Such Heavenly Touches (AO3 Link)

“Angel, you need to relax.”

Aziraphale blinked, peering over his glasses. “I thought I was relaxed. The shop is closed, I’m sitting here on the couch with you, and I’m currently reading the second volume of A la Recherche du Temps Perdu. I don’t see how I could be any more relaxed.”

“Yeah, but you’ve been reading the same page for fifteen minutes. And it took you ten to get through the last one.” Crowley sat up and scooted closer to Aziraphale.

“Something’s been bothering you for almost a week now,” he continued. “Ever since you got back from your last visit to Heaven. Is that what this is? Something happen while you were there?”

Ever since the Nearpocalypse, Heaven and Hell hadn’t communicated all that much with either of them. That came to an end when a messenger angel dropped by the bookshop with a request straight from the Metatron that Aziraphale come to receive new instructions: to continue to stay on Earth and work on Her behalf however he saw best.

They hadn’t discussed it much once Aziraphale got back, but Crowley doubted that that would be the end of it. Aziraphale’s withdrawn behavior for the rest of the week proved him right.

Aziraphale let out a long sigh and closed the book in his lap, sitting it to the side. “I didn’t expect to be welcomed back with open arms. I am aware that the only reason I wasn’t destroyed the moment I entered Heaven was because of that decree from Her that we be left alone. But I…I had hoped that Her declaration of forgiveness would lessen the severity of their contempt.”

‘Instead that increased it,’ Crowley finished for him. That wasn’t surprising to him. For all the talk about Divine Forgiveness, it was usually in very short supply among the majority of the Host.

Aziraphale shook his head and took his glasses off, putting them into his pocket. “No, it’s not even really that. I’ve known for a long time what they think of me. It’s more like the feeling I had just after I left. I suppose the only way I can describe it is a sort of disconnection. Or isolation.”

The angel looked over at him with a wan smile on his face. He placed a hand onto Crowley’s knee. “Dear, I am sorry. Your company is far preferable to the entire Host, but….”

“But it’s not the same,” Crowley nodded. He knew that he could say that being Fallen was the ultimate form of isolation from Heaven, but he also knew that that wasn’t the same either. Not when Aziraphale was still an angel and yet was cut off from most of Heaven.

He watched as Aziraphale drew his hand back into his lap and began twisting his fingers together, his posture even tenser than it was before. Seeing him hunched slightly forward, his arms pressed tight to his sides, Crowley finally got an idea of what to do.

“How about a massage?” Aziraphale blinked hard again, but this time it was accompanied by a rush of red to his cheeks.

“A, a what?! Er….”

“You heard me, a massage.” Crowley leaned toward him, tilting his head to the side. “Have you ever had one?”

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Er, no. I’m not…angels are supposed to be the ones giving comforting touches, not….”

“Yes, I know,” Crowley sighed waving his hand. “But this isn’t Heaven, and you don’t have to live by their rules anymore.” He picked up one of Aziraphale’s hands and caressed it. “It’ll feel good, angel. I promise, you’ll love it.”

The red on Aziraphale’s face increased, but what truly warmed Crowley’s heart was the trust that filled the angel’s eyes as he nodded his head.

“All right. So, er, what do we do?”

--------

A couple minutes later, the two of them were in Aziraphale’s bedroom. A few quick miracles pushed the bed to the side of the room, conjured up a massage table, and made a second table of oils and towels appear.

Aziraphale watched Crowley prepare the room with wide eyes. “Have you…have you done this before?”

“Once or twice,” Crowley said with a shrug. “I got to know a few masseuses during a temptation scheme I had going on in Manchester.”

“Oh, um,” Aziraphale tugged at his bowtie. “Did you use it a lot for your…for work?”

Crowley smiled at him. “You mean did I use massage for tempting people? Nah, it wasn’t that kind of massage, angel.” He came up behind Aziraphale and gently placed his hands onto the angel’s shoulders.

“Most of the people weren’t looking for that sort of thing,” he added. “Oh sure, one or two were, but most of them…they just needed someone to touch them.” He clasped Aziraphale’s shoulders, noting the soft gasp he got in response.

“I think you do too, angel. Even if you don’t know how to ask for it.”

Aziraphale pulled in a shuddering breath. “Crowley, I…I….” Crowley shushed him and lifted one hand to stroke his cheek.

“It’s all right,” he murmured. “I’ll take care of you, Aziraphale. I promise.”

The sound in Aziraphale’s throat could have been a sob or simply shock. There was no way to know. All Crowley did know was that the angel spun around to embrace him tightly and press his face against Crowley’s shoulder.

They stayed that way for a full minute until Aziraphale finally pulled away and slipped his arm out of one of the sleeves of his jacket.

“I suppose I should….”

“Yeah,” Crowley said, turning his face away. “I’ll go warm up some of this oil. Just lie face down on the table when you’re ready.”

It was odd, this need to turn away while Aziraphale undressed. Both of them had seen the other one naked more than once. Then again, Crowley was aware that Aziraphale had a strong aversion to being watched or stared at in any situation.

The angel would probably make an exception for him, but Crowley didn’t want to make him do that. Not when this was supposed to be about soothing Aziraphale’s nerves.  

“I’m ready,” a small voice said behind him.

