#sure its not Officially inktober but WHATEVER

[turuin]

Inktober

So, in a few days it will be Inktober again.

Many (ill-informed and arrogant) people think Inktober is a silly thing, a show-off, a stupid challenge that has nothing to do with art, and generally despise those who partake in it. We will not talk of such people: they are just another specimen of the archaic "internet troll", and we know well one should not feed trolls. They are only expressing themselves to grief others, or to spoil their fun, and this is pretty much their top aspiration for their internet persona - and I think this speaks volumes of what kind of people they might be in real life.

I'll tell you this instead: Inktober was the very reason why I started considering my stupid office-time doodles something more than that; and, potentially, the very thing that made me understand a couple of important things about art in general.

So, it boils to this: you have a list of verbal prompts, one per day, which you pick from many lists. Yes, there is an official Inktober challenge, set up by Jake Parker and normally available on Instagram and on its own website. Parker was part of an internet controversy, a couple of years ago, about having stolen the idea for an Inking Textbook from another very good artist, Alphonso Dunn; whether you choose to use Parker's prompts or entirely different ones, though, is entirely up to you. I have skipped them, back then, and then I started using them again a couple of years afterwards. They are handy, and you can use them without sponsoring Parker at all, if you feel like it (he has trademarked the Inktober brand for sketchbooks but you can't really trademark a challenge, so hashtags are still free to use).

List controversy aside, the fun thing is that it asks you to draw once per day, possibly with ink (but not solely, and rules are entirely up to you about the medium you want to use whether it is digital or traditional) for a total of 31 days, the whole month of October.

Back when I started, I didn't think myself capable of doing this until the end, and surely my skill was much lower than today. And yet, Inktober taught me many things:

stick to the plan, but if you skip a day, or multiple days, don't worry! Nobody is paying you for that, and there are many people who will keep drawing from the list well into November, but when you decide to draw for the day, put yourself into it - don't do it just because. Inktober is not about speed or skill, it's about challenging your brain and hand on interpretation and execution.

share your art. It is basic? Share it. It is made at the top of your abilities? Share it. People are insulting it? SHARE IT. You have to be able to disconnect emotionally from your art when it is done. You like it? Fine! You don't like it? Fine! I've made it. It is there. Do what you will with it. I have already accomplished my goal: the process.

It will be an occasion for you to learn. You never used ink? Try! You never used ink pens? Try! You never used an old brush with dried ink on it to create strange effects? TRY! Inktober might as well be about trying anything that crosses your mind. Also, you don't need expensive tools; a sheet of paper and a ballpoint pen can, and often will, be enough.

People mock you because you do Inktober or are stressed out because you post Inktober updates? That is a perfect time to remind them of the existence of the "unfollow" button. It does wonders with people who live in troll caves.

You feel like you need to vent? You feel like you're being left behind and stress because you think you will not complete it? First of all: VENT. Your blog / page / online space is yours and you should keep in mind that whatever you post has to do with YOU, not others. People may not like what you post, it's fine. They can unfollow, or start their personal rant in their online space about you - at the end, we are all passing by, if people want to live their life in anger or ranting about your art or your blog, it's their liver, not yours. No, that's not a typo: I'm actually referring to their liver, which probably will not be in very good conditions to start with.

People give you unsolicited advice or opinion on your art? Gracefully nod, and forget about it one fraction of a second later. When you will need advice, you will ask for it, and welcome it. My suggestion is you stick by that rule for pretty much everything in your life: you should be asking, that is of paramount importance, and learning how to ask something is at least as important, but nobody should force you into their opinion. TL;DR: fuck'em opinons.

Again: don't fall in love with your art. It's a piece of paper; you can burn it afterwards. You already possess that art within your hands. It is lost forever? It's ok. You have made it. It existed. You ceased caring about it as soon as it was on paper. Let it go. It is not yours anymore. Let people make what they will of it. You are already unto the next one.

So: I will partake in Inktober, and vent, and chat about it, and post art. I will also do this in our community, https://www.tumblr.com/communities/ars-gratia-artis , and for the time being, I will allow people who want to share their art, participate in the community and not be toxic about it, to join with a link. I would also very much love for community members to attempt Inktober, even with a little doodle whenever they are able. It's fun, I promise!

If you want to join our community, Inktober or not, here's the link:

[ickmick]

INKTOBER DAYS 30 AND 31!!

getting immediately into this- the acronyms key, past weeks posts, and rambling afterwords are under the cut!! drawings on full display today!!

Day 30

gore: undead

we have a miss cleo!! look at them!! so very cool, I'm actually very happy with my first real attempt to draw her! the hair was fun too, ehehe...

Day 31

wh: so below

hc: halloween

GRIANS COSPLAY OF CROWLEY!! WHO CHEERED?? 🎉

he looks oh so smug and cool, I really love this drasing of him! that face! and I took a worth while risk on the pose!!

(I have moved the next 2 paragraphs to under the cut, to make sure this isn't too long to scroll through if you only want to see the art!!)

as for the second sketch (which has two photos so you don't have hold you device upside down LOL) I had the idea of secret life grian and (SL)watcher grian! a reverse, mwahaha... I really only meant to draw the crowly one, and didnt think I had the energy for more... but brain rot!! it is so strong!!

so of course after that I finally rectified my lack of clothes design for watcher grian lol... now i have to draw a SL design too!! eventually... eventually... I didnt make a note of it, but I think he just... wouldn't wear shoes LOL... watcher grian, I mean. let those lil talon feeties free, or whatever pffft...

week one, two, three, four and 5.1s posts!!

I'll only list the prompts I used that day, but here's the key for acronyms n such;

wh = welcome home

hc = hermitcraft (I have 2!)

ink = official inktober

gore = goretober

(actual gore will be triggerwarned! so far none has any blood or violence!)

Oh boy- okay! so I swear I didn't forget, its just that art block came and smacked me in the face for a short period. Thankfully I came out of it with two drawings I really love!! And some pretty good doodles too, haha...

