#look sometimes these inktober prompts just feel like they used a word generator and never changed or looked at it again

[ficswithtacotuesday]

Day 19: Plump

Alright, all cards on the table, I had no idea what to make for this prompt. To be honest, this was my first thought. So here, Soldier checking out Merasmus' ass, or lack of it

[leomitchellart]

So… about this latest Inktober controversy….

Time to begrudgingly chuck in my two penneth… (Remeber you can always press “J” to skip this post altogether)

As most of you may or may not know, Alphonso Dunn released a Youtube video wherein he publicly accused Jake Parker, and creator of the Inktober challenge, of plagiarising his book. Both of these men are public figures, artists specialising in pen & ink. In the video Dunn looks at the preview pages and flip through footage of Parker’s “Inktober All Year Round” and says they draw many similarities in the illustrations, language and layout that he used in his own book, “Pen & Ink Drawing”. Parker’s book was set to this month. Hense why Dunn only used footage and not a physical copy.

Since the video’s release, the art community has been very spilt down the middle. The book’s publisher has halted the launch of Parker’s book until the matter can be investigated. Even DeviantArt cancelled their own Inktober event thing (I’ll admit I don’t keep up with these things DA keeps doing). Parker has since released a statement in the matter. Now it’s up to the courts to decide what’s happening next. The video itself is an hour long, but it’s crucial to see it yourself. 

People are, understandably, outraged after seeing it. This seems like a shitty thing to rip-off Dunn - not to mention stupid. Since Dunn is the more popular pen & ink artist with more social media followers and name recognition. Many have called to boycott inktober and condemn Parker. I’ll admit, I was right alongside them at first, at least for feeling outraged. The similarities are there. But if YMS’s Kimba video has taught me anything, it’s that, even if an accusation of plagiarism may be obvious at a cursory glance, sometimes it’s important to take a more critical eye and do more research to learn that things aren’t as cut and dry as they first seem. If there’s a lesson I can take away from the internet as a whole, it’s that no one thinks about the consequences of mob mentality.

The most common defence of Parker is that because they’re both books about pen and ink drawing, then they’re inevitably going to be similar. I’ll admit that, when you pick-up so many art books, a lot of them will cover the same basic grounds of materials, tutorials, strokes, techniques etc. The parts about rendering textures on spheres and cubes isnt new. Look up “texture study” and you’ll see so many examples of artists rendering these kinds of things digitally. I’ve also noticed a common theme of people more formally educated in art pointing out how none of these are original. Everything down to the steps and illustrations are things they’ve learned from years ago. Since I'm a pen & ink artist, inspired by my love of comics, I have quite a few books about inking: Dunn’s included. I own both his books and still highly recommend them. I didn't even preorder Parker’s book. Ironically because I didn't think it could offer anything new that my other books hadn’t already.

While Ethan Becker took the time to cross-examine Dunn and Parker’s books with several others, there weren’t many of the ones I actually owned. So I looked to my shelves to see what I could find. Books like:

“The Art of Comic Book Inking” by Gary Martin & Steve Rude

“How Comics Work” by Dave Gibbons & Tim Pilcher

“The DC Comics guide to Inking Comics” by Klaus Janson

“Making Comics” by Scott McCloud

“Stan Lee’s How to Draw Comics”

I’m sure there’s plenty more examples out there. I was planning to go through all of these and take pictures. But ultimately that’s not the core point of these post. Plus it would’ve taken WAY too long and this post itself, is long enough.

Of course, none of the them are 100% close to Dunn’s in the way they’re displayed. Not as close as Parker’s could be considered. That being said, I know Dunn is trying to claim that he invented these techniques. The nucleus of the issue is how similar they are in terms of order and how these pages are displayed. Some I can chock-up to standard practice, while others seem more coincidental.

If there’s one thing I’m adamant about, it’s that I think that Dunn should’ve messaged Parker first before making the accusation public. Some try to dispute that this would've made it easier for Dunn to be “silenced”, whatever that means; but that sounds a bit conspiratorial to me. Ideally, you confront him about it in private, if he makes any threats or blows you off, get your lawyer on the phone and then make the video. Not only is it the more civil thing to do - but it’s the smarter thing to do. This is a serious legal matter, not just internet drama. While I’m sure Dunn had no intention of tearing Parker down or getting a mob onto him, that’s unfortunately what’s happened. A backlash both from the general artisan community and several companies. Wherein it was left to Parker himself to make this an official legal matter. If Parker’s found not guilty, then this could easily leave the gate open for him to sue Dunn for damages, loss of revenue, defamation of character or whatever else, should he see fit. As could the publishers, given how this affected their sales. Companies responded to the accusation of the video alone, before an investigation could be launched. Sure, it wouldn't be “acting the bigger man” but he’d be well within his right to do it. Dunn showed that Jake has mentioned him before, shown admiration for his career and referenced him in other posts. If it comes to light in court, that Dunn is even cited as an inspiration or source in the book itself, then it’s case closed. 

Then there’s the other possibility that Parker might not have done this on his own, but that he has a team behind the book. If that’s the case, the most I can accuse Parker of is being a hack. I worry Dunn has kneecapped himself for just how badly he’s handled this situation. Made worse by him not having an actual physical copy to assess and just had footage of preview pages to go on. So far, the circumstances don’t seem on his favour. 

I don’t think ill of Dunn. I do think he believes he’s been wronged and no malice in his intentions. I just think he’s made some critical errors on how to handled this. As for Parker himself, I couldn't give a donkey’s doo-dah about him. I’m sure you could accuse me of playing devil’s advocate earlier, but to me, he was the guy who released the annual prompt list. If it really does turn out that he’s a plagiarist and had malicious intent, then fuck ‘im. I never regarded him as an inspiration of mine or paid much attention to him outside of that. It was the community that made Inktober what it is. I’ve never met Parker. Maybe he’s a cool guy? Maybe he’s a bellend? I don’t know.

Granted this isn't the first time Parker has proved himself to be a controversial figure: - Last year people were upset about him trademarking (not copywriting, as many have erroneously claimed) the word “Inktober” and some artists were stopped from selling their related work or zines. Parker would issue a statement: claiming the takedowns were a mistake of “overzealous lawyers” and it’s just a matter of the logo being trademarked. People can sell their Inktober works and even mention they are Inktober-related. Just not use the official logo. On the one hand, from a business standpoint, I get it. It’s the bare minimum you need to do to protect your IP, especially when you have a store. BUT, like most people, I don’t like how, what’s intended as a community challenge, has slowly become more of a brand associated with one man. Hardly a surprise it left a bad taste in so many people’s mouths. But, since it doesn't actually effect anyone’s ability to take part in the challenge, outside of personal principle, I went ahead with it the previous year. 

 - The year before, when asked if one can do Inktober digitally, Parker said the following:

I know some are still bitter about that, but speaking as someone who inks traditionally and digitally, this came across as needless whinging and blowing things out of proportion. Claiming that Jake had derided digital artists and said they were invalid etc etc. Take it from me, challenging yourself to try out different methods to ink traditionally can greatly improve the work you do digitally. It’s like how learning traditional fundamentals of art can still be applied to digital. Plus he never said “No.” he just gave valid reasons about how it makes it a different experience. That said, if you’re someone who can’t afford any kind of inking equipment or pens and only have a selected application to draw on - then none of this applies to you. Just the aforementioned few who took it upon themselves to get angry over nothing. Recently I’ve heard from subscribers of his newsletter that he’s now embraced the idea of people doing inktober digitally, to the point of selling digital brushes for inktober. I’m sure some will call this “backsliding” or “money grubbing” because people aren’t allowed to change their minds or update their statements.

For weeks I’ve been torn on what to do, not being able to solidify one stance over another. One minute I thought #JusticeForAlphonsoDunn then I wonder “Wait maybe I should look again?” to “But wait, those are way too similar!” Having splinters in my arse from sitting on the fence for so long. The longer this went on, however, I began to realise that I can’t take one stance over another. This case is far too muddy and complicated. I don’t have enough sufficient knowledge or evidence. Nor do any of you. We literally only have Dunn’s video to go on. While it’s a good start, it’s not enough to be taken 100% as gospel when it’s the only thing to hand. 

As previously mentioned, a lot of artists have decided to not take part in Inktober at all, or follow different prompt lists. That’s completely fine. A lot of them are based around a specific theme: halloween, kinky stuff, bears, transformers, OCs, Disney or whatever. That has massive appeal. I just can’d do it myself. I prefer the focus on random words, rather than all centred on a single subject; allowing me to be creative with my ideas and execution. I actually did try to make a list of my own random words. Problem is, I worried that because I was choosing my own, I might be subconsciously bias towards certain prompts and not truly challenging myself. Even narrowing down my options was taking too long. In the end…. I’ve decided to just do the official prompts again this year.

For me, that’s what it ultimately came down to. TIME. It’s the middle of September. I can’t afford to wait for the court case to be settled. No other prominent artists I respect have released their own prompt lists. I know there’s been some shitty people who are condemning this choice. Attacking others, accusing them of supporting plagiarism, looking to block anyone who does the official prompts. Even trying to make this a racial issue. Just…. no. 