Crowley nodded and picked up one of the bottles of oil. It was scented with lavender, a good choice for Aziraphale he figured. He held it in his hands and let the heat that was always just under his skin warm it.

Then he turned and smiled at the sight in front of him. Of Aziraphale lying on his stomach, his arms folded up near his head and his head craned to watch Crowley.

As he drew closer, he noted shivers coursing through the angel’s body. He stepped back just long enough to grab some towels from the stand.

“Relax, angel,” he murmured as he heated each towel up and draped them around Aziraphale’s body. Aziraphale had left on his boxers, but had removed everything else, and Crowley imagined that some of that shivering was just a slight chill due to having far skin exposed than he was used to.

Once he had covered the lower part of the angel’s body and offered him a warm towel to rest his head onto, Crowley could see some of Aziraphale’s tension ease. The angel lowered his face onto the towel while Crowley poured some of the oil onto his hands.

‘Who will believe my verse in time to come/ If it were fill’d with your most high deserts?’

Crowley hummed and smiled. He remembered the day Shakespeare wrote that. Or rather, the day the two of them pieced it together. Crowley was still hanging around the Globe Theater, helping Hamlet become a success and was tossing out a spare line here and there to move his latest sonnet along.

What he didn’t share was that he’d been thinking about Aziraphale the whole time. About the way the angel’s face lit up when they saw each other again and how Aziraphale’s smile could warm him in a way Hellfire never could.

Throughout their impromptu writing session, Shakespeare had prodded at him to reveal the inspiration for his words, but Crowley refused. Eventually, the bard gave up, but not before getting the true final word in.

“Whoever they are, they must be a beauty beyond compare. Just as your poetic words say.”

‘You have no idea,’ he had thought at the time. How could any human understand the beauty of an angel? Shakespeare’s words would be far more accurate than he could ever know.

Crowley walked up to the table and placed his hands onto Aziraphale’s shoulders, clasping and then kneading at the muscles that were clenched tight. Aziraphale gulped, but then leaned into the touch.

“C-Crowley….”

“Shh,” Crowley said, leaning in to lightly kiss the shell of Aziraphale’s ear. “Just let yourself enjoy this.”

Aziraphale let out a long, contented sigh as his body sagged against the table. Crowley continued to ease out each tightly wound knot in Aziraphale’s shoulders and neck. The lavender scent spread outward, cresting with each touch.

Crowley’s smile grew. The sunlight coming in through one of the windows made Aziraphale’s hair glow, making the faint halo that Crowley always saw around the angel’s head shimmer slightly in response. Soft sighs filled Crowley’s ears, making his heart swell with affection.

‘If I could write the beauty of your eyes/ And in fresh numbers number all of your graces/ The age would come to say, “his poet lies”’

‘Such heavenly touches ne’er touch’d earthly faces.’

As Crowley’s hands traveled down Aziraphale’s back, his eyes took in every curve and fold of the angel’s body. His hands massaged, but also caressed every inch of skin that they touched.

I love you. Every stroke was an echo of this one thought that continued in an endless chain in Crowley’s mind. I love you, angel. I love every part of you. Let me touch you, hold you, comfort you.

Crowley began to knead Aziraphale’s calves. Legs that had stood strong in the face of darkness and suffering. Feet that had remained firmly grounded when others would have fled from the pain and misery confronting them.

As he worked downward, Crowley continued to hear Aziraphale sigh and then moan in pleasure. When was the last time anyone had touched him tenderly? Did anyone in Heaven do it? Unlikely. All the angels aside from Aziraphale that Crowley had met were not the types who believed in touch founded on gentleness and care. Humans? Possibly, but even then Aziraphale kept himself remote from most everyone around him.

The cold truth was that Aziraphale was probably touched starved for centuries and was still adjusting to getting even the smallest scraps of physical affection within their relationship.

Crowley carefully guided Aziraphale to roll over onto his back. The angel’s eyes were closed, but his expression was slack ecstasy. He bent down to give Aziraphale a light kiss to the forehead before rubbing his fingertips along the angel’s temples and then down the sides of his head.

Once he was done, he ran his hands down Aziraphale’s cheeks. “How do you feel?” he whispered.

Aziraphale’s eyes opened, and Crowley stopped breathing for a few seconds as the blue of the ocean nearly drowned him. Then a smile brighter than sunlight brought him back.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed. “Dearest….”

Crowley moved from behind Aziraphale to stand over him, placing his hand back onto Aziraphale’s cheek.  Seeing him like this, bliss suffusing his features, Crowley remembered why he chose to visualize Aziraphale’s face when he wanted to think of Heaven.

--------

Author’s Note: the lines Crowley was thinking of were from Shakespeare’s 17th sonnet. When I read it, it really felt like something he would think in relation to Aziraphale. 

#good omens #fanfic #My fic #ineffableinktober

[jj-lives]

Inktober - build (bmblb)

I am getting behind in these.  I will try to  get caught up this weekend.

------------------------------------

Yang.

An enigmatic awareness overtook her.  She struggled to focus but the warm pricks of sunlight threatened to lull her back into unconsciousness.

Yang.