I do think I still want to do a weekly novelember drabble... and of course a related drawing. we'll see! check in on sunday! i wont just disappear now that inktober is over!!

but also, maybe come back tomorrow if you're interested in a certain very tall persons birthday. yknow, the one with a new vtuber model! yeah! them! /silly

(Im talking about Ranboo, haha!! Im hoping to finish a drawing for their birthday tomorrow!!)

Thanks again for all the support!! 💜

[the-pit-of-space]

welcome one and y'all, to Inktober 2k18!!! where i hopefully make it past day 3!! day 1, poisonous!! enjoy this fanci marker art

[merildae]

hey! you have SUCH a beautiful art style!! i never knew you did art! (side note i noticed u are using the inktober name and i wanted to let you know most people are not using that name anymore because of some problematic stuff with the creator? i tried looking for the post but couldnt find it so sorry i cant give specifics but everyone is using magtober now to distance from that not sure if you had heard:) and no obligation to post this just wanted to relay the message

i thought it was fine to use as a tag so long as you didnt do the ""official"" prompts or whatever? like its just a pun, its obvious im not using that dudes prompts?

[gameboyhamazing]

Announcing...MII MAY!

A month of creative prompts all about games starring Miis!

Continued under the cut:

Hey! Thanks for clicking keep reading. First off, I want to say that this is my biggest (and admittedly only) multi-stage project so far, and I hope you’ll support it through reblogs. likes are cool too, but this is something I want to get people involved in. 

For a while now, I’ve wanted to get better at art, because (in my humble opinion) my art is honestly trash right now. I’ve tried doing things like Inktober, but while I’m sure other people love it and benefit from it, the prompts weren’t doing it for me, and I couldn’t find anything that really clicked for me. The other day, though, I decided to draw somethign for the heck of it to see how I was doing. I hadn’t drawn anything in a while and was stuck, but then I remembered that I’d  been playing and watchign videos of Wii Sports related things recently, and decided to start drawing the five sports in the original beloved game. 

That’s when it struck me. What if I did a month of Mii prompts? Miis and the Wii were a huge part of my life growing up, and I think this is as fine as any an opportunity to honor it while getting better at art in general. As an added bonus, I get extra practice drawing faces and body proportions, my two biggest obstacles in art currently, for free alongside the fun of drawing, as Miis focus a lot on those two aspects of a character.

So feel free to join me in whatever media you want. Go grab something to participate with! It could be a pen or pencil, paint, digital drawing tools, or even the famed Mii Maker itself if you want to try it (I won’t be using Mii Maker, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t)! And let’s all band together to create art of these beloved Nintendo avatars throughout May. #Mii May

Prompt List

Here is the prompt list for this year’s Mii May. Each one will get its own post the day of the prompt, btu I figured some people would want to know what they were getting into right away:

Day 1. Mii Maker/Mii Channel Day 2. Tennis Day 3. Baseball Day 4. Bowling Day 5. Golf Day 6. Boxing Day 7. Swordplay Day 8. Wakeboarding Day 9. Frisbee Day 10. Archery Day 11. Basketball Day 12. Table Tennis (alternative if satisfied with 1 tennis prompt: Champion) Day 13. Power Cruising Day 14. Canoeing Day 15. Cycling Day 16. Skydiving Day 17. Island Flyover Day 18. Party Day 19. Music Day 20. Plaza Day 21. Find Mii (any version) Day 22. Tanks! Day 23. Fitness Day 24. Train (noun or verb) Day 25. Brawler Day 26. Swordfighter Day 27. Gunner Day 28. Race Day 29. Costume Day 30. Wuhu Island Day 31. Miiverse

Remember to reblog if this interests you, along with mentions and the use of the ‘official’ #Mii May tag. Doing so helps spread the word, and I really want to see what people are capable of!

I hope you’ll join me in celebrating these fun games that shaped many people’s childhoods in any media form you want!

[jj-lives]

Snow Inktober Bmblb

I know it's not inktober anymore but it's going to just make it easier for me to find these posts later since they all related. Haha.

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

“Why are your knuckles white, Yang?”

“Because,” Yang breathed in exasperation. “I love how excited you are, Ruby. But your constant fidgeting is very distracting, and, I’m trying to drive.”

“Oh, I’ll try to stop.” The silence lasted all of a minute before Ruby sat up abruptly and broke Yang’s much needed quiet. “I just love the snow! And this is going to be so much fun with all of us together. We hardly ever get to do things together with school.”

“Uh huh.” A teasing smirk pulled at the corner of Yang’s mouth. She just couldn’t help herself. “You sure this has nothing to do with you and the Ice Princess finally starting to date?”

“Wh- I- No!” Ruby sputtered. “This has nothing to do with that.”

“Sure,” Yang drawled, stretching the word. “Nothing to do with this being your guy’s—What?— second official date?”

“Fine!” Her sister relented. “Maybe it has a little to do with that.”

“I would have never guessed!” Yang feigned surprise as she pulled up in front of a now familiar apartment building. 

“You’re so mean!”

Yang turned, resting her arm on the back of the headrest of Ruby’s seat. She couldn’t help but chuckle at her sister’s protruding lower lip and crossed arms. 

“It’s not funny. Stop laughing at me.” Ruby mumbled barely loud enough to reach Yang’s ears. 

“I’m not laughing at you, silly.” She ruffled the younger girl's hair. “I’m just really… happy to see you so giddy about someone.”

“Really?” Ruby’s voice sounded so vulnerable it nearly broke Yang’s heart.

“Of course!” She pulled her sister into a tight hug and the other eventually uncrossed her arms to reciprocate. “I enjoy teasing you but I’ll try to tone it down. Okay?”

“Okay.” Ruby pulled back to look at the entrance to the apartments. “What’s taking her so long?”

“Did you text to tell her we are here?” Knowing full well she hadn’t, Yang enjoyed the way Ruby scrambled for her phone in embarrassment.

“Oops.”