If someone doesn’t want to take part in Inktober, that’s fine. If someone wants to do the official prompts, that’s fine. If someone wants to do their own prompts, that’s fine.

Don’t go around aggressively making snap judgements or accusing people of taking a side. Do whatever makes you feel comfortable. This has been a shit year, let people enjoy something.

If you look at this situation and it makes you feel angry, and you don’t feel comfortable in taking part in a challenge because of it’s creator. I get that, I literally get that. It’s why I haven't done Mermay. And please don’t mention Pinktober, I’m aware of it, but given his insta video on the subject and the things he said, I quickly came to the conclusion that I can’t take this person seriously. I’m sure this might make me seem hypocritical, but how this differs, if only for me, is the sheer amount Inktober means to me. It’s more than a simple challenge. Inktober's the one thing I’ve been most excited about all year. As it was ruined for me in 2019, when I lost my home and I didn't get to complete every prompt. (Long story, I’m okay now). As we all know, 2020, has been an AWFUL year. We’ve got to take whatever joy we can. As I’ve looked longer at the official prompts, I found ideas I’m really excited for. 

Once I started to really dedicate myself to it, it became a massive event. I hype myself up as I prepare for the busy month. Buy in supplies, clean the house and workspace, cook and freeze meals in bulk to save time, printing off a sheet that allows me to jot down ideas as I plan ahead.  Then once it’s done, after so much work, it makes the reward all the sweeter: Ordering a takeaway, celebrating a great halloween night and still rocking those vibes throughout November. Feeling proud of myself for doing it and seeing myself improve my technique, discipline and earning a few lie-ins to make up for the sleep I lost working. I’m like a kid waiting for Christmas. That said, don’t think that there’s something wrong with you when you understandably can’t dedicate that amount time for a simple art challenge. If anything that’s plenty of reason to why you’re smarter than me. You have a life and don’t push yourself too much.

Now, I need to crack on with the preparations. If you want to boycott Jake Parker, just not buying any of his products should be enough. Doing the inktober challenge doesn't bring attention to him, as I doubt most people even know him as the creator, nor does it even line his pockets. I just hate how cancel culture can do such serious damage like this and then try and put pressure on others to act accordingly without even doing any research themselves. 

As long as you’re not harassing anybody. Just do what YOU want to do. That’s fine. 

[kingswriting]

30 Day Writing Challenge

hey everyone! i’m trying to challenge myself to get back into writing, and i’d like to challenge everyone to do it with me! you don’t have to start on a certain day - just jump in whenever you want! 

Day 1: Write for the duration of one song. Do that again for another song. Or don’t. Or do it again for a whole playlist. It’s totally up to you! Don’t think or plan what you’re going to write. Just write. Stop the second the song ends. 

Day 2: Find an image that really speaks to you. Write something based on it. It can be an image of anything, whether it be fanart for a specific fandom or just a picture of scenery. 

Day 3: Find a one sentence prompt from tumblr or pinterest and write a piece about it. Length doesn’t matter. 

Day 4: Find a book in your home and flip to one of the following pages: 28, 106, 242. Find one of the following sentences: 10th, 23rd, 38th. Use that sentence to write a piece.

Day 5: I read somewhere that Elvis Presley still gets hundreds of Valentines sent to his address every year. I don’t know how true it is, but it’s kind of cute. Write about someone who wrote one of those Valentines. 

Day 6: Find this year’s Inktober list. (Hint: It’s right here.) Randomly generate a number. Write something based on that numbered prompt. 

Day 7: For today’s prompt, you’re gonna reach way back in your head and remember something you wrote way back in the day, when you first started writing. Whether that be a year ago or 10 years ago, write a scene that you think you could improve upon. If you can’t think of anything, rewrite a scene in some piece of media you’ve consumed recently that you think you could improve upon. 

Day 8: Use this generator to create a random character. Write about them. For an extra challenge, write about two random characters. 

Day 9: Think of a movie, book, tv trope that you really hate. Do you hate when a big, dramatic scene ends and turns out to just be a dream? Do you hate the manic pixie dream girl? Do you, like all of us, hate ‘kill your gays?’ Flip it on its head. Instead of the queer coded fashionable villain trope, write about a straight coded, khaki-wearing villain. If you need help check out tvtropes.com. 

Day 10: Freewrite. Set yourself a timer, whether it be for a minute, two minutes, five, or fifteen, freewrite. Don’t plan anything ahead of time. Let the words flow and see what happens. 

Day 11: Find five things in your room that seem really unimportant, like a pencil, a dog bowl, or an empty cardboard box. Choose one of those things. Write a piece about that thing being the emotional centerpoint. 

Day 12: Have you ever seen a music video that just makes you wanna create something? You can’t tell exactly what it is about it, but it just makes you wanna do something? Find that music video and watch it. During the duration of the music video, think. Let your brain be creative. After you watch it, write for 5 minutes. If you don’t have a music video in mind, challenge yourself to choose a music video outside of the genre you usually listen to and let it inspire you. 

Day 13: Write a little something about your favorite OC. This can be a character from a WIP you’re already working on, or an OC you shelved a while back. Just have fun with it! For an extra challenge, try to write something over 1000 words. 

Day 14: What if two main characters from two different stories got switched? What if Harry Potter and Percy Jackson switched places? Write about a main character ending up in a different story - whether the story be your own original WIP or an already existing story. Don’t be afraid to go wild with this one! Put Jon Snow in your own WIP. Have fun!

Day 15: Sometimes, it’s nice to just read about domesticity- no drama, no angst, just people doing things like grocery shopping or home renovations. Write about someone doing one of those domestic things that just makes you feel all fuzzy inside. This doesn’t have to be romantic - just write about people living their normal lives in a really cute way. 

Day 16: Everyone has a strength as a writer, whether they know it or not. What’s your strength? What do you think you’re best at? Write a piece that really plays into those strengths. Are you really good at writing gripping dialogue? Do you make scenes come to life with your flowery descriptions? Can you make just about anyone cry when you write sad scenes? Do it. Just do it. 

Day 17: Write a piece in which your character has a secret. But here’s the twist - you don’t know the secret yet. Let it come to you as your character is challenged by the people around them. 

Day 18: Have you heard that every birthmark you have signifies somewhere that your soulmate has kissed you the most amount of times? Write about one of your birthmarks. Or someone else’s. Or one of your OC’s.

Day 19: Look up your name on pinterest - it might help to add the word ‘aesthetic’ afterwards. Write a piece based on one of the boards that comes up. If your name doesn’t work (like mine - all I get is chairs??), use your middle name, your last name, or if none of those work, use an OC’s name. 

Day 20: Think of a place in the world that makes you feel a certain type of way. Do you feel small when you look at the stars at the beach? Do you feel at home when you walk through the woods? Write about a character in that specific place and how they might feel. 

Day 21: We all have things that we want to write about our OCs that we know, deep down, will never make it into the final cut. They may be self indulgent, they may be unnecessary, but everyone knows that self indulgent writing is the best writing. Write that scene you’ve been dying to write, regardless of whether or not you’re going to use it in the future. 

Day 22: Time to take it back a few days to the trope question. What’s a trope that you really just love? The pink haired/black haired ship? Platonic soulmates? Take this trope and flip it. See it from a different perspective. Do you love the fake relationship trope? Twist it and make it a fake enemy-ship. Do you love the best friends to lovers trope? Flip it and make it lovers to best friends. 

Day 23: Choose one of these playlists. They’re all catered after certain moods - but try your best to write a piece that is opposite of the intended mood, while still taking the playlist into consideration. Listening to a daydreamy playlist? Write something gritty and realistic. Listening to a love playlist? Write about a breakup. 

Day 24: Write a scene in a genre that is way out of your comfort zone. Are you a romance writer who has never taken a crack at horror before? Write something that’ll scare your own socks off. Are you a sci-fi writer who avoids romance like the plague? Write a good smooch. If you need a little help, here’s some prompts. 

Day 25: Imagine that a tattoo signifies something significant that happened to you in a past life. Write about one of your tattoos, someone else’s, or one of your OC’s. Or just make something up. Write about what happened to this person in their past life, and what the tattoo is. 

Day 26: Choose a scene from something you’ve watched/played/read recently. It doesn’t matter what the scene is. But write it in a completely different timeline. You can change the characters if you’d like. But if the story is a fantasy set in medieval times, write it as a modern piece. If it’s set in modern day, set it in the future. Who knows? You might end up changing the scene completely. 

Day 27: Take this test to find out what animal you are. Write about a chance encounter with this animal and what that might mean for your character. 

Day 28: Check out someone that you follow on tumblr. Find out about one of their WIPs, choose a character from one of them, and write about them with one of your OCs. If you don’t currently use tumblr, ask a friend about one of their characters. Challenge yourself to write someone else’s character as accurately as you can. 

Day 29: This is going to be an easy one - you’ve worked hard this month. Write 1000 words on your current WIP. If you don’t have a current WIP, or you can’t choose one to write on, write 1000 words. Whatever you want. 

Day 30: Take one of the pieces you wrote on Day 1 and rewrite it. Do whatever you want with it- but definitely listen to the song while you do! Make it as long or short as you want to. 

[dolphin-bouillabaisse]

GO-ctober Prompts, 22

Inktober except without the ink, and with drabbles instead.