There it was again. She heard a groan somewhere nearby but soon realized it was rumbling up and out of her own throat. Eyes still closed her surroundings started to piece themselves together in her mind's eye. A soft giggle from her right placed Blake, reading the novel she'd brought with her. Canopy open to protect her from the heat of the sun's rays Yang was happily soaking up. Incoherent voices sparked faceless strangers scattered around them. The sound of the waves in the distance painted the shoreline. 

"Yang!"

The image was washed away as Yang sat up in surprise at the pitch of Ruby's voice so close to her ear.  

"Ah! What the hell Ruby." Yang exclaimed as their foreheads crashed together. 

"Ooo, owie." Was her only response as she stood, casting a shadow over Yang. 

"Ruby, are you alright?" Weiss jumped up from her spot next to Blake where she was protecting her alabaster skin from the sun's rays. She came to stand before Ruby and gently pulled the younger girl's hands away from her face. "It's okay." She cooed. "There isn't any blood so you haven't broken your nose at least."

"Are you sure?" Ruby pouted, taking advantage of Weiss' rare overly attentive action. "It really hurts."

"What about me?!" Yang exclaimed. Stars were still dancing in her vision as a sharp pain throbbed within her skull.  "Damn it Ruby."

"Don't yell at her!" Weiss admonished as she gently rubbed at the growing bump on Ruby's skull. "And don't give me that 'poor me' expression. You have your own girlfriend to coo over you."

Yang turned to Blake, who had been watching the interaction in quiet amusement. She plastered her best pout, sticking her bottom lip out excessively for good measure.

Blake shrugged and turned back to her book. Staring for a moment, she found her place before flipping the page.  

"Blake," she whined. Shimmying over to Blake's side, half in the shade. "Aren't you going to make sure I'm not permanently damaged?"

A raised brow and a short "no" was her answer.

Yang sat there agast. "Why?" She questioned further.

"Because," she said as she flipped the page once more. "I know just how hard headed you are. It will take more than the likes of Ruby to get through your thick skull."

Weiss and Ruby tried to stifle their laughter but both failed horribly in their attempts. Yang huffed and turned to lean against the side of Blake's lounge chair, her head resting against Blake's arm. They stayed like that, in silence, with Ruby and Weiss speaking quietly to one another.  Yang relaxed against her girlfriend's side; the pain in her skull subdued for now. Her head dipped as the muscles in the arm supporting her moved to flip a page in the ever important book of the week resting in Blake's lap. Yang found the motion more comforting than annoying, however, to be connected physically while their minds were in two separate places. 

She felt as if she could easily drift off to sleep once more, given the chance.  The thought only reminded her of how rudely she was woken from her previous rest. 

"Ruby?" She spoke loudly. Blake's body jerked in surprise at the sudden noise bringing her back from the fantasy world she'd been immersed in. Ruby and Weiss cut their conversation short to turn in her direction. "Was there a reason you woke me up so rudely or were you just trying to give me a headache?"

"Oh!" Ruby's smile widened. "Yeah, I need your help."

"For?"

"Weiss and I were going to build a sandcastle, but you know how horrible I am at them." Her smile faded slightly at the admission. 

"Weiss is smart, I'm sure she can figure it out."

"Please?"

"Don't be sour just because you were woken from a nap." Blake cut in. "Go help."

Yang tipped her head back to see the small upside down smirk slowly take form. Turning back to her sister she answered. "I'll come help, but only if Blake comes too." She heard Blake's book slam closed. "I'm not going to watch you two annoyingly dance around each other, and pretend you aren't eyeing the other up, on my own."

"Blake?" Ruby turned her pleading eyes from her sister to focus on her new victim.

Blake opened her mouth to respond but Yang cut her off before the refusal could fully take form.

"Come on Blake, don't be sour just because you're getting dragged away from your book. Help us out!"

Throwing her words back at her had the desired effect. She grumbled and probably called Yang some colorful words under her breath, but she agreed. She sprung up from her chair so fast that Yang fell backwards, ribs impacting on the hard metal of the lounge chair. 

"Ow."

"Sandcastles!" Ruby yelled, dragging Weiss to the shore.

"Don't worry!" Yang yelled after them. "I'm fine."

"Come on," Blake called over her shoulder, already following her two friends. Disappointed at the lack of attention her injuries were getting, but knowing further complaints would get her nowhere, Yang stood and marched after them. 

By the time they reached the shore she'd caught up to Blake. It didn't take long to spot her sister as she was already fencing off their work zone. 

"Hey! Can't you see the line and the sticks?" Weiss harshly questioned a six year old that foolishly crossed the line Ruby had just barricaded off. "Ugh," she huffed as the kid just stuck his tongue out at her and ran off. "I think we need some 'no trespassing' signs."

"Where are you planning to get them, Weiss?" Blake asked as they came to stand next to the makeshift border. "Are we permitted to enter?" She asked, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

Weiss rolled her eyes. "Yes. Don't be so dramatic."

"That's rich coming from someone who just yelled at a kid for stepping over a stick." Yang commented.

"Excuse me?" Weiss rebutted. "He crossed the very obvious line Ruby spent time in making."

"I'm sur-"

"Stop fighting you two." Blake interrupted, giving Yang a warning look.

"I don't understand why I get that look when she doesn't."

"Don't complain. Weiss has her own girlfriend to admonish her." Yang turned to find her sister just finishing the border with one last piece of driftwood. "Oh, looks like she didn't witness it. Better luck next time." 