“Uh huh. That girl has your brain-“ Ruby’s raised brow had Yang pausing. “Sorry, I did say I would try. I’m going to slip up here and there.”

Both turned to watch Blake exit the building. 

“Hey Yang?” Ruby spoke as she watched Blake turn to lock the door behind her.

“Yeah?”

“I’ll make you a deal. How about you stop bugging me about my new girlfriend...” Pausing, Ruby turned to smile cheekily at her

Yang spared Ruby a quick glance but her eyes soon returned to the girl making her way to the car. She wore a heavier jacket than either of them with a scarf wrapped around her neck, covering half of the Blake’s face. Yang was disappointed to see her eyes blocked from her view by a pair of sunglasses. Blake jogged the few meters between the door and them and quickly hopped into the seat behind Ruby. 

“Until you get the courage to ask a certain someone yourself.”

The words sunk in as she watched Blake pull the seatbelt across her shoulder.

“Courage for what?” Blake asked.

Yang noticed her shudder as she sunk into the leather. 

“Here, this should help.” Yang interrupted, smiling warmly. She pressed a button on the dash to turn on the heated seat where Blake was sat. 

Ruby giggled at the blush Yang knew was making its way up her neck. 

“Thank you.” Blake returned her smile. “Sorry were you two-“

Just then Blake’s phone pinged a notification. 

Blake laughed as she looked at the message. “I guess you can’t have been here long if I just got Ruby’s message.”

“Well we have been here for a bit, but this one’s brain is on a one way track.” They shared a conspiratory eye roll at Ruby’s expense. 

“Hey! You promised.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll stop.” Yang relented. Not wanting Ruby to start in on any of her own teasing. She wasn’t even sure of Blake’s feelings and she did not want to chase her away before anything had a chance to start.

“Is Ruby excited for her second date?!” Blake piped up as Yang pulled back into traffic.

“Hey!” Yang saw Ruby swat at a hand out of the corner of her eye. “Yang!”

“What?”

“Our deal!” Ruby exclaimed as Blake poked the younger girl’s cheek again. “Make her stop.”

“Hey, our deal was that I would try to refrain from teasing. I can’t control Blake.”

“Has she been annoyingly excited?” Blake asked as she finally gave Ruby a break and sat back in her seat.

“So annoying.”

“That’s so-“

“Ugh,” Blake interrupted Ruby. “Weiss has been messaging me non-stop for advice on what to wear and how she should act. I’m so close to blocking her number, I swear.”

Yang caught Blake’s eye in the rear view mirror, her sunglasses thankfully abandoned to rest on her head. They shared a smile as Ruby squealed excitedly in her seat. 

When they pulled up to Weiss’ apartment Ruby unbuckled. She turned and kneeled on the seat but Yang was quick to swat her before she made permanent indents in the leather. She stood, hanging on the seat for support as she leaned into the back. Yang didn’t think half pulling her seat with her weight was much better but she let it go. 

“Hey Blake, would you mind sitting up front with Yang so Weiss and I can sit together?”

“You two are impossible.” Blake sighed, glaring at the snow outside the window as if it was just waiting to attack her.

“Please?” Ruby pouted.

“Do you really want to be in the middle of them the entire way?” Yang asked. 

Blake’s eyes narrowed as she imagined Weiss and Ruby making faces at each other the entire hour’s drive. Before either Ruby and Yang could react Blake was unbuckled and climbing through the space between the two front seats. Ruby was quick to open the door to escape before Blake collided with her. 

“How come she doesn’t get yelled at for abusing your car when I do?”

Blake quickly shut the door before Yang could respond. She pressed the button to start the heat going to her new seat. 

“How was she sitting here with this off?”

Ruby knocked on the glass, mouth open in shock as she pointed to the dash. A muffled “not fair’ could be heard before Ruby turned to ring Weiss’ apartment number.

“What’s not fair?” Blake asked, strapping herself in and sinking into the seat’s warmth. “Front seats are more comfortable anyway. I call this seat from now on.”

“I-“ Yang laughed nervously. “Well no one is allowed to press my baby’s buttons but me.”

“Huh?”

Yang reached over to pat the dash affectionately. 

“Should I leave and give you two some privacy?” Blake teased, unbuckling her seatbelt. “Whoops!” She exclaimed, hand flying to her mouth. “I just pressed another button. Whatever will you do?”

Yang stared, dumbfounded as Blake’s eyes sparkled. Was… Was she flirting with her?

Forcing herself out of her stupor, she leaned forward covering Blake’s hand still on the buckle with her own. The strap of her own belt digging into her left shoulder as she pulled at it to get closer to the girl still wearing that challenging smirk. 

“You Blake, I would allow to press any buttons you’d like.” 

Blake pressed forward herself, mouth opening with a response that Yang desperately needed to hear. It would give her the answer she’d been needing for the past weeks. Agonizing over whether Blake had feelings for her other than her friend’s older sister had kept her awake more nights than she would ever admit. 

“If-“

“Good afternoon Blake, Yang.” Weiss greeted as she slid gracefully into the seat behind Yang. Ruby quickly jumped into the vacant seat behind Blake. 

“Let’s go!” Ruby shouted as she buckled her own seatbelt. “Hey, what’s up with you two?”

Noticing just how close they were, Yang quickly reached for Blake’s seatbelt, pulling it across her body and clipping it hurriedly into the buckle.

“She was just having trouble buckling in. There you go.”

Her entire face was red, she was sure of it and when she spared a quick glance in Blake’s direction she noticed she’d tipped her sunglasses back on to cover her eyes. Was she embarrassed as well? If she was that only meant she was aware that they’d both been flirting. Right?

The drive to the hill was pretty uneventful. Ruby and Weiss mainly kept to themselves and Blake was characteristically silent for most of the drive. They spent a few minutes asking after each others classes and family. But for the majority of the drive Yang was overtly aware her younger sister was in the back seat. She wanted to ask Blake what she was about to say before Weiss interrupted them but she couldn’t really bring it up with Ruby and Weiss there.