Prompt #22 - Ghosts

(previous | next | beginning)

(find it all on Ao3)

There are ghosts in London.

They sit in dark places. They wait around corners. Some of them float, stuck to nowhere in particular, waiting to fall on you at the hint of a word.

'Of course there are ghosts in London', you might say, 'the city is centuries old. Murder and disaster and chaos are written in its bones, on its stone walls, under its pavement. Of course there are ghosts.'

Those are not the kind of ghosts we're talking about, though. Regular human ghosts, leftover from past horrors. Any city that's been inhabited long enough gets those. Heck, your grandma's old house might have one of those. They're not what we're talking about. They aren't the kind that would scare a demon.

'Of course not', you'd complain again (you're getting a bit tetchy there, dear). 'No demon worth his banishing salt would be scared of ghosts.'

Quite right, we'd have to admit, quite right. But we're also not talking about those regular demons. Maybe you should listen first instead of interrupting and complaining.

We're not talking about regular ghosts, and we're not talking about regular demons.

We're talking about one demon in particular. One with feelings, and an imagination, and a good memory. In general, pretty good attributes to have ('not for a demon', you might interrupt again, but you're interested now, so maybe you should try not to interrupt), except mixing them together might end up with a demon who is very much haunted by ghosts.

The non-regular kind. The ones this story is about.

Because there are ghosts in London. People don't see them, because they don't remember. But he does. It's personal, you see. He remembers, and so the ghosts come to him, and only him.

They wait in St. James' Park. They see him walking along, all nice and happy ('another bad thing for a demon to be', you mumble, but a stern look will shut you up, hopefully), and they wait for him to stop, look at a pond full of ducks and swans, and then they strike.

They whisper in his ear, about broken arrangements, about wishes on pieces of paper and biting words about fraternization. They make him remember fights, and restless evenings in his apartments, and the painful hope of sleeping it all away, only to wake up to even worse feelings.

They strike him down quick and fast, and his companion won't notice until it's too late. Until the hand in his is shaking and squeezing and no kind words will help.

They make him let go and ask for a moment. He has no time to explain, and his friend gets no chance to understand. They sit in the back of his head and make him wander off, leaving behind the only person who could actually scare them away. They make him go to worse places.

'He could explain!', you join in, as if this was a conversation and not a story. He can't, we'll have to explain instead, he can't because he doesn't know how, and because he doesn't want to, because he's scared, don't you understand? When you feel broken and dark and like a horror yourself, sometimes you can't explain. Even if the person would listen. Even if they could make everything better. It's too much, and they shouldn't have to share it, because they're your ghosts, not theirs.

His ghosts. Sorry. We got a bit lost in that explanation.

Anyway.

They're his ghosts, and he wants to deal with them alone, so off he goes. That's not a good idea. There are more waiting in the park.

They sit on top of a bandstand and holler down at him with trumpets. They shout all the words, again and again, rehearsed like a scene that keeps playing here, even if it ended months ago. About not being friends, about not being on any side, about not wanting any of this. Sometimes they put in new words, or maybe he does, it's all a bit mixed up in his head. Words about 'this was never a thing' and 'did you actually believe something could happen?' and 'what an idiot, thinking an angel could love you'.

The trumpets blast into his head and make his ears ring and when the angel finally comes by and puts a hand on his shoulder, it's always a bit too late. It's been a bit too late ever since it happened here, ever since the ghosts were created to hunt him.

'So, personal ghosts', you say. 'Big deal', you say, because you can be a bit insensitive sometimes, you know? 'They can just talk it out, banish the ghosts, and then the park is nice again.'

You don't understand. The ghosts in the park are only the beginning. There are far worse ones waiting elsewhere.

'Oh', you say. Yeah. Didn't expect that, hm? Now you feel like an ass, probably. Did you not expect this to get worse? 'Not really'. Well, too late. There are many more ghosts in London.

They travel with him, sometimes, because they're stuck to the car's wheels, even if it isn't burning anymore. They creep up the steering wheel, up his arms, and strike out of nowhere. Before, a nice little drive around town. After, a rushed feeling of panic, the heat of fire in his face, the manic screaming of another demon in his ear, drowning out his angel's words that tell him to pull over, calm down, get his breathing back in order. He's almost used to this by now, and so is the angel, but that doesn't make it any better.

'No, that's not better at all.' You finally feel a bit of sympathy for them, don't you? 'No, that's not safe, he shouldn't drive like that.' is your simple idea of an answer.

Well, what's he supposed to do, just stay home? Yeah? Which one? Because they've got ghosts too.

'Oh dear.' you say, and almost sound as soft for him as his angel. (Not quite. No one ever reaches that level.)

There's ghosts in his old home. They sit in a puddle on the floor, one that's been cleaned up perfectly well already, but has left a stain – not on the floor, really, but in his mind. They rattle his windows and squeak his doors and make him jump and turn around when he's alone, because that's when they get strongest. They wait for him to sleep, so he's stopped doing that, which is not good either. His old home is not good.

Are you going to ask about the new home? Hm? 'No, the way this story is going, that's probably worse.' Yeah, it's much worse. But you did ask. (You didn't? Too bad, the story has to go on.)

The ghosts in his new home are the worst of all London. They look like flames, like burning books, like ash floating through the air. They sound like sirens and yelling and begging and no answers. They blind him, make him unable to see, unable to feel – he can't sense the angel anymore, even when he's right beside him, even when he's trying to hug him and getting pushed away because he can't admit he's hurting. They are vicious little beasts, biting away at his core, and they are heinous enough to hide away sometimes, make him feel almost as if it's getting better, only to jump out when he starts to doze off.

'Nasty bastards', you say, and might we remind you to watch your language, please, this is an angel's shop we're thinking of. It's not his fault the worst ghosts live there. (Well, maybe it is a little bit, but we're not going to admit that, and the demon is definitely not ever going to think that.) Maybe we should switch to some other ghosts-

'Nononononono.' Oh, you don't want the story anymore? You don't want to hear about the ghosts of London? There are so many.

Old ones, ancient ones. Leftover from decades ago, sitting on the passenger's side of his car and yelling that he's going too fast and hiding more subtext in that one sentence than anyone could decipher (he's doing quite well at that, though, he doesn't even need help). Standing around in streets that have been the same for hundreds of years, that have seen him do horrible things, that are there to remind him every time he walks past. He's a demon, in case you forgot. He's done some pretty ugly things. They're good at reminding him, and they are equally good at putting on the guilt, blaming him for things he wasn't even responsible for – but that's the thing about memory, isn't it? When you've got a good one, and you mix it with all your bad feelings, and suddenly everything looks even more grim than it did before? You must know the feeling.

You might rather not answer that, all right. But you know it, and we know it, and he knows it very, very well. 'God', you say, because you don't know any better, but you really shouldn't bring Her up, 'is there nothing he can do? Can't the angel help him?'

Well, of course he can. It takes him a while, granted, because the goobers don't talk, but he figures it out. He sees the pain, and the restless sleep, the wincing and shaking, sometimes he sees the hint of tears in his eyes. So he decides to help, because that's all he can do, and luckily that's the thing he's good at. He knows he has to take his demon away from it all, and he knows he can only do that by taking his hand and going the first step.

'What does he do?!', you ask, overeager. We were just about to tell you that. This is a story with a happy ending, after all, even if it is about ghosts. You just have to be patient.

It takes him a lot of convincing. A lot of talking, and smiling, and soft hugs and holding hands. There's a lot of arguments against his idea of help that the demon can think up. Leaving behind the city is no small feat, especially not for an angel who's made his home there for centuries. He doesn't want him to feel pressured, or to get bored, or to feel bad for him so much.

But then the angel shows him a lovely little cottage he's bought, and the garden that sits behind it, and the forest and the beach and all the other calm, quiet, empty places they can visit. And the angel tells him that he wants to be there with him, that he can go back to visit London whenever he wants, but he can't live with a demon that's in so much pain, and that it's more than a fair trade-off to make him feel safe again. To live without ghosts.

'So they do that?' You're smiling now, because you think that's the end of the story. 'They go and live happily ever after in their new cottage?' Well, not quite.

'Oh come on!' Now don't go being annoyed again like you were at the beginning. The story is not quite over. They have forever left, after all, and they had quite a lot of time to collect ghosts before this.

There will always be ghosts. They're riding on his coat tails (although technically, he doesn't have those anymore, the angel in his old-fashioned outfit has), and they'll go with him wherever he goes. But they are tiny – they have to be, to cling on – and don't have much fighting power to come up, not when he's sitting in front of a fireplace with a mug of cocoa in his hand and an angel in his lap reading good stories to him. Not when he's working in the garden, when he knows he's being watched through loving eyes that are making ice cold lemonade for him in the kitchen. And even if they manage to climb all the way up, from his coat tails to his head, their whispers in his ears are far, far more quiet than the angel's soft whispers as they go to sleep in their comfy, duvet-covered bed.

And that's how the story ends, because it doesn't. It only gets better.