Weiss stuck her tongue out at Yang before turning to help Ruby plan out their grit palace.

After the layout and planning Yang was put to work doing more than most of the hard labour as material procuror. She was sure Weiss just made up the title to mess with her. The ‘procurement’ consisted of finding the best sand to continue construction. It couldn’t be too wet or dry and Weiss was not shy about rejecting any ‘product’ that didn’t meet her high standards. Normally Yang would not have stood for it, but the activity was making her sister happy and she really didn’t want to be responsible if the towers fell due to poor quality sand.

After a few hours and plenty of time for Blake and Weiss to get a mild sunburn each they all stood back to observe their masterpiece.  

“Not too shabby.” Yang voiced first, kind of proud of the fragile structure.

“Weiss and my tower is this one.” Ruby claimed, sticking a makeshift flag to the roof carefully.  

“Okay, then this one is ours.” Blake said, stepping forward to run her finger along the roof of the second largest tower.  

Ruby’s hunger made itself known with an audible rumble.  “Come on you Dolt. I told you to have that apple before we came down here to build this. Let’s go get something to eat.” Weiss took Ruby’s hand and led her up the beach to start gathering their things.  

Yang took one last look at their masterpiece, knowing full well that it would not last more than an hour.  Some kid would get just as much joy out of knowing it down as they had building it up.  The tower Blake claimed as theirs stood out to her.  She stepped forward to get a better look and realized Blake had drawn hearts  around the roof of the tower.  

“That’s cute.”

“Not as cute as you.” Blake’s voice drifted over her shoulder.  

Yang turned around and Blake easily slipped into her space, wrapping her arms around Yang’s middle and moulding herself perfectly against her.  Yang returned the embrace as they stood in happy silence.  

Yang took in a sharp breath as Blake found the sensitive spot on her ribs.

“How are your injuries?” She asked softly.

“I’ll live.” Yang responded squeezing Blake tighter, even if it meant putting more pressure on her bruised side. “My ribs are apparently as hard as my skull.”

Blake scoffed. “You know I meant that as a compliment right?”

“Wow, really? I would hate to be on the receiving end of one of your insults.” Yang jokes sarcastically.

Blake pulled back from her embrace, just enough to be able to properly study her face.  Bringing her one hand to gently explore the soft skin of Yang’s forehead, easily finding the protrusion from the earlier impact.  

“Ow, you weren’t exaggerating earlier were you?” Blake asked, voice as gentle as her exploring fingertips. “I’m surprised it’s not more evident to the eyes.”

“I might have exaggerated a little.  It didn't hurt as bad as I let on.”

Smiling, Blake rose on her toes. She placed a gentle lingering kiss over the bump. She stepped back to inspect the possible visible damage to Yang’s side but found it clear of any marks as well.  Her thumb trailed comforting circles along the sensitive flesh of Yang’s exposed ribcage.  

“There are no marks here either,” Blake voiced. “Which is good because it would have ruined the look of your new bikini.  I approve by the way.”

“I assumed by the way you were staring when I was suntanning, before I fell asleep.”

Blake blushed and they both laughed.  Turning they started to make their way to where they’d parked, assuming Ruby and Weiss were already there waiting for them to catch up.  

“It’s a good thing I don’t have any marks.” Yang spoke up after a few moments. 

“Hmm?”

“What would Mr and Mrs Belladonna think if I showed up covered in bruises?”

“They would think you were accident prone: they wouldn’t be wrong.” Blake responded with an amused sigh. “Besides I could cover you in bruises now and they would still all disappear before our trip to Menagerie.”

“Why Miss Belladonna, are you saying you want to mark on me?” Blake’s jaw dropped. Her arm reflexively jolted out to smack Yang’s arm. “I didn’t hear you deny it and to be quite honest I wouldn’t be opposed.”

“You’re impossible!” Blake exclaimed.

“That’s why you love me.” Yang teased.

“No, it’s not why I love you.” She answered. “But I love you nonetheless.”

#bumbleby #my writing #inktober #day 5 build #I am soooooo far behind at this point #rwby #side of #white rose

[oftheflamingheart]

Plain Gold Ring

Inktober Prompt 1: Ring

In which Rupert considers what kind of ring he’ll wear once he and Amir are married. Rupert, Lavinia, Fluffy, WBK mention, Post S1

“Why do you even have dad’s ring?” Rupert asked, aghast at the gaudy piece of jewelry in his palm.

Lavinia shrugged. “He didn’t wear it much, Rupert.”

Rupert drew his own conclusions about why his father wouldn’t wear his ring. As king of the west it would’ve been likely impossible for anyone to mistake him for a nobody, except maybe the spectacularly unobservant. So it had to be a game. A disgusting thought to Rupert’s way of thinking.

“So why didn’t you melt it down?” Rupert asked, holding the ring out to return it to his mother.

Lavinia turned away, ignoring the ring. “Before he became obsessed with conquest...back when the war was just a happy pipe dream...”

“Happy pipe dream?” Rupert repeated, looking down at the ring as if it were something pulled from a chamber pot.