Determined to not bring down the mood with her confusing thoughts of Blake, Yang promised herself to put all those thoughts away until another day.

Tobogganing was always Ruby’s preferred winter pastime. When their dad would take them to the tallest hill on Patch, Ruby always dragged Yang out of the truck, even before it fully stopped. Today was no different. Ruby hopped out, grabbing the sled from the back and dragged Yang off to make the first run. Leaving both Blake and a dumbfounded Weiss behind. 

Ruby screamed all the way down the hill but once they’d stopped and Ruby was bent to lift the sled to carry it back up Yang remained seated. 

“Yang!” She exclaimed. “You have to get up.”

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Um… I’m trying to carry the sled back up so we can go again.”

“You do realize you just left your girlfriend at the top of the hill on your second official date. Right?”

Ruby blushed digging her toe into the snow.

“I got nervous.”

“Nervous?” Yang fell back onto the snow laughing. “You two have been inseparable for months! What could you possibly have to be nervous over?”

“I-“ Ruby went silent, pulling her hood up to cover her face. “You wouldn’t understand. Let’s just go.” 

Ruby dropped the rope, abandoning the sled to Yang’s care as she made her way up the hill. Yang instantly sobered and jumped up, grabbing the sled and hurrying after her sister. 

“Wait.” She cried, grabbing Ruby’s arm once she’d caught up to stop her. “What was that supposed to mean? I wouldn’t understand.”

“It’s just… You’re you!” Ruby huffed.

“Yeah, but that hasn’t ever stopped you from being able to talk to me about whatever is on your mind. I’m a little hurt you think you can’t talk to me about whatever this is.”

Ruby kicked harshly at the snow beneath her feet.

“Weiss is probably expecting a kiss or something from today.”

“Well, possibly yeah.” Yang was developing more questions than getting any answers. “You two are dating. I mean, do you not want to kiss her?”

“No, I do” Ruby was quick to correct. “I like, really want to kiss her.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I’ve never-“ Ruby groaned. “Never mind I don’t want to talk about it.”

Yang had known her sister was new to relationships but she never thought she was still this innocent. Her nerves made absolute sense now. 

“Is everything okay?” 

Ruby and Yang looked up to find Blake making her way down the hill to meet them. 

“Where’s-“

“I sent her to get us all some hot chocolate when I noticed something seemed up. Plus I think she could use the distraction.” Blake turned to Ruby. “You really hurt her feelings leaving her behind like that.”

Ruby covered her face with her hands “I’m hopeless.”

Yang and Blake shared a look as Ruby took off up the hill again. 

“What was that all about?” Blake asked her. 

Yang smiled softly after her sister. No matter how much she wanted to be left alone with Blake and had her own questions needing answered by the other girl, her sister needed her right now. 

Yang grabbed Blake’s wrist and pulled her along to catch up with Ruby. She didn’t want Blake thinking she was being left behind as well. Even if they weren’t actually dating. As they closed the distance on Ruby, Yang cleared her throat.

“My first kiss was an absolute joke. It was horrible.” 

Ruby stopped. “And that’s supposed to make me less nervous how?”

Yang ignored her and continued. She would have preferred Blake not to have been here for this confession but she wasn’t going to let her bashful side stop her from helping her little sister. 

“I was on a group hang out in highschool. Me and five friends decided to go get some milkshakes and fries at the diner down the street from the school. Do you remember that one?” 

“Carole’s Diner.” Ruby answered.

“That’s the one.” Yang paused long enough to come up beside Ruby. “So there I was with a group of friends. Sapphire wanted another refill on fries and I volunteered to go get them for her. But when I was waiting for the order Bast cornered me. I was so surprised and…” Yang paused. “Well I hadn’t ever thought of him in that way but he seemed to think I did. He apologized after and said he should have asked me if I wanted to go out with him but instead he had Jem set up a group thing because he didn’t know how to approach me on his own.”

“I’m sorry Yang. I never knew. I thought Jen was-“

“No, Jen was much later. And more enjoyable.” Yang smiled. “But my first kiss will always belong to Bast and it wasn’t anything like the stories tell you it should be. My first kiss was wasted and something I would like to forget but can’t.” Stepping forward she wrapped her arms around Ruby’s hunched frame. “You may be nervous, Ruby. But that’s a good thing. I never got the chance for my nerves to go haywire for my first kiss. You have the chance for yours to be what the story books write about. Yours gets to be with someone you really care about. Nerves or not, that’s something to be happy and excited for. It’s not something you have to be scared of.”

Ruby squeezed her tightly before stepping back and removing her hood. She smiled at Yang and grabbed the sled out of her arms before rushing up the rest of the hill “Thank you!” She called back down once she’d reached the summit.

“That was very nice of you.” Blake’s soft voice spoke up from behind her. “It must not have been pleasant to relive that particular memory.”

“Not really. But if it helps Ruby then I’ll put up with the discomfort it’s going to bring me until I manage to lock the memory away again.” Motioning up the hill Yang changed the subject. “Let’s go get some hot chocolate before Ruby drinks them all. You look like you’re freezing.”

The second Yang and Blake grabbed their cups from Weiss, Ruby was dragging her new girlfriend to the top of the hill. Weiss happily obliged her.

Yang grabbed one of the blankets they’d brought from inside the truck then motioned for Blake to follow her to the rear. She lowered the tailgate and spread the blanket across the metal. She hopped up and motioned for Blake to join her. They sat in comfortable silence as they watched the other two return to the top of the hill time and time again. 

“My first kiss wasn’t something I look back on with excitement either.” Blake broke the silence.

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks, but you don’t have to be. I’ve learned looking back with regret is the easiest way of losing site of the present. So living in the moment is something I try to do as often as I can, but it’s something I sometimes still struggle with.”

“That’s a very mature way of looking at things.” Yang commented.

“Besides,” Blake continued. “Who says the first first kiss should be the one that you have to remember for all time. You can always try again with someone else and decide that’s the one to set the bar.” 