[youveneverbeenalone]

Inktober for Writers/Fictober:

Day 20- Sheltered (Darejones)

Sooooo… sorry that I’m late again. But I plan to post day 20, if not also day 21 before I go to bed tonight. So help me, I will catch up and finish strong! I really like this scene though I worry the prompt word is a stretch, but I hope the spirit of the word has been captured sufficiently. If not, oh well. Also, I tried something different and used a POV switch in the middle. Hopefully that choice makes sense. It felt right when I wrote it. General enough to fit with my other stuff, and falls sometime after they’ve been together, right as Jessica is starting to come to terms with how much she cares for him. As always, prompt list here, just in case, and links to previous days at the bottom. Thank you for sticking with me, even when I’m way behind!

Also, a thanks to @mrsdaredevil for inspiring this fic with this prompt in which she asked for Jess taking care of Matt after he lost his hearing. You’re awesome and I hope you enjoy this!

Day 20- Sheltered

He had really hoped it wouldn’t happen again, but he guesses that with the life he leads, that was a ridiculous hope to have. But it’s made ever so slightly more manageable this time, because of the fact that he isn’t alone. Jessica is there.

It takes him a bit to notice, because the first sensation he is aware of upon waking is sharp pain in his skull, and his first conscious thought is a review of the events of the night before. He doesn’t remember much, other than nearly getting concussed when what he had thought was going to be a routine bust of a drug warehouse had turned into an explosion when one of the chemists got creative with his escape plans. Matt had been pretty damn close to the blast, and had been thrown back a number of feet before colliding with an empty shipping container. And that had hurt quite a bit. Thank God the others had been there, and particularly that Jessica had been there. Otherwise he’s not sure how he would have gotten back home. And he should probably thank her for that.

He turns to his left, listening for her breathing to judge if she’s still asleep, but for some reason he can’t pick it out. His pulse starts to rise as he expands his circle of focus, trying to pick her out in some other area of the apartment, if not in the bed, but again, he can’t. So he starts listening harder, for any other sounds in the apartment, anything that might explain where she is. But that’s when he realizes- he can’t hear anything. Not the sound of his own heartbeat, not the ever-present noises of traffic from the streets below, not the background static of voices and televisions and music and electricity that he can normally hear if he’s taking it all in. Absolutely nothing.

He shoots up in bed, chest heaving as he gulps down deep breaths of air and to try to remain calm. He thinks he knows what’s going on, because this isn’t the first time it’s happened. After Frank had shot him in the head, he had experienced something similar- an intense headache followed by periods of temporary deafness. It had been unpleasant, to say the least, but not permanent. He’s hopeful that will be the case this time as well, and that it will pass sooner than later.

But then he feels the vibration of the mattress as Jessica stirs next to him. He turns his head toward her, the habit to listen to her heartbeat upon waking too ingrained for all the times she woken from nightmares. He shakes his head once and tries to soothe himself by trying to pick out her scent instead- the scent of coconut from her shampoo, with the ever-present notes of whiskey and the underlying hints of leather. He exhales a little as the familiarity of the scent slows his pulse by a beat. But she must have spoken to him, because suddenly, she’s reaching out to him, one hand on his shoulder and one at his cheek, her firm grip as she lifts his head up toward hers.

He sighs as he realizes that he needs to try to fill her in on what is happening. Isn’t today going to be fun.

-

She wakes as she feels a jolt on the bed, some kind of disturbance next to her. As she rolls over, she sees Matt sitting up in bed, breathing hard with wide eyes and white knuckles where he’s got fistfuls of sheet in his hands, like something has him terrified. And suddenly she’s barreling toward being terrified, too.

“What’s wrong?” She sits up and turns his direction, but other than titling his head in her direction, he doesn’t answer her. And that has her even more terrified.

She tries again. “Matt, are you okay?” Her voice is less steady this time, less controlled, because a very small part of her had worried that something like this might happen last night after she got him home from that awful explosion, and sometimes she really hates being right.

And as he still does nothing other than stare blankly in her general direction, she decides that usually it isn’t even fucking worth it to be right, because she only ever seems to know when truly terrible shit is going to happen. And now she’s dangerously close to losing her shit because if he has lost his hearing in addition to his sight, what the fuck are they gonna do?

“Matt? Hey, talk, to me. Matt, please.” She finds herself reaching for him, taking his head in her hand and scanning his face, looking for a sign that he’s okay, that he’s playing a stupid joke or something, but he seems genuinely oblivious to what she’s saying, and still pretty fucking anxious. And her blood pressure skyrockets.

But just before panic starts to creep up her spine and wrap itself around her rib cage, she feels his hands on hers. And then he starts speaking in a too-loud voice for how close they are.

“Jess, please don’t freak out when I tell you this, but I seem to have temporarily lost my hearing. Or at least, I really hope it’s temporary. This has happened to me once before- after I took a pretty bad blow to the head courtesy of one Frank Castle. But I am significantly limited in terms of my movement and functioning if I can’t hear.”

She closes her eyes and shakes her head. Because of course this is happening. And she doesn’t have a fucking clue of what to do to help him. She opens her mouth to start talking reflexively before remembering that won’t do her a bit of good.

So what am I gonna do now?

A beat of awkward silence passes, but it’s suddenly as if he has read her mind, because he starts talking again.

“Look, this whole thing makes me pretty anxious, so, uh… I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go too far.”

He looks up at her, like he’s trying to guess where her line of sight is, and she’s surprised to note he’s pretty damn close, even without being able to hear. And as she takes in his expression, she sees the furrow in his brows and the tightness around his mouth, and she kicks herself for worrying about how she’s gonna handle today when she should really be worried about how he’s gonna handle it.

She hates the scared vulnerability she sees on his face because it makes her heart hurt for him, so she scoots closer and wraps an arm around his back. And as soon as her arm makes contact with his body, he seems to relax. Instinctively, he leans into her, and she can’t deny that seeing him react that way makes her heart swell. And the kiss he places on her bare shoulder helps with that feeling too.

“Thank you, Jess.” His voice is softer now, less tight and anxious. And hearing the difference helps some of her own anxiety abate. She leans back against the headboard and brings him with her, trying to find a comfortable spot to settle into as she prepares to spend a significant amount of the day doing very little. Other than being with him. But she can think of worse ways to spend the day.

Eventually though, she gets hungry and assumes that he probably is too. She sits up and moves like she’s going to get off of the bed, but he immediately tenses and reaches for her, eyes wild. “Going somewhere?”

He shakes his head as he realizes the ridiculousness of the question, but the look on his face is bordering on panic, and it hits her right in the chest. And suddenly the idea of getting up and walking to the kitchen seems much harder than she expected. She knows that she needs a way to communicate to him what she’s trying to say, but that’s pretty fucking difficult when you can’t see or hear.

She’s never been very good at charades, but she starts trying to think of a way to pantomime what she’s going to do. Inspiration strikes her, and she reaches for his stomach.

He startles a little at the touch of her fingertips on his bare skin and squints in her direction. Then he raises an eyebrow at her. “Are you trying to make a comment on my fitness, Jones? Because I appreciate the sentiment, but this doesn’t seem like the best time.” His voice is a little forced, and he gives an awkward chuckle, as though he’s trying to make himself laugh instead of being anxious or angry or any of the other emotions he’s more than entitled to be having.

But all she can do is sigh, because this really isn’t working out how she would like for it to. She thinks for a moment, then tries something else- taking his hand in hers, opening his palm and pressing her extended pointer finger into it while using her other hand to touch his stomach again. Even though she knows he can’t hear her, she can’t help but narrate what she’s doing, anyway.

“I’ll be right back, okay? Just give me a minute. I’m pretty sure you’re just as hungry as I am.”

He tilts his head at her, brows furrowing, and she sighs heavily because that doesn’t look like a face of enlightenment.

“Jess, I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” He frowns and she chews on her lip, as she wracks her brain for a way to help him understand. If only she could find a way for him to read what she is trying to say. But she doesn’t have any way to create something in braille for him to read. Unless-

A triumphant smile breaks across her face as she remembers that, duh, Matt has a braille display that attaches to his computer. So she just needs to bring that over so they can have two way communication again.

This time when she gets up, she turns and places her hands on his shoulders, pressing down slightly. “Tell me you know that I’m asking you to stay put.”

He looks up at her and though she can still see anxiety on his face, he gives her a small, tight smile. “I’m guessing that means I should stay. And I’m hoping that means you’ll be back.”

Her heart does a flip at that because he’s so damn vulnerable right now. Physically, she knows he’s always much more vulnerable that all the rest of them in terms of his strength and stamina, but he has enough drive (and bullheadedness) to make up for that. But now he looks just as weak as she feels he is when he tries to throw himself into danger, and it just makes her want to wrap him up in her arms and hold him there, forever - sheltering him from all of the things he tries to take on by himself.

For a moment, she’s glad he can’t hear her right now, because that means that he doesn’t have such an awareness of the response she is having. She hates for him to suffer this way, but a part of her will admit that it’s nice to have the upper hand in this regard, for once.

To keep him from worrying and to try to assure him that she won’t just leave, she takes his face in her hand again and kisses him softly. The sound of relief he gives makes her heart melt and a flush rise on her cheeks. Unfortunately, he can still probably tell that, but oh well.

He huffs a laugh. “I’m guessing that means yes.”

She shakes her head to chase off a laugh as she takes his hand once more and presses a ‘thumbs-up’ into his palm. And then she turns and heads into the living room to get his computer.