Lavinia turned back around and shrugged. “It was a different time. War was all glory and heroes and righteousness. Before all the bloodshed and horror and loss. Your father wasn’t always so consumed by it all to the point you saw. There was room in his life for other things. So I look at that silly hunk of ring and remember all the promises and laughter. Of the night of seemingly endless pleasure that eventually resulted in the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Rupert tossed the ring on the bed and held his hand away from himself. “Okay mom, too much information. Eww. I don’t even wanna think about what an endless night of pleasure results in.”

Lavinia rolled her eyes and crossed to pick up the ring. “The result? The best thing that ever happened to me? It was you, you oversensitive...” She reached out to put the ring back in his hand but stopped. “Simple. You’re right. This ring is traditional in all the wrong ways, I guess. I just let a few happy memories get in the way of seeing what you must see. Everything your father became; overblown, gaudy, and outdated? Well, this silly ring is all that. So, maybe you’d prefer mine?”

“Mom, I’ve never seen you wear a ring,” Rupert said.

“Well, I wasn’t going to if your father wouldn’t!” Lavinia went to the bedside drawer and retrieved her wedding ring. It was a plain gold ring. Perhaps the most un-Lavinia-like thing he’d ever seen.

Rupert held the ring, turning it around in his fingers. The inside of the band was a stark contrast, it was etched with flowers, the biggest of which held a diamond. Among the roots, Rupert could make out an inscription. “Love is a seed.”

Lavinia took the ring from his fingers and slipped it onto his hand. “It’s been passed down through my father’s family. He never had sons, so he gave it to me for my wedding. Your father never liked it.”

Rupert could just barely feel the stone set inside the ring against his skin. He’d assumed that the inside etching would be distracting and uncomfortable, but it was smooth. “I love it. It seems simple on the outside but the inside is beautiful! And I can’t even feel it.”

“Yeah, careful with that,” Lavinia cautioned. “It’s how I lost it the first time. Found it a week later between the headboard and the wall.”

“Why would it be...” Rupert looked up to see his mother shaking her head. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

#the two princes #the two princes podcast #two princes podcast #inktober #prince rupert #queen lavinia #western Bastard King mention

[alarawriting]

Inktober #13: Ash

Here we are with “No Drama” again. The actual book is in first person, but I went with third and a different POV than John’s because I wanted to explore what he looks like from a human’s perspective.

***

Lailah arrived at the bar as quickly as she could, panting slightly. “John! What’s the emergency?”

“There’s no emergency,” her partner, John Deer, assured her, slurring slightly. He had a glass of bourbon in front of him, no ice, mostly empty. The fact that he was slurring, and the fact that he had called her insisting that it was an emergency and she needed to meet him at Gaetano’s right away and now he was claiming there was no emergency, suggested that it was not his first one, or likely, even his third.

“You said there was an emergency,” she snapped. She hated bar stools. She hated absurdly tall men who sat on bar stools and then looked down at her because she was very short and not on a bar stool. “Tell me now why I don’t just walk the hell out of here.”

“Because Heph was busy and Mike’s in his studio and he won’t let me call,” John said, “and it’s a funeral, so I need someone to drink with.” He grinned as if what he had just said was the most reasonable thing possible.

Lailah sighed and put her camera bag on the bar. “Buy me something, then,” she said. “Something light if you expect me to drive your ass home when you’re done.”

“Bartender!”

Despite the fact that the bar was fairly full, the bartender came over to him almost immediately. John had a weird magnetism that made everyone pay more attention to him when he wanted attention, ignore him when he wanted to be ignored, and assume he belonged anywhere he happened to be. Lailah was pretty sure the personal magnetism thing was dependent on the fact that he was a white dude – she couldn’t imagine a world where that trick would work for a black woman – but it went a lot farther than just being a charismatic and decent-looking white dude could explain; he’d gotten her into the White House once. Any time anyone had questioned what she was doing there, he’d said, “She’s with me.” No one had ever asked him what he was doing there.

“What’ll you have?”

“A hard cider for the lady, and another bourbon for me.”

The bartender nodded and bustled away. “How many of those have you had?” Lailah asked.

“Not enough yet.”

She sighed, mentally shrugging. She wasn’t his mom. If he wanted to drink himself stupid, that was his problem. She’d nurse her one cider, watch over him to make sure he didn’t do anything egregiously dumb, and drive him home when he was done, or when she was sick of putting up with him, whichever came first. She liked John, but he could be an amazing ass sometimes.

“What’s the occasion?” she asked. “Did we get a contract? Or did one fall through?”

“Neither,” he said, and waved at the front windows of the bar. “You can’t see it from here. I mean, you could see the star, maybe, if there was a lot less light outside and it was the right season or you were in the right place, and it’d help to have a telescope, but the point is. The point is. You can’t see the planet. It’s two hundred fifty-seven light years away from Earth, right now.”

“I’m sure that seems really relevant to you in your current state, but—”

“No. Listen. They killed themselves. You’d be seeing it right now if you could see it. Two hundred fifty-seven years ago they burned their entire planet to ash. There were single-celled organisms left alive, and some of their equivalent of insects. You know every single planet with multi-cellular life has something like a cockroach, right?”

“I’m sure it does,” Lailah said, wondering if a hard cider was going to be enough to get her through this.