Yang was so captivated by the expressions forming on Blake’s face she never realized how close her hand was until Blake was placing it on her own gloved one. Blake squeezed gently, leaning forward when Yang didn’t pull away. But unlike Bast, Blake stopped halfway between them, giving Yang an out if she wanted it. And that one seemingly little gesture was what set Yang's every nerve ending buzzing.

Like she would have ever in a million years said no to her.

Closing the distance was the easiest decision Yang ever had to make. When their lips met a warmth filled Yang; one that had nothing to do with the hot chocolate she’d just had. Adjusting the angle Yang pressed forward, deepening the kiss. She felt Blake’s lips pull against her own and knew she was smirking in triumph. 

Yang pulled back. One day she would wipe that smirk off Blake’s face. But today, she would let Blake have this win.  She deserved it for making Yang feel better. Yang chuckled when a large snowflake landed on Blake’s nose. She gently brushed it off with a swipe of her gloved hand before hopping off the tailgate and holding her hand out. 

“I can see you don’t really enjoy the cold, but would you like to go down one time with me before we head to the chalet for lunch?”

Blake accepted Yang’s outstretched hand. “That sounds like a plan.”

“A good plan?” Yang asked for clarification.

“A great plan.” Yang took the lead, pulling Blake gently through the growing crowds of people. “Oh, Yang.” 

“Yeah?” She stopped, turning to face Blake in case something was wrong.

“Give me your phone for a minute.” 

“Okay.” Yang was a little confused but placed her phone into the other's awaiting palm. 

Blake removed a glove and pressed buttons rapidly on her touchscreen. 

“Here you go.” Blake said as she handed the phone back and quickly shoved her hand back into her glove. “Now you can message me instead of Ruby when you’re waiting outside my apartment. Or if you decide to pick me up sometime without Ruby.” 

Blake rubbed her hands together to warm them again, having lost all the heat when her skin was bared. 

Stepping forward Yang took her hands in both of hers and rubbed them together. She brought them up to her mouth and breathed warmth into them. 

“Better?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Then let’s go.” They continued to where Ruby and Weiss were just coming up the hill. “Hey Ruby! Let us have one go before you wear the sled out completely.”

“Okay, Fine! Weiss let’s go get more hot chocolate!”

Weiss rolled her eyes as she was dragged passed them “Like she needs more sugar.”

Blake and Yang laughed as they disappeared into the crowd. Blake sat on the sled first and Yang took up the spot behind her. 

“Oh, and Blake." Yang whispered into her ear.

“Hmm?”

“I’ll definitely be calling you.” She replied as she pushed off, allowing the sled to crest the ledge and soon they were both falling.

The feeling of her stomach turning and the laughter forcing its way out had nothing to do with the sled, and everything to do with the girl in her arms. She was sure of it.

[erekiosuncreativeideas]

Hey! Just wanted to say you and several other talented folks in the Hat in Time fandom inspired me to take another crack at digital art. I didn't really care for it when I tried it about a decade ago, but went out and bought a tablet to try again! You've probably been asked this before, but which art program do you use/recommend? And do you have any simple tips for a beginner? Thanks, and hope you are well!

Hello ! Aaaah I’m glad it helped you !! I hope you’ll keep your inspiration up ! As for which software I’m using, surprisingly, this is the first time someone asks me this I think ? x) In any case, I use Clip Studio Paint for drawing (very useful for its 3D models and its workshop) and this website for texturing my drawings.

As for simple tips for beginners, hum... Let me put that under a “read more” as it's very, very long.

So yeah. Well, I’m not really a good example.

I started drawing by copying drawings in “how to draw” books, then official arts and fanarts. I kept them for myself at the time, but I still have them in a folder, in a closet of my room. I mean, copying does help, as it helps you to get used to proportions, to basic movements with your pencils/pen, to a base in anatomy... Of course, they’re still copies of someone else’s drawings, so it’s best not to share them online. Copying is more a training process (at least, to me). Here’s what I used to do (so yeah, those are copies for the first two, then one of my tries at “”inventing”” new characters by changing their clothes and hair, though still using very simple poses). I was 11 years old at the time (I’m 23 now).

Once you start being more comfortable without something to copy... Don’t feel bad about using references. And for that, let me find two versions of a drawing I made about one of my old OCs back in 2017 (I was 19 at the time). Keep in mind that there is only a month of difference between the two following drawings (yes the date is in European format, as I’m French)

So... YEAH. Using references (and in that case, a 3D model in CSP) is very, VERY USEFUL. It’s not cheating. Saying that using references and digital tools to get a better drawing is cheating is, for me, the same as saying it’s cheating to use a car to go to work instead of walking there. We have tools, we have a looot of options, so let’s use them.

Another advice is to draw as much as you can. I know, you hear this one ALL THE TIME. But you don’t have to draw BEAUTIFUL drawings all the time. Even doodling helps you to improve. Like, okay, this is not something you should do in class like I did back when I was in college, but I used to doodle A LOOOOT in my notebooks. And... Well... Those aren’t very “good” compared to my finished drawings, sure, but they do help you to develop your style, to develop your drawing speed, and most importantly, it teaches you not to ALWAYS try to get a beautiful drawing in the end. Sometimes, doodling can be more useful than spending hours on a single drawing, especially when you’re not inspired. Some of my doodles are even better than some of my old finished drawings. Like...

They’re not perfect, but they did help me to get more spontaneous when drawing Hat Kid and Snatcher in my more elaborated drawings. So yeah, doodle as much as possible (just... Not in class like I did ahahaha, that probably contributed to me dropping out of school dkishqd).