When she returns a moment later, she sits down on the bed next to him, computer on her lap. She plugs in the braille display, then places it on his lap and goes about opening a document to start typing a message to him.

As soon as he takes the braille display into his hands, a brilliant smile breaks across his face. He looks up at her and huffs surprised laugh. “Oh my god, of course! I don’t know how I didn’t think of this.”

She can’t help but smirk, because this time, she has a way to respond to him.

You can call me a genius, it’s okay. Actually it would probably be better to do it now, because you wouldn’t have to listen to my gloating reply.

It takes him only a moment to read her response, and then he starts chuckling at her. “But how do I know you wouldn’t just bring it up later?”

A fair point. I guess we’ll just have to silently agree that I am, in fact, a fucking genius. But I’m also a hungry genius. What about you? Want something to eat?

He hums in agreement. “Now that you mention it, yes. I am pretty hungry.”

Well, what do you want?

He tilts his head as he thinks. “I think I have stuff for omelets. Would that work?”

Sounds great. Sit tight while I make them.

“Okay, I can do that.”

She stands and sets the computer on the bed, but just as she’s about to turn and head for the kitchen, he speaks.

“Uh, Jess? I just wanted to say … Thank you. I don’t know what I would have done without you today.”

Another blush rises on her cheeks, but she’s still glad he can’t hear the way her heart starts pounding in double-time. She slides a hand into the hair at the nape of his neck and pulls him in for a kiss. And she spares a moment to laugh because that’s one response that is definitely easier to show than to say or type, at least for her. She’s sure he can understand it, though.

You’re welcome.

As she goes to the kitchen and begins making their breakfast, she realizes she is considerably more relaxed than she was an hour ago. Because she’s pretty sure that they’ll be fine- so long as his hearing really does come back. He seemed confident that it will, and considering what other things he has been through and survived without incident, she’s cautiously optimistic that it won’t be very much longer until he’s back to normal. And until then, they can spend the day together, chatting and doing whatever it is that will help him stay as relaxed as possible. Part of her might even enjoy this excuse to be so close to him and dote on him. She would never admit to it, but she knows it, and it helps to remind her that for all his frustrating qualities- such as his tendency to run head-first into dangerous situations that end in explosions- he is something else. And she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Day 19 | Day 21

[youseimanami]

Tell me: HOW DO YOU FEEL AFTER COMPLETING 31 GORGEOUS DRAWINGS IN 31 DAYS??? :D

10 days passed since the last day of Inktober and I’m still trying to figure out how to reply to this ask. Well, let’s see! :)I’m not going to lie, it was difficult. Maybe before talking about my feelings I should analyse Inktober like this:Number of drawings: 34 in 31 days (not considering the digital ones I was preparing for halloween and the obi-jae ha crossover :D) - Day 6 “Sword” counts 3 drawings, while Day 25 “Ship” 2 drawings. Most popular entry: Day 13 “Teeming”Less popular entry: Day 8 “Crooked”My favourite entry: Day 26 “Squeak”Days when I was waiting for less feedback: Oh, definitely day 13, day 4 too…Days when I was waiting for more feedback: Omg, there are two surprises here to me: Day 12 for sure (Shattered) and day 24 (Blind). Number of days I wanted to give up: ehm…at least 10 of 31 days. Number of days I cried: Too manyNumber of days I was proud of myself for being game: 31I’d like to thank all of my friends in this fandom for encouraging me. Special thanks go to @vfordii, I can’t tell how many times she was the only one managing to push me forward, but I really need to tell your words guys helped me always, without you all I couldn’t complete the whole Inktober. I’m extremely grateful for every like and reblog, anon asks and fics dedicated to me, they helped me to believe the thing I’m doing has sense. 

Inktoberwasn’t a thing I was prepared to do. YOU asked me a couple daysbefore if I was about to do it. It looked fun soI decided to partecipate with light heart. To be honest, the firstdays even if I put already much effort into my drawings I stillcouldn’t feel the weight of the whole month. Indeed, the 4th day Iwas about to give up already BECAUSE I didn’t feel any pressure.But the more days passed the more I wanted to manage to partecipateuntil the end. I was travelling during the first week, I drew on ashaking train, at the airport, I did literally everything so I wasstill game. And it felt gorgeous. Then I had to work again and thingsstarted to slip out of my hands. I skipped lunch, I skipped dinnersometimes, I chose not to sleep so I could keep posting in time adrawing hoping the quality is NOT THAT BAD. Illness just couldn’tavoid me anymore, but I was very positive about it, if I couldn’tleave the bed and work I chose to use the extra time I had and drawwith fever for 3 days.

Itried to combine the official prompts of Inktober with the charactersof AnS, of course as a 100% obiyuki shipper I mostly chose to drawObi and/or an obiyuki scene. I’m not sure yet if I’ll do anotherinktober dedicated to the fandom though.Oneof the biggest motives I was slightly disappointed by the half ofthis challenge I felt people got this thing for granted. Why shouldpeople encourage an artist who SURELY will draw NO MATTER WHAT?

Ireally don’t want to complain about the difficulties of Inktober as it wasMY choice to partecipate. No one forced me to ignore basic things oflife so I could dedicate more time possible to one entry. 

I’m justwondering if people understand the amount of effort creators in general (I’m talking about writers, editors, other artists and every other creators) in this fandom put into their works.I learned how to draw without being afraid of getting (or not getting) feedback. And the only motive I’m still prolific is I want to give people feelings and good moments while I’m simply practicing and having fun.But I really think people shouldn’t think creators don’t work better if they get feedback. While I really think it’s only natural my biggest supporters are other creators (writers, mostly) as they understand the importance of feedback, I think  other people of the fandom too should show their affection IF they like what they see/read. 

I have so many thoughts and feelings yet, but this reply is already way too long, so I just say:I’m very glad and proud. With all of its difficulties October was still an AMAZING month. I’ll never forget this experience :)))

[doodlewash]

Hello friends! My name is Milena Guberinic. I was born in Yugoslavia and moved to Canada during the Yugoslav Wars of the 90s. I have mostly lived in Toronto since then. I always loved drawing, doodling, coloring, and creating all kinds of contraptions, but my first memory of falling in love with capturing something out in the world on paper was just before my family’s move to Canada.

I wanted so badly to keep close the image of my grandparents’ summer house that I spent hours and days working out exactly how to draw, shade, and render the thing to my satisfaction. It was in the course of that drawing that I figured out how to handle perspective, and it was in the course of that drawing that I first felt the true thrill of discovery in the art process. After that, I wanted to do nothing else! But life has its ways (and opinionated parental units) and those steered me away from art, into science and math, and finally, Japan.

I ended up learning Japanese, attending a university program in Tokyo, and later working in the south of Japan. While there, I finally had time and space to breathe and felt inspired by my surroundings to resume my childhood art ventures. I spent a great deal of my free time drawing everything I could, but didn’t do any painting, as the process of “proper” (i.e. oil) painting was just too laborious and demanding for me.

Upon my return to Canada, I became a Japanese-English translator. I also started a board game blog and Instagram account that grew in popularity, but I soon realized that my favorite part of doing any of it was producing the vibrant visuals. And so, I turned my eyes back to my pencil box and started drawing again… and eventually painting.

That was about two years ago. I felt like I was starting from scratch, but having access to online resources like Artists’ Network and Schoolism gave me a wealth of material to devour. And devour it I did. I learned everything I could and explored a great variety of media. In fact, I continue to do that daily and believe that we are all students for life.

I truly latched onto watercolor when I discovered the watercolor works of Charles Reid. Since then, he has been my greatest teacher and inspiration, and watercolor has become my greatest comfort and joy. I love the fluidity, immediacy, and quick turnaround time of watercolor, the ease of drawing the brush across the paper, and the wondrous effects that the pigments produce. And with a full-time job and a slew of health issues, I don’t have much time or patience to wait for oil paint to dry or to fiddle with cleaning supplies and toxic solvents.

Ultimately, watercolor simply suits my personality. It can be as spontaneous and fluid as it can be meticulously controlled and as soft and polite as loud and demanding, but it is always a lot of fun. I think everyone needs more fun in their lives. And I do try my best not to take things too seriously in art or life. It isn’t always possible, but I think that watercolor encourages a more fun and fluid approach, at least in producing the watercolor work I tend to find attractive.

As for subject matter, I am primarily drawn to life. I most love animals and humans and life drawing/painting and portraiture are my primary means of expression. I’ve had to leave many beloved humans behind and lost my closest family members far too early, so I wish to immortalize people in paint. I sometimes use multiple faces to imagine what my father might have looked like if he had had a chance to grow old. And, I often paint relatives. Ultimately, life attracts me because it is so short and fleeting and I feel a strong need to give it a more solid form.

Materials

As for materials, I am a shameless art supply junkie. I love paint, markers, pencils, and papers of all varieties, but most of all, I simply love color itself. I have no qualms with using funky assortments of craft paint like Prima when I just want to practice, play, and explore. And I love learning about other artists’ preferred palettes. In fact, Charlie’s “Vintage Trio” set from Da Vinci was the first artist-curated sets of paint I ever bought!