John was weird. Possibly not all there, mentally. He was brilliant, he was amazing at persuading people to do anything – including answer his questions, which for a journalist was an incredible talent – he saw connections no one else could see, and he spoke so many languages, Lailah hadn’t yet been somewhere that John wasn’t fluent in the local speech. For a photojournalist, he was a great partner to have, and if she ever won a Pulitzer it would probably be for photos he got her in place to be able to take. But he was weird.

If he’d been frequently drunk, like he was tonight; if he’d sexually harassed her, or anyone else; if he was on illegal drugs… she wouldn’t have liked any of those things, and the sexual harassment thing would have been a deal-breaker for their partnership, but she knew a lot of journos with one or many of those particular flaws. Those, she would have understood. But John… occasionally talked about historical events as if he’d been there, frequently made off-hand references to other planets and then pretended he hadn’t, and often referred to humanity as “you” instead of “us.” She strongly suspected he was delusional, and overly influenced by science fiction.

Most of the time he stayed professional about it; an occasional slip, and then a bullshit excuse why he’d said it, an outright denial that he’d said it, or completely ignoring her questions, and moving on. She suspected that tonight wasn’t going to be one of those times.

“Nothing left,” he said, and took his new glass from the bartender, downing about half of it. Lailah winced. Her cider was cold, and tasty, and desperately needed with John turning weird up to 11.

“Okay, so let’s say for the sake of argument that I accept this. There’s a planet 257 light years away and they destroyed themselves. Why do I care? Why do you care?”

He blinked at her. “Because!”

“I need a little more than that to go on. Because why?”

“Don’t you care? They were people. Like you’re people. Like—” he waved his left arm to encompass the room, and narrowly avoided smacking the guy next to him – “this whole planet. All the creatures on it. Now imagine they’re gone. Ashes. Dead. Don’t you think it matters?”

“It matters while we’re dying, I guess,” Lailah said. “But after we’re dead, who’ll be there to know or care?”

“I will!”

“Right, because you’re immune to nukes. I should’ve figured.”

“I am,” John said, pointing at her as if he was imparting vital information, or dressing down an unruly student. “But that’s not the point.”

“I’m not sure what the point is…”

“They’re dead!” John snapped, and slid off his chair, staggering toward the door. Cursing quietly, since she expected her cider wouldn’t still be there when she returned, Lailah grabbed her camera bag and followed him.

Directly outside the bar, John pointed at the sky. “They were just like you. Six legs instead of four, radial symmetry instead of bilateral. They had three eyes, three vibrating membranes for picking up sound. Made noises like parrots do, they could imitate almost any sound they heard. They blew fiberglass into tapestries. Thick skin, it didn’t make them itch. Blanketed their world with fiber optics to communicate with each other. Laid eggs. The females used to go out and get food while the males cradled the eggs and kept them warm, but they’d developed sexual equality so both parents took turns cradling the eggs.”

“I don’t understand why you’re telling me this.”

“Because they’re dead. I tried to help them and it turned into a holy war and that was the last thing it should have been and I didn’t see the danger in time and then they hit the buttons and they blew it all up. You think nukes are bad. They had antimatter. It was going to be clean, pure energy, they were using the power of the sun to make the stuff, in space. Their sun was bigger than yours. Still is, the sun’s still there. Planet too. It’s the life that’s gone. So much ash.”

Lailah shook her head. This was plainly a mental illness. John was seriously distressed by the imaginary death of his imaginary planet. But it wasn’t going to do any good to tell him it was imaginary if he was delusional. Best for him if she played along. “It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know what they were going to do.”

“But I should’ve! It was my job! I was… I was supposed to be guiding them. Helping them. It was going to prove to the Convocation that my way would work. Strong intervention policy, step in and help them reach the eschaton, right? But they never will because I fucked it up and they’re all dead.” He looked around himself. “I’m not drunk enough.”

“I think maybe you are,” Lailah said.

“Then why hasn’t it stopped? I look up in the sky and I know, if I had a powerful enough telescope, I could see it now. I could see them dying right now. Today’s the day. Two hundred fifty-seven light years, three light months, twenty-two light days. I can see it but I can’t change it. It’s in my past, you can’t break causality like that. You can go back but you can’t change things. Whatever happened, always happened, or things break. Worse things than one planet. But they were my charges and they’re dead and it’s my fault.”

“And you think you can drink enough to stop thinking about it? To make it stop hurting?” She wanted him to be sitting down so she could put a hand on his shoulder. He was way too tall for that when he was standing. “It doesn’t work like that. “Maybe you can blunt it some, but you aren’t going to make yourself feel better. Not if you’re carrying guilt like that.”

He swayed slightly, and sat down on the sidewalk, with his usual unconcern for whether something was socially appropriate to do. “I got them killed. They should have kicked me out of the Host forever. I thought ten years was bad, but that’s nothing. All those people have been dead for two hundred and fifty-seven years.”

Lailah had no idea what he was talking about, but now she could reach his shoulder. She crouched so she could look him in the eye. It wasn’t comfortable; her thighs started to burn immediately. But if she sat, she’d be shorter than him again. She reached toward him, two brown hands on the shoulders of the loud pink button-down he was wearing. “Listen to me. You’re a good man, John. You could make a lot of money doing celebrity bullshit or puff pieces for politicians, but you’re nobody’s lackey. You find stories about corruption and people getting hurt and you expose all that. Your reporting has gotten stupid laws repealed and people suffering from those laws support.”