Another advice would be to give yourself some slack, and I’m speaking from experience. I used to be so strict with myself, thinking that whatever I had to produce had to perfect (writing or drawing) otherwise it was no use to continue it. Drawing for myself (meaning, drawings that weren’t meant to be posted, drawings “for fun”) were out of the question because they “would have no use”. So yeah, I spent years trying to draw based of what I thought people wanted from me, and not what I wanted to draw. I don’t think I even knew what I wanted to draw sincerely at the time, to be completely honest. One example I can give about this was when I tried to do the 2018 inktober : I only managed to do 5 drawings, because I was trying MUCH TOO HARD to do something I could find beautiful. I had to take a few days to finish a single drawing, so I already felt like I wasn’t doing the challenge properly, since while I did draw everyday at the beginning, it was less drawings than expected. Eventually, I became sick and I had to stop drawing for a few days. When I felt better, I had lost all motivation to continue the challenge. Wanna see how overcomplicated those drawings were ? Here are a few :

Let me tell you that joining the AHIT fandom helped me IMMENSELY, because I did my best at drawing as much as I could, I tried as much as possible to be satisfied of my drawings, even if they didn’t reach my expectations. And you know what ? I improved so, so, SO much in only ten months. Although, it wasn’t entirely done by motivation (ha, I wish). This coincided when I started taking antidepressants, and more precisely when they started to work on my mental health. So yeah, mental health really was a problem that prevented me from drawing, so sometimes, some exterior help is needed when it’s necessary. Here are my first two drawings of the year (well, they’re from December 31th 2019, but HUSH)...

Compared to my most recent ones (made for my ongoing RPs, and these drawings are perhaps the first ones I've done for fun in my entire life, I am not exaggerating) :

So yeah. Taking care of your mental health if you need it is one of the most important points, if not THE most important one. I know it helped me A LOT, and I, who used to draw perhaps 10 to 15 drawings A YEAR... Made more than 130 drawings this year in only 10 months. Your well being always, ALWAYS has to come first, and trust me, it’ll help your productivity and thus help you to improve as you’ll probably draw more. But then again, this is only my personal experience on the subject.

Don’t be afraid to try new things (like recently, I’m trying to colour my sketches and I feel like it looks better than my lineless drawings), don’t be afraid to try new tools, don’t be afraid to ask for help, don’t be afraid to look at tutorials, don’t be afraid to use references, and most of all, don’t be afraid of not being productive.

Sometimes you really, REALLY need a break, and this comes from a person who had a writing and artistic artblock (meaning, hiatus in all my ongoing projects and the inability to start new ones) for two years before becoming productive again. As you can see, it really helped me.

I hope it wasn’t too boring to read and I hope my advice will help you. Obviously, I’m not a drawing expert, I’m just doing what feels nice and good to me, but my methods might not work for everyone. Each person has their own way to function and if you haven’t found yours, it’s okay, it’ll come with time and experience as you try new things. Don’t be afraid of doodling or making ““bad”“ drawings, because it’s still a very good experience. It’s better than doing nothing.

Anyway... Hope it helped, and thank you for following me, my art and fanfictions, it really means so much to me !!

[save-the-spiral]

InkWizTober Day Twenty-Nine: Injured + Endgame

Welcome to day twenty-nine of inktober, and holy FUCK its. A good one. I spent hours on this, writing the end to my Pirate!Queen concept. It’s so good, y’all, read all four parts in order please. Warnings for graphic depictions of violence, narrator having a real bad existential crisis, thoughts about the afterlife, self doubt, death, body horror kinda.

(link to prompt lists) (link to inktober tag)

Captain Avery’s plan to destroy the Armada was, in a word, infuriating. 

The old captain was content to send the young pirate out on his orders- without backup! Just a crew led by a captain who couldn’t be older than seventeen. Any leads or intel came from ‘allies’ who were simply spineless pirates who owed Captain Avery favors. 

Even Queen, who was a member of Kane’s court in the past, who was created to never had an independent thought in her life, knew this was all wrong. She took the lead, fully accepting the pseudonym of ‘Reyna Ferro’, budding pirate captain, with her mysterious and loyal crew of the Pyrite Swan. 

(She ignored the fluttering, ecstatic part of her that reveled in having a ‘normal’ name. How she never wanted to go back to being ‘Queen’. Never wanted to use the name Kane gave her ever again.)

Captain Reyna Ferro seemed to be the only fully competent pirate out of the triad of captains, once she started giving orders. She organized sieges on docked fleets of resting Armada soldiers, got them the useful intel and blueprints (mostly from her own perfect memory), and she made sure that Captain Avery didn’t take it too far.

(A giant, mocking puppet show to draw the Armada soldiers to battle them in Skull Island? Really?)

...Reyna had only recently realized that Avery was likely presenting these plans just to hear how incredulous her tone could get in response. Organic, human pirates could be so difficult to figure out. 

Even now, planning what would likely be their last official mission of this endeavor, Reyna was taking charge. Captain Avery hadn’t even bothered to show up.

“All of the Armada have fallen back, following ingrained protocols to hide in a last resort fortress and begin creating more clockworks to bolster their numbers and buy time. While we were waiting and recovering from the last battle in Monquista, where we took out almost all of their ships and unfortunately lost the young pirate’s ship as well- I got intel from a spy.” 

Reyna took a breath, staring down at the vast array of maps and internally hoping they didn’t question who was spying. She wouldn’t want to reveal her connections on the inside. When this quest started they agreed that Reyna would get any captured soldiers, and she had been working with those very soldiers, turning them slowly towards her side. She let them secretly join her crew, or go back to the Armada as a spy, or gave them a secret hideout to live in peace.

In a way, Reyna was glad she was so adept at lying at this point. Hiding the crew’s identities- and her own- was a matter of life or death. They’d lost far too much to the Armada at this point for the pirates they allied with to not slaughter them outright at the reveal of their clockwork identities. 

Reyna grabbed a thin knife with her gloved hand, casually walking across Captain Avery’s office, trying not to think about how familiar the room had become to her. She let the knife point trail across the large map of Cool Ranch and its skyway. 

“Cool Ranch? Isn’t that a bit out of their usual locations for forts?” Sterling, Reyna’s first mate, asked.