However, most of the time, I will use my own palettes of artist-grade paint from Daniel Smith, Schmincke, and Holbein. I also recently discovered Roman Szmal Aquarius watercolor and have been hooked on that since, as it is very affordable and rewets beautifully into gooeyness I can slap onto paper with abandon. I tend not to mix my paint on the palette and do tend to use a lot of paint, so my palettes are extensive and filled either with fresh paint from tubes or with highly rewettable pans like Schmincke and Roman Szmal.

I am attracted to a broad range of colors and pigments, but there is one thing that I never compromise, and that is Winsor & Newton PB 35 cerulean. I have a terrible addiction to cerulean and wish Winsor & Newton would make their PB35 available for sale in buckets! I go through it like a woman possessed, truly.

When working in ink, my favorite thing to use is Rohrer & Klingner Sketch Ink. It is suitable for use under watercolor as it dries very quickly and is nice and matte. The shade “Thea” is my favorite grey. I also use a variety of ink brush pens, but my most highly used ones are the Pentel pocket brush pen and the Akashiya thin line brush pen – the Pentel is great for covering larger areas and the thin line for very tiny details. I like to make very small drawings and the Akashiya thin line pens just feed that addiction.

As for brushes, I prefer the Escoda Perla range. They hold plenty of pigment and water while providing good control. I also use various synthetic flats, some of which are better suited for acrylic painting. I tend to use flats for quick studies and tests because they allow me to cover a lot of ground in a short time and make very definitive shapes with ease.

For daily work, I love to use watercolor sketchbooks. I live in a very small apartment with many things and not a lot of space, so I have no special storage space for work on loose sheets of paper. Any work in such a format ends up crumpled and stained. I also feel much less pressure when working in a sketchbook, so I stick to that when I’m working for myself.

With many fine options made of cellulose and even 100% cotton from Stillman & Birn (I love Delta and Zeta) and Strathmore (specifically, their new cotton travel journals and 400 Series watercolor sketchbooks), I don’t feel a need to stray too far from my preferred “book” format. The Stillman & Birn Zeta is a particular favorite because of the unorthodox effects it can help produce. However, I do also work on Fabriano Artistico and Arches cold press when doing work I do not intend to keep for myself.

Truly, I could go on about materials for ages and pages, but I’ll stop here. If you would like to discuss art “stuff,” I am always open for a good chat!

Closing Words

I will forever be indebted to the online art community and to Charlie’s generous gift of the space to share my passion with the world. I suppressed my natural urge to create for many years, but it always managed to manifest itself in my life in some form. I didn’t feel like I deserved to make art, and I didn’t feel I could create anything worthy of sharing.

However, starting an Instagram account during Inktober taught me that planning, creating, and sharing daily can be a worthy and awarding endeavor. With encouragements and opportunities to learn and create every day, like the Doodlewash prompts and community, it is easier than ever to find a place to belong. And to feel deserving of that place. Thank you.

Milena Guberinic Instagram

GUEST ARTIST: "Ends and Beginnings, Beginnings and Ends" by Milena Guberinic - #doodlewash #WorldWatercolorGroup #watercolor #watercolour Hello friends! My name is Milena Guberinic. I was born in Yugoslavia and moved to Canada during the Yugoslav Wars of the 90s.

[youveneverbeenalone]

Inktober for Writers/Fictober:

Day 22- Lost (Darejones)

Here’s the next installment. Still working on catching up, I promise. This fic fits with all the other things I have written which follow the canon of the show. Continuity-wise, they have been together for a bit, but Jess still hasn’t quite fully committed to being emotionally available yet. But she’s working on it. And things are looking up for her in that department. Prompt list here, just in case. Links to previous days at the bottom. Thank you so much for reading! I love you all!

Day 22- Lost

When he finally invites her to come along, she isn’t surprised. Honestly, she’s only surprised it took this long for him to ask. Maybe that means she should have offered first, but she’s still pretty damn proud she said yes at all. Because if there’s any place that’s a bummer to go at anytime, it’s the cemetery. And she’s not exactly jumping up and down at the prospect of being around him when he’s so emotional, but he’s still grieving and she remembers how much that sucks. Especially when doing it alone. So she agrees.

The cab ride over is a little tense, mostly because she’s incredibly anxious and unsure of herself. This is really not her strong suit - talking about feelings or offering supportive words. But she’s hoping he’s smart enough not to expect any from her. So she just stays silent, a calm presence at his elbow as they make the trek toward the grave. Stick’s grave.

She doesn’t know the whole story, but she knows the man was a stand-in father for Matt after his real father passed. And she knows enough about how it feels to lose something to know it’s probably best to wait for him to speak first. But when he does, she almost doesn’t hear him for how soft his voice is.

“I don’t really know how to feel. He could be a real bastard. But it was one of those things where he was ‘my’ bastard, you know? And even still, I loved him. More than he ever really knew. Or at least more than he was ever able to reciprocate. But I really did love him like a father.”

He bends and removes his glove to trace the lettering on the headstone. Still silent beside him, she bows her head and slides her hands into her pockets to give them something to do. Anything other than rubbing his shoulders or sliding into his hair. She doesn’t know where the urge even comes from, but it (thankfully) passes as he speaks again.

“He found me in the orphanage after my dad died. Said he’d been looking for me and that he knew about me and my abilities, though I have no idea how he could have. Anyway, he trained me to use my senses- taught me how to focus and filter them. And he also taught me how to fight. I was only nine at the time, and he still tried to tell me about the Hand and the Chaste and indoctrinate me. But it didn’t last long, because as soon as I showed him the slightest amount of affection, he bailed. And I didn’t see him again for years. Not until last year, actually. Did I ever tell you that?”

Her brows furrow because it sounds like this guy was a real piece of work - maybe even jockeying for a position alongside Trish’s mom.

“Well, did I ever tell you my horror stories about growing up with Trish’s mom? She may not have tried to brainwash me or turn me into a ninja before I hit puberty, but she was a real abusive bitch. We should compare notes sometime.”

He huffs a sigh that is almost a laugh. “Maybe.”

They both fall silent, little more noise than the breeze rustling the grass. She sneaks a look at him out of the corner of her eye and his expression is wistful and distant. After a beat, he stands and turns back to her, brows furrowed.

“Does it make sense that I miss him more than I hate him? Even after all the terrible things he did? Or tried to do?”

She exhales heavily and turns to look at nothing in particular over her left shoulder so she doesn’t have to look at his face. This is exactly the kind of conversation she is terrible at, the very thing she was trying to avoid. But at the same time, she knows he needs it. So she takes a breath and does it anyway.

“I mean… I’m not exactly the picture of sanity over here, but yeah, it makes sense to me. He was your only remaining family, shitty as he was. We’re wired to want that connection with other people, even if that means getting it from people who aren’t always supportive or caring.”

He cocks his head at her, eyebrow raised and mouth pursed. “That’s surprisingly insightful. Have you been holding out on me with some hidden wealth of psychological and philosophical knowledge, Jones?”

She scoffs to cover a laugh, and uses a put-upon exasperated tone. “Fuck you. Trish has spent a lot of money over the years going to therapists to undo all of the damage caused by her piece-of-shit mom. She may have shared a few insights along the way.”

He chuckles under his breath and nods. “Fair enough.” After another pause and a prayer uttered under his breath, he sighs. And as he turns to her, his expression is soft and gracious. “Thanks, Jess. For everything, but especially for just agreeing to come.”

She fights the ingrained impulse to roll her eyes and use sarcasm to guard against any kind of emotional exchange, if only because she knows that this is a moment. Something significant between them. And even as it terrifies her, a part of her wants - as she has never wanted anything else - to be with him in this moment.

She uses a tone that is intended to sound generally disinterested, but she’s hoping he can hear the honesty underlying it.

“Whatever. It’s not like I was doing anything more important, anyway. Not today, at least.”

And as he smirks at her, slow and bright, she thinks he heard her. For that she’s grateful, because seeing him smile like that while standing here, feet away from the grave of his stand-in father figure, helps her to feel a little less out to sea. As if she isn’t completely incapable of figuring out how to be with another person- to be supportive and caring and present through the difficult times as well as the good. And at that, an interesting thought strikes her.

Maybe she’s actually getting better.

And if so, maybe she can learn how to be with him without ruining either of their lives in the process. Maybe she can even learn how to talk about the people she’s lost. Something about the look he is giving her makes her think that’s something he is offering to do for her, and for reasons she is not prepared to name, part of her wants to take him up on it. But not today. Today is for him.

Today is for holding his hand on the cab ride home, for toning down her sarcasm just a smidge, and for being just a bit more emotionally present than normal. But a few days from now, after she’s had time to recover from today, maybe she will try to share some of her losses with him. Because she finally understands that there is something to be gained in that process.

Day 21 | Day 23

[youveneverbeenalone]

Inktober for Writers/Fictober:

Day 8- Impasse (Darejones)

Yikes, down to the wire with his one. And how do these keep doubling in size?! Oops. I still need to edit it, but I think I like where it went. Hopefully you do too. As usual, prompt list here, and links to previous days at the bottom. Thanks for reading! Also, sorry I didn’t add a read-more, but I’m posting on mobile because I Am lying in bed, trying not to fall asleep. And as far as continuity goes, could really fit with any of my other stuff, after they’ve gotten together. Enjoy!