“That’s supposed to make up for an entire planet?”

She shook her head. “Look, I don’t know why you’re carrying this much guilt. You know I think you’re having some kind of mental episode when you talk about alien planets. But I can see the guilt is real. No matter what actually happened, I know to you it feels like you got an entire planet full of people killed. But let me ask you, did you pull the trigger?”

“No, but—”

“Did you tell any of them to do it? Did you trick them into killing themselves? Did you rig things so that was the only way forward they saw, or did you make them think something different would happen?”

“No – no, I tried to tell them, I tried – but I could have done something! I have powers! I could have – I could—”

“I don’t know much about this situation, but it sounds to me like something you didn’t have nearly as much control over as you think you did, or maybe as you wish you did. Maybe you want to believe you could have saved them because you’re afraid for this planet, and if you could have saved them but you messed up and you didn’t, then maybe you could save us from ourselves and not mess it up. I don’t know. But it sounds to me like it wasn’t really your fault. I think you got a bum rap, is what I think. Like that woman who got charged with vehicular homicide because her son was killed in a hit-and-run while she was trying to cross the street. Maybe she shouldn’t have been jaywalking, but the crosswalk was half a mile away and the guy driving the car, he was a drunk driver. He was the one who killed her son, not her, but the system decided to blame her because it’s always gonna blame a mother for whatever happens to her kids and especially if she’s black. But it wasn’t her fault. And this whatever it is. I don’t think it was yours.”

“I want another drink,” he said stubbornly.

“Well, you gotta pay your tab, and if they threw out my cider while I was talking with you, then you owe me another one,” Lailah said. “But I think you should do beer or wine at this point, or you’re gonna be puking in my car when I take you home.”

She helped him back to his feet. “I wanna talk to you about the DC trip,” she said. “Tomorrow. We’ve got logistics to work out. I don’t want you driving.”

“I can drive,” John complained. “I mean, not now. ‘Cause I’m drunk now.” He laughed. “That’s the rule, right? You get hammered, you don’t drive. But I can drive. When I’m not drunk.”

“Yeah, but you drive like shit, so I am not letting you behind the wheel. Which makes things complicated if we’re getting a rental, because my credit cards are all maxed out.”

“And mine aren’t?”

“Well, I hope like hell that they’re not, because you don’t have a car and mine’s way too crap to drive to DC. But we’ll talk about it tomorrow.” She guided him to the bar, where, miracle of miracles, her cider still stood. “Come on. Let’s get a booth. I want a crab pretzel.”

“Only if. Only if I can have nachos.” He put far more import into his tone than the subject of nachos really deserved.

“Yeah, sure. You’re buying, right? So you can have whatever you want.”

#inktober 2019 #no drama

[reneeofthestars]

Inktober 2019

Day 14: Overgrown

Click ‘keep reading’ for a short piece with Hera, Zeb, and Leia!

As much as Hera agreed with the Princess’s decision that the area around their base on Yavin 4 had to be fully inspected, she was very opposed to the Princess actually coming on the recon mission, and said as much. 

Princess Leia wouldn’t hear of it. “I told my father I would ensure the security of the base. If the Massassi Temple is going to become our main base of operations, we need to be sure we don’t get any nasty local surprises.”

“Like those krykna spiders at Chopper Base,” Zeb had agreed with a shudder, prepping his bo-rifle. 

“Exactly.” When Hera still hadn’t been convinced, Leia had given her a smile. “I excelled at my pathfinding expeditions, Captain. I’m not afraid of some wilderness. I won’t be a hinderance.” The finality in her voice - and the young woman’s inherent higher rank - left Hera no choice but to agree. 

And so, they’d spent the better part of the last four days scouting the perimeter of the Massassi Temple. They came across a few clusters of miniature howler lizards that scurried away from them, and Zeb kept his distance from the purple jumping spiders, but they didn’t come across anything larger than a docile herd of mawgax that watched them pass with beady black eyes. 

Hera had to admit, she hadn’t expected the Princess to fair so well out in the jungle. But the human was dressed in a practical jumpsuit, and wasn’t afraid of getting dirty. She had pointed out a narrow animal path that eventually led them to a freshwater stream. Hera fastened a locator beacon on one of the rock outcroppings by the water so she could send a team back out here. After all, a Rebellion needed water to keep going.

On the fifth day of their exploring, Zeb was in front, using his bo-rifle to clear a space through some particularly dense foliage. Hera was behind him, finishing a check-in call with Senator Mon Mothma. The Senator was glad there seemed to be no immediate danger to the base, and had informed Hera that they were to report back to the temple as soon as they could, as a mission had come up for Phoenix Squadron. 

Hera was so preoccupied with wondering what the mission would entail that it took her a moment to realize the Princess was not right behind her. 

“Zeb, wait,” she ordered. The Lasat stopped as Hera spun around, ready to call out for the Princess, when she spotted her.

Leia was frozen several meters back, turned to face east, away from any direction they’d scouted. She was leaning forward, her gaze intense, a hand on the blaster at her hip as she stared into the thicket. 

“Your Highness?” Hera asked quietly, slipping her own blaster from its holster and moving to Leia’s side. 

“Something’s out there,” Leia breathed, not taking her eyes from the jungle. 