“Yeah but think about it.” Zircon replied, sitting casually on Avery’s ornate desk, slightly damaged mace in hand. “Big, open country. Lots of mines to hide in, could go out where no one would hear you. Find a ghost town to reinforce or whatever.”

Bonnie Anne, one of the young pirate’s crewmates, nodded. Her large, canon-like weapon was leaning casually against Avery’s desk, and she was leaning into Zircon’s side. “Lots of shadowy characters in Cool Ranch. They could easily spread out too- dark corners in saloons, becoming farm hands or apprentices- they wouldn’t have to show their face, just work and plan their next moves.”

Reyna tuned out the conversation between crews, tracing coordinates until she found the building marked by a small square, the one she was looking for. She stabbed the knife into the spot, the amber handle and silver blade glinting in the sunlight of a nearby window.

She turned around, grabbing a piece of charcoal, and began writing small neat notes on the map. “It’s actually an abandoned railway station, right by an abandoned mine. They’re grouped together, reinforcing the area like Zircon said.” 

If Reyna could grin, she would. The sight of Zircon and Bonnie Anne fist-bumping was something she wanted to imprint in her brain forever. Zircon had become much more outgoing and trusting since this all started, becoming fast friends with the fox privateer. 

Sterling sighed, toying with an antique telescope. “They’re likely re-purposing the few machines from the mine, and they can transport any materials they need far too easily for my liking.”

“Exactly.” The young pirate murmured, then went back to silently arguing with Egg Shen about something small- probably eating just oatmeal for breakfast, with no fruit, opposing Egg Shen’s exacting health standards.

Reyna pondered the railroad line that went through the huge island of Cool Ranch, all huge plateaus and gorgeous vistas. “They might have dynamite too. Let’s fight fire with fire here, Bonnie. Get some dynamite of your own by the end of the day, please.”

“End of the day?” Sterling asked, a bit alarmed.

“Yes.” Reyna said sternly, turning to face the room, all eyes on her. The dozen or so of the young pirate’s crew (the rest in Skull Island’s infirmary), and her own crewmates in the brash and protective Zircon, the curious and anchoring Sterling, the quiet and observant Malachite, who even now is sitting perched on a tall bookshelf, watching.

“Timing is essential here. We need to get in on their next shipment, at dusk tomorrow. We hide in a car, ambush the clockworks collecting the cargo, and move on from there. Spread out, follow the marks I’ve made on these blueprints of the area. Destroy weapons and clockworks being made, capture the rest. My crew will deal with them.” Reyna stopped, weighing down the blueprints and making a few amendments to the lines on it.

Egg Shen nodded at this, getting up and examining the papers. “We trust your planning, Captain Ferro. You haven’t steered us wrong yet.” 

The nods that followed from the young pirate and his crew were disarming. 

Reyna stepped back, standing awkwardly due to her prosthetic leg. “But- most of your crew are in the infirmary- you lost your ship because of my plans. I understand if you want to change this, you do not have to-”

“Relax, Reyna.” Bonnie Anne offered, gesturing around at the others in the room. “We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t already trust you with our life. If we had made the plans- well, we would have had much more trouble without you and your amazing crew.”

If Reyna could blush, she would be bright red right now. 

“Yeah Captain!” Zircon said, tilting her head in a way that conveyed childishness. “Our crew is pretty amazing, but it’s nothing without you guiding us.”

Sterling and Malachite were nodding, and Reyna was slightly worried for her internal processing, with how long it was taking to understand and absorb what they were saying. With stuttered thanks, she quickly turned everyone back to the plan, delegating roles for every pirate on the mission.

Bonnie Anne and Malachite, who would climb on top of the train cars when the ambush strikes, and gun down any backup from the Armada. 

Egg Shen and Sterling would work with the young pirate on finding the leader, and the workshop for clockwork creation.

The twins, Rhodium and Rhenium, alongside Nanu Nanu and Emmet of the young pirate’s crew, would be a distraction on the south side, near the large ravine. 

Everyone else was nodding, happy to follow Reyna’s orders. It made her feel nervous, knowing that failure or success rested on her plan, on her shoulders. Some part of her wanted to just stop, to sit down and tell someone else to take responsibility, to do the hard job. The restless part of her, the one that drove her to piracy in the first place, that filled her with wonder at beautiful nature scenery, and rage at how governments and outlaws alike take advantage of the poor. 

She would keep moving, keep planning, only to appease that dark pit of dissatisfaction with life. 

The waiting, right before a mission truly went underway, was what killed her inside. It took Zircon’s firm grip on her hand, Spectrolite’s silly puns, and Osmium’s toothless threats to every annoyance, to calm her down. Her crew, her strange crew of ex-battle angels, of ex-dolls of the Armada, all of them like family, they truly had a calming effect on her, made her remember her purpose. 

They took up half of the large storage train car. Rhodium and Rhenium were playing tic-tac-toe with chalk on the floor and far more threats than proper, Meteorite was checking her ammo compulsively, doing it again and again to ensure she would not forget, Stichtite was jokingly adding ridiculous ideas to the plan, Sterling nodding seriously as she listened, only to laugh when it got truly bizarre. 

There were a few more that joined her. Rehabilitated clockworks saved from their missions by being captured and handed over to Reyna and her crew, ones who wanted to repent, to atone for their cruel actions under another’s order. They remained nameless, still new to their sentience and trying to find themselves, these three clockworks. One was a battle angel, like the rest of the crew, one was a musketeer, and another was a buccaneer, halberd resting by his side always.

Reyna felt the train, racing across the Cool Ranch countryside, begin to slow. Everyone became alert, even the dozing young pirate.

Reyna was tempted to follow in Egg Shen’s footsteps and bother the young pirate into getting eight hours of sleep a night an eating their fruits and vegetables upon seeing the dark circles under their eyes. 

The train rumbled as it stopped, the only other sound being the breathing of the organic pirates, and the cicadas singing. The sun was setting, sky a dusky red, light falling. It was time.