Day 8- Impasse

Their first real fight is a bit of a doozy. And it hits him out of nowhere. For a while, he even worries that it might mean the end for them.

They are laying in her bed on a Saturday night, having just had some pretty damn good sex, talking and laughing and generally enjoying themselves. She’s getting sleepy, he can hear it in her voice, and the warmth radiating off of her is starting to make him sleepy too, like it’s trying to convince him to stay. But he takes a deep breath, trying to force himself to leave, because if he doesn’t get up now, he’ll stay until the morning, again. And that wouldn’t be bad, except for the fact that he hasn’t been to Mass in weeks, in so long that he’s forgotten just how long it’s actually been, and it’s starting to eat at him.

Her breathing is evening out, and he knows it’s now or never. So he inhales one last breath of her hair, and rolls to the edge of her bed. “Call me tomorrow if you want to get lunch. Or a drink.”

She groans and rolls toward him. “I didn’t take you for the ‘love ‘em and leave ‘em’ type, Murdock. What gives? I was just getting comfortable.”

He chuckles softly and stands, beginning the search for his clothes. He finds his boxers and steps into them as he answers her. “I need to get up early, and I thought it would be easier for both of us if I left now.” He bends again, this time grabbing his shirt and shrugging it on.

He hears the springs of the mattress wine faintly as she props herself up on an elbow and rests her head on her palm. “Must have a hot date. Should I be jealous?”

He can’t help but smile at that, laughing brightly as he finishes buttoning his shirt. “Nah. Father Lantom’s not really my type.”

She snorts a laugh as he bends to pick up his pants.

“Going to church, then? Huh.”

He raises an eyebrow as he steps into his pants. “Was that a good ‘huh’ or a bad ‘huh’?”

She shrugs. “Neither. Just an expression of my surprise.”

A frown furrows his brows as he buttons and zips his pants. “My going to church is surprising? I was under the impression that you knew I was Catholic.”

She heaves a heavy sigh at that. “No, I knew that. I just didn’t think you were a particularly … good one.”

He blinks at that, unsure of what to say, in no small part because she’s unknowingly given voice to a worry that plagues him constantly. An uncomfortable silence descends upon them as he struggles to find words, and he can hear her pulse rising with each second that passes. Finally, she can’t take it anymore and sits up, pulling the sheet around her lap.

“Look, I’m sorry. That didn’t come out right. I didn’t mean th-“

The sound of her voice breaks him from his trance, and he shakes his head, cutting her off. “Didn’t mean that as an insult?”

Her teeth grind the slightest bit as she sets her jaw, and the sound sends a shiver down his spine. Her tone is low and begrudging when she answers him. “Yeah.”

He raises his eyebrows once, then hangs his head. “It’s okay, I know. And even if you did, you’re not wrong. But that’s part of the reason that I need to go. It’s been too long.” He bends to pick up his tie and starts threading it under the collar of his shirt.

She licks her lips and turns away from him, her pulse speeding all the while, as though trying to decide whether or not to ask a difficult question. As he finishes tying his tie, she speaks, voice hesitant.

“So does that stuff really work for you?” She turns her head back toward him, and he can feel the look she’s giving him- like she’s scrutinizing him.

He can’t hold back a chuckle at the way she phrased that question. “What do you mean?”

She lets out an exasperated sigh that would make him laugh if there wasn’t suddenly such tension in the room.

“Does the stuff that you do- like going to church and being a Catholic, believing in God, and whatever else- actually help you?”

Her skeptical tone takes him aback almost as much as the question; he can’t seem to wrap his brain around it. His answer comes out sounding like a question also, because he’s still confused about what she’s asking him and why she’s asking it.

“Yes… otherwise I wouldn’t be going.”

The disgusted scoff she gives him at that sends a flare of anxiety up in his stomach. His heart starts to race because he doesn’t know where she’s going with this, but it doesn’t seem good.

“Don’t be an asshole. I’m serious. Do you honestly believe there’s a god out there, even with all of the suffering and pain and bullshit that exists in this world?”

Wow, he really didn’t expect that. Her words hit him like a punch to the gut. He hears accusation in her tone, as well as incredulity, and a hell of a lot of pain. A beat passes and he can do nothing but gape at her as his anxiety skyrockets.

But then he blows out a long exhale to try to calm himself, and puts his hands on his hips to help him feel more grounded. He can still feel her staring at him, and he has to work to regulate his breathing as he opens his mouth to answer her. But his answer is clear.

“Yeah, I do.”

But that doesn’t seem to be the answer she was looking for. He can’t understand why, but suddenly fury is radiating off of her like heat from the sun. Her voice is harsh, a mix of confusion and frustration as she pleads with him.

“H-how? How can you think that? You’re not a dumb guy, Matt, so explain to me how that makes sense.”

But he’s just as confused and frustrated as she is. “Jess, what is this really about? Because I don’t think those have to be mutually exclusive things. I don’t see why the existence of suffering is counter to the idea of God. We all have free will, and sometimes the decisions we make cause pain and suffering for others. That’s why it’s important that we try to follow God’s teachings- so we don’t end up hurting other people.”

Somehow, he keeps picking the exactly wrong things to say to her. Because now she’s seething. He thinks that, if she were clothed, she’d be pacing the floor and pushing into his personal space.

“Right, right. So, let me see if I have this straight- it’s all God’s plan until it isn’t, because of good ol’ free will. And the truly evil people in the world, well, they just need to learn to make better choices. But that’s totally on them, no responsibility at all for the guy who allowed the situations to occur that taught those people to make bad choices. It all makes sense to me now.”

The more she talks, the more his hackles are rising, but he doesn’t want to fight with her. Hell, he’s still unsure of exactly how this fight started in the first place. He takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of his nose as he lets a beat pass. Then he speaks to her in a soft, calm voice.

“Jess, I’m sorry I upset you. I don’t know how we got here, and I really don’t want to fight. So maybe we should both just take a breath and agree to disagree for now. We can save this conversation for another time- when it’s not almost midnight and when we’re both … dressed.”

He hears her scoff at that, but counts it as a win, because she seems much calmer when she answers him. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have-“ she heaves a sigh, and her hands shift on the bed, as she takes hold of the sheets, as though they are her anchor. Then she tries again.

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to start a fight, either. And I’m not angry at you. But I have a lot of problems with religion and the idea of God because… I’ve seen the actual face of the devil, and I can’t imagine a God who would allow anyone to be subject to his torture if he actually cared about anyone on this piece of shit planet.”

And just like that, the final piece of the puzzle clicks into place. No wonder she has such strong feelings about this topic. From what he’s read, Kilgrave is the closest thing to the literal incarnation of the devil he’s ever heard of, even more so than Fisk. And that’s saying a lot. Her arguments make a lot more sense when he’s considering the lens through which she views the world. But it’s still not a problem they’ll solve tonight.

“It’s okay. Those are discussions I would be happy to have, at some point. But Jess, please know that just because I believe that we all have free will doesn’t mean that I think you deserve what happened to you. Because nothing could be further from the truth. And a part of me wishes that bastard was still alive so that I could give some of his own medicine, Catholic or not.”

She’s silent for a few moments, and his heart threatens to hammer out of his chest because he’s afraid that for the third time tonight, he’s said the wrong thing to her. He really didn’t mean to add that last part, even though it’s true, for fear that he might frighten her with the intensity of his reaction to that bastard, Kilgrave.

But then she breaks the silence, voice flat and nonchalant. “I guess that’s what confession is for.”

He chuckles in spite of himself and gives her a smirk. “Something like that.” He crosses the few steps back to the bed and traces the line of her cheek before he moves his hand to thread through her hair and pull her closer so he can place a kiss on the crown of her head. She sighs softly at the gesture, and he says a silent prayer of thanks that he did not see to ruin things between them.

He steps back, but she grabs his hand before he can step out of her reach. “Have fun being a good little Catholic boy.”

“I will. Call me tomorrow if you want to talk. Or if you’d rather do something more enjoyable.”

She chuckles and squeezes his hand once before dropping it. He turns and heads for the door. She calls to him before he reaches the threshold.

“‘Night, Murdock.”

He turns to call back to her over his shoulder as he crosses to the front door. “‘Night, Jones.”

And then he’s leaving her apartment, mind going a million miles a minute as he processes the last half-hour. They survived their first fight, though it was touch and go there for a bit. And even if they weren’t able to settle their argument, they were able to reach an understanding for the time being. And maybe it’s better this way, because it will give both of them time to formulate their thoughts for the next time they have the chance to discuss the issue. But until then, he’s happy to know that she cares enough about him to have broached such a personal and intense topic. And he’ll use whatever opportunities he is given to remind her of the fact that what happened was not her fault.

If he can convince her of that, maybe he can get her to consider his perspective a little more seriously. But in the end, all that he really cares about is that she is able to work through her feelings about the awful things she has experienced and find peace. And he’ll do whatever he can to help her with that process, impasse be damned.