Hera carefully raised her blaster. “Did you see something?”

“No - maybe.” She sounded distracted. "I feel... cold. Come on.” 

And without another word, she stepped deeper into the jungle. 

“Uh, Hera?” Zeb sounded bewildered. 

“Your Highness, wait!”

But she didn’t stop. With a groan, Hera gestured to Zeb and took off after Leia. 

As they walked, Hera realized the jungle was different here. No wonder it had unnerved the Princess. The air hung still here, almost musty. There were fewer animal sounds; whereas the avian creatures had cooed and cawed constantly close to the base, here they were mostly silent, and there was no movement in the underbrush. And it was cooler here. The leafy canopy overhead wove together tightly, blocking out most of the sunlight, leaving the forest floor drenched in shadow. Hera, Leia, and Zeb didn’t lower their weapons.

After what seemed like forever, Leia stopped, staring up at something. As Hera crept forward, the shadows shifted, and she saw what had caught Leia’s attention.

It was a large grey stone statue of a humanoid in bulky armor, grasping a massive sword. It had clearly been carved with excruciating detail, but time and the elements had taken a toll. One of the spikes coming off its shoulder pad had broken off, as had the figure’s beard and one side of the sword’s crossguard. Any detail on the armor and tunic had long since worn away, and what had probably been a chiseled, angular face had become smooth and blunted.

Vines twisted and draped over the statue, creeping up its legs and sword, hanging off its broad shoulders and arms. Soft moss lay on the statue’s flatter surfaces like an extra layer of armor. Against the backdrop of the jungle, it looked like some sort of forest sentry.

“Who’s he?” Zeb asked out loud, stepping up to the statue. It stood a few inches taller than him. “Looks like a warrior.”

Leia circled the statue, inspecting it. “We’ve found a few other icons of this figure around the Massassi Temple. If the records are right, this is Naga Sadow. He was an ancient Sith that enslaved the Massassi people. They saw him as a god.” 

“Sith?” Zeb repeated sharply. He looked to Hera. “Like that Zabrak? Like Vader?”

“I think so,” Hera answered slowly. “But according to legend, there used to be a species called the Sith. Which one was he?” she asked Leia, nodding to the statue.

“Both, I think.” She frowned. “There are so many stories, and the records from that time aren’t very detailed. We really don’t know much about it.”

“What’s that there?” Zeb pointed behind the statue.

At first, Hera didn’t know what he was talking about. She took a few steps to the side, and an opening appeared in what she had taken for a small hill. Now, she saw an ancient structure overgrown with foliage, a dark opening in the center of it, like a gash. Moss-covered steps led downward into the earth.

Hera peered at it uncertainly. “We scanned a lot of ruins on the planet when we first scouted it. Probably just another small temple, or a warehouse.”

“Or a tomb,” Leia muttered distractedly. 

Hera glanced at her. “What makes you say that?”

Leia blinked rapidly. “I - just a thought. I’ve seen some tombs that have stairs leading down like that. Then again, I’ve seen wine cellars do that, too. We don’t know what it is.” She drew herself upright. “We should check it out.”

Zeb shuddered, his grip on his bo-rifle tightening. “All due respect, Princess, this place gives me the creeps. We should head back to base.”

“Zeb’s right,” Hera said, putting a hand on Leia’s arm. Shivers crawled down Hera’s lekku. “I have a bad feeling about this place. And we have no idea what could be inside. A predator, old poisoned air, traps. And if we disturb the structure and it caves in, no one will be able to find us. It’s too risky.”

Leia looked like she wanted to argue, but then the young woman took a breath and nodded. “You’re right, Captain Syndulla. Mon Mothma is waiting.” She paused, her gaze sweeping the effigy and structure. “I’d like to leave a locator beacon, so I can return with a team to investigate this ruin. There might be something inside we can use.” 

“Of course.” They had enough beacons to spare, so Hera activated it and placed it at the statue’s feet. “Good eye, finding this. When we have the personnel to spare, we can get a team together.”

“Leave that to me,” Leia said, already walking. “Like I said, I intend to lead the team back.”

“Your duties might prevent that from happening, Your Highness,” Hera reminded her gently.

“We’ll see,” was all she said. 

As she and Zeb followed the Princess back, Hera noticed Zeb kept looking over his shoulder, and held his bo-rifle ready. “You okay?”

“Eh, sure. It just feels like it’s watching us,” Zeb grumbled. “This place seems like something more up Kanan and Ezra’s alley. Anytime I get this kind of feeling, it’s normally a sign I should sit it out and let them handle it.”

Hera didn’t disagree, and they followed the Princess back into the livelier part of the jungle. She knew she was just imagining it after Zeb’s comment, but it certainly did feel like the statue’s eyes watched them leave.

#this writing turned out a loooooot longer than I thought it would #but now I kinda want to keep going with it #lol #i'll post it to ao3 and if I get inspired to finish it I will #I've never written content with the ghost crew before #and never with leia either #this could be fun! #anywho I had fun drawing the vines #It was good practice #sw #star wars #naga sadow #hera syndulla #leia organa #zeb #garazeb orrelios #renee's art #renee's writing #inktober #inktober2019 #day 14: overgrown #swr #star wars rebels #star wars rebellion era #yavin 4 #massassi temple #massassi #pureblood sith