Day 7 | Day 9

[youveneverbeenalone]

Inktober for Writers/Fictober:

Day 7- Confusion (Darejones)

Wow, this one took on a life of its own (over 2000 words. what?!) but it was fun to bring Danny & Luke into the mix. More under the cut, because it seemed best to add one with it being so long. As always, prompt list here and links to previous days at the bottom. Could be read in relation to pretty much all of my other stuff, but particularly my Start of Something series. Feedback is great if you’re feeling generous. Thanks for reading!

Day 7- Confusion

Really, the whole thing is Matt’s fault. If he wouldn’t have gone and recklessly gotten himself hurt, it never would have come up, and she never would have said anything to the others.

A month or so ago, when she finally decided to give in to her urge to kiss him, they had a conversation and decided that she gets to set the pace and pick labels and all of that, because she is the more reserved of the two. She didn’t want to tell the others yet, with everything between them being fairly new and not official, and he agreed that he’d follow her lead and not say anything that would give them away. So far he hasn’t, but the bastard didn’t say anything about how he’d act. And now she’s regretting making such a vague agreement with a lawyer. She’ll have to rectify that for next time.

Things had started out just fine. She and Matt had showed up at Danny’s request to help take down a drug ring he and Luke had been tracking in Harlem. They’d all four worked together a number of times since taking down the Hand, and they’d all been getting along well. And so far, she was having a fine time keeping her and Murdock’s … whatever from the others. Until tonight.

But then Matt had to go and be “heroic” by needlessly throwing himself headlong into danger. He had taken on the entire upper floor of the warehouse by himself, which put him in the path of entirely too many bullets for her liking. Especially when Luke wasn’t very far behind.

She sighs in relief when they win the fight with relative ease and no major injuries sustained, but that does little to calm the fury raging in her chest. And when she finally gets a look at Matt in the office area, where Danny and Luke are looking for any more clues of other people involved in the drug ring, the fury in her chest ignites into white-hot rage. Because he is holding his side in a way that she doesn’t like at all. And when she looks at his face, he grimaces in a way that is so guilty that it tells her everything she needs to know.

She cocks her head sharply at him. “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

Her voice is acidic and loud, reverberating off of the hard surfaces of the room. It startles the other two, causing them to jump and spin toward her though Matt simply sighs and hangs his head.

She stomps across the few feet between them and fixes him with a withering stare as she surveys his body for injuries. She catches sight of a wound on his side and huffs.

“What the hell is this?” She digs her fingers into the wound, making him grunt. Some blood remains on her fingertips as she takes them away, and she shoves her hand into his chest for emphasis.

He presses his mouth into a flat line and hesitates a moment before answering her.

“Jess, it’s fine. Just a graze. One of them just happened to get me right at the seam of two plates. But I’m okay, I swear.”

She practically snarls her response to him.

“Goddammit, Murdock! Do you have a fucking death wish? If you are going to continue to work with us as a team, you’re gonna need to act like a team player and accept help from the other ridiculously capable people in this room. Otherwise, don’t pick up the phone when one of these idiots calls you next. Or I’ll take it upon myself to make you regret it.”

She turns on her heel and storms off, out of the room. As she goes, she barely catches Danny’s voice behind her.

“Uh… What’s that about?”

But then she’s far enough away that she can’t hear anything else. That’s better anyway, because it means she can go seethe in peace. And seethe she does.

Because he doesn’t seem to get it. He doesn’t understand his limits and is constantly taking on too much by himself. He doesn’t seem to see the world the way everyone else does, and feels as though he’s the only one who can save it, even when he’s not well-suited to the task compared to the rest of them. But worst of all, he doesn’t seem to understand why it bothers her so much. Why her pulse skyrockets when she loses sight of him during a fight, or why her heart drops through her stomach whenever she sees him hurt. As though he doesn’t understand how important he is to her, how much it hurts her to see him care so little for his own safety.

But, when she really thinks about it, maybe that’s partially her fault. Because she hasn’t, exactly, been able to tell him any of that. But with the way he sometimes looks at her, and the way he says her name when it’s just the two of them, she’s almost sure that he knows. And he has to know. How could he not?

Her thoughts continue to swirl as she body goes on autopilot and takes her to the rooftop. The slight chill to the night air helps to clear her head, and after a few deep, slow breaths, she’s calm enough to go back inside. But the room is almost empty when she returns. She enters to see Danny bent over a desk, looking through a ledger, but she doesn’t see the others.

“Hey, where’d those two idiots go?”

He looks up at the sound of her voice and gestures vaguely to the left. “Luke thought he saw an old first aid station on the first floor of the warehouse, from when it was still a factory. They went to see if there were any supplies left.”

She nods once and heaves a big sigh. “Good. That asshole is gonna get himself killed one of these days.”

Danny huffs a laugh. “I think that’s part of the reason Luke went with him. To give him some advice.”

She raises an eyebrow at this. “What do you mean?”

Danny shrugs. “Well, he just said he needed to give Matt a ‘talking to’ so he didn’t ‘ruin a good thing’. So I assumed he meant telling Matt to be less reckless and helping him learn to rely on the rest of us.”

Jessica closes her eyes in a grimace, cursing under her breath. She could kick herself for losing her temper in front of Luke and blowing her cover. Even if they hadn’t been together for all that long, he got plenty of experience at reading her, and because of that, she’s screwed. Because Luke knows, and she’s sure of it. Because Luke understands that the only reason she would get so upset about Matt getting hurt or putting himself in danger would be because she cares for him. Dammit, Jones. Nice going.

And if Luke knows, it’s only a matter of time until Danny knows. So she might as well rip the band-aid off and tell him now, while it’s just the two of them. Even if she’d rather stand in front of a firing squad.

She gives an exasperated sigh, and rolls her eyes as she walks over to sit on the edge of the table where Danny is looking over the ledger.

“He’s telling him to stop being reckless, alright. Because Luke knows I won’t stick around if he doesn’t quit.”

Danny’s face crumples into a frown. “But why would you need to leave? I’m sure we can convince Matt to change his tactics without you needing to leave the group, Jess.”

“I don’t mean leave the group, dumbass. I mean leave him. Because I don’t have room in my life for that kind of martyr bullshit.”

Danny jerks upright, and gives her the purest, most intense, most hilarious face of confusion that she’s ever seen. And she really wishes she had her camera, because the face that he’s making is a work of art, and she wants to be able to cherish it forever.

She lets a few beats pass, soaking in as much of the moment as she can. In the meantime, she hears Luke and Matt approaching from the opposite hallway. As Luke walks in and takes in the sight of them, he raises an eyebrow.

“Everything okay in here?”

A smirk curls her lips as she responds. “Yeah, fine. I just blew Danny’s mind by telling him that Matt and I are fucking.”

She turns to see a delicious flush rise on the little bit of cheek she can see beneath Matt’s mask. And at the same time, a light blush is forming on Danny’s cheeks as his eyebrows raise high enough to meet with his hairline.

Luke chuckles, low and soft, and shakes his head. “I think you broke him.”

She huffs a laugh as Danny shakes his head and finally finds his ability to speak. “No, I just… wasn’t expecting that.”

With a smirk, she walks over to lean an elbow on Matt’s shoulder. “Yeah, well- you and me both.”

They all share a collective chuckle at that before Luke joins Danny at the desk to continue scanning the ledger. In their relative privacy, Matt turns toward her, a look of concern on his face. He lowers his voice as he mutters an apology.

“I’m sorry. For worrying you and forcing you to tell everyone.”

She rolls her eyes, and sighs in annoyance. “You didn’t force to me do anything. Luke could tell and I knew it was only a matter of time before Danny knew too. But at least I got to watch his head explode as I told him.”

He chuckles and licks his lips. “Jess-”

But she cuts him off, because he’s not getting off that easy.

“You did, however, force me to worry about you for making a stupid and unnecessarily dangerous decision. And I’m getting tired of being mad at you for doing that.”

He frowns and hangs his head, voice low and rough. “I know. And I’m sorry. Really. I won’t do it again, I sw-”

“Don’t make a promise you can’t keep. That’ll just make things worse. But you better start making an effort to be less reckless.”

He pauses for a moment, then raises his head as if approximating her gaze. “I can do that.”

Good.” She slides her hands into her pockets, suddenly uncomfortable because she wants to kiss him but she doesn’t think she’s ready to do that in front of the others. But, luckily, a thought occurs to her, and she straightens her jacket and tilts her head.

“So, what were you two talking about?”

He shrugs and pursues his lips. “Nothing important.”

But by now, she can read him as well as he can read her. “Want to try that again, ‘cause I don’t buy it.”

With a sigh and a nervous chuckle, he puts his hands on his hips. “He just… gave me some advice. And helped me see things from a different perspective. That’s it.”

She turns to glance briefly at Luke and smirks. She could guess what he said. And later, maybe she will. But for now, she nods at him before Danny calls them over to strategize about the next person to target in the drug ring. And for the rest of the night, when she looks at Matt out of the corner of her eye, she has to actively try not to think about the reason that she got so mad in the first place. Because that’s a thought for another day.

For now, she’s happy to know that he might have finally come to appreciate her desire for him to remain safe and alive. And maybe, eventually, they can talk about the overwhelming feeling she gets in her chest when she’s afraid she’s going to lose him. But she’ll have put a name to that emotion first, and for now, she’s content to feign confusion. After all, ignorance is bliss.

Day 6

Day 8