As they heard the exacting footsteps of clockworks, people hid in storage containers, behind them. Bonnie Anne and Malachite climbed out on the opposite side from where the clockworks would be approaching, the two clambering up onto the roof for a better vantage point.

Rhodium and Rhenium were looking at each other, conversing in a strange twin speak that seemed to transfer even to clockworks, and they moved forward in sync as the door slowly opened. Nanu Nanu and Emmet followed behind the two, slightly reluctant, but willing nonetheless. Zircon, next to Reyna, shifted in excitement, and Reyna knocked their heads together lightly, a soft ‘I’m here’, practically a kiss on the cheek. A common clockwork display of affection the crew had developed.

Zircon looked at Reyna, and bumped her back, right before the fighting started.

It was loud- the twin clockworks were always loud, calling confusing orders, yelling nonsense, acting like it was a game. The rest of the pirates stampeded out of the train car, hopping onto the dusty ground of the plateau. The clockworks, a neat, matching group of five, were in pieces.

The visual, slowly cloaked by the night’s darkness, made Reyna wish she could vomit. It was disgusting, unnatural- to see bodies- ones so similar to her own, ones that bled oil, that were made of metals, had the potential to feel- to see them shattered, it hurt. To see pieces of a being that once had a consciousness, even if it was controlled by others, to know a personality was behind that, hidden deep, it made something in Reyna shatter a tiny bit every single time.

The only thing that gave her solace every time was knowing that those Armada clockworks were free now, free from the trappings of being a soldier, of only following orders, having no free will. At least, if there was a personality in there, it would not have to suffer, would not have to watch as their body was controlled by something they could not fight.

The group continued on nonetheless, twins taking point and dragging Nanu Nanu and Emmet along for the ride, playing with firecrackers and yelling to draw attention

Sterling chuckled under her breath, but split off from Reyna’s side, moving to join the young pirate and Egg Shen on their mission to find the workshop. From above they heard Bonnie Anne’s exclamations about the twins doing their thing, and most of the secret clockwork pirates were snickering, before returning to their jobs.

Personally, Reyna was glad to lose herself in the violence, the strategy of it. Her sword was sharp, mind sharper, and she ached to prove it to herself once again.

Maybe she was too eager, in the end.

Maybe that was her fatal flaw, some twisted kind of hubris, some need to prove her own humanity to herself. 

Some need to feel alive, and believe it.

Reyna was trapped in a tar pit of self pity, of doubt, of existential horror and comedy in the same suffocating breath. 

She was slumped in the train car, having retreated to their getaway vehicle once she realized the gravity of her wounds. One of the newly created clockworks had been a monstrosity to behold- some strange, hulking creature of screeching metal and regurgitated oil, a terrifying thing. Reyna was selfish, was just plain stupid, and didn’t run back to get other to help her and the young pirate, she just rushed in, sword at the ready, some strange synthetic adrenaline in her system. 

Reyna Ferro, Queen, just some upgraded battle angel, just some dysfunctional clockwork- she rushed in, like an idiot, like an impulsive human, side by side with the most impulsive human she had ever met, the young pirate captain. They had fought hard, fought well, almost downed the thing, but it was clever. Reyna had to shield the young pirate with her own body, the sound of screeching metal against metal, hopefully something the other pirate had mistaken for armor against weapons, was all Reyna knew for a moment.

When she became aware, the young pirate simply helped her up, and defeated the clockwork beast, telling Reyna to go back to safety. 

Reyna was done for.

She could hear the pirates returning, the cheers of victory, the few stray firecrackers and loads of dynamite being set off, followed by hysterical laughter. They had torches, lanterns, with them. They would know.

Reyna was leaking black, bleeding oil into the layers of concealing clothes and armor that hid her clockwork status. It wouldn’t work for long, not with her wound.

She wouldn’t work for long with this wound, a ravine cut diagonally down her abdomen, metal curling inwards, sparking gears malfunctioning. 

The pirates were approaching, and she wished she could cry. Out of all the things she envied humans for, it was the ability to cry. To sob and scream and fill the entire world with her tears, to cough and hiccup and cry out about the unfairness of it all. 

Reyna, in all technicality, was only a year and a half old. That was how long she was sentient, she had free will. Before that she might as well have been dead. She had so many more years in her, and there was a desperate, clawing need to experience those years, those thousands of sunrises and sunsets, the lazy hours and minutes full of frenzied battle.

She wanted it all.

The group entered the car- emptied now, for easier travels back- and the leader (Sterling, her beautiful first mate, Sterling, who she named, reasonable, perfect Sterling) stopped in her place, mask facing Reyna, as if in disbelief.

“Oh no.” Sterling murmured faintly. Reyna would agree if her vocal mechanisms hadn’t already shut down to preserve power.

Zircon (strong, brave, powerful, protective, amazing) bumped into Sterling, and with a confused sound, looked over her shoulder, and saw Reyna, saw her pitiful, dying form. A wordless cry echoed off of the metal walls, and suddenly Reyna was in a strong embrace.

A chorus of amazingly creative swears followed as the rest of the pirates, both in her own crew and in the young pirate’s, followed. Reyna’s own crew crowded around her, hiding her from the others.

“Can you speak, Captain?” Malachite (wonderful, wise, observant, quiet, pretty) eventually asked.

With a stuttering shake and a quiet, chirruping sound, she indicated that no, she could not speak, she was dying. 

Maybe not in those words, but the message got across.

“Okay, okay okay okay.” Someone was saying, trying not to panic- maybe Meteorite?- we can heal her, we can do this. 

“How?!” Someone whisper-yelled, a sharp motion drawing Reyna’s fuzzy gaze. 

Her optics were going to shut down next. Then her hearing, her movement, her-

Reyna fell into sleep, internally floating, a child in a womb, a baby, a little fawn with no legs to stumble with. She was nothing, everything, mind trying to process the never ending darkness of her emergency protocols. She was dying- was going to die.

She had never thought about death, never thought it applied to her in the sense of experiencing it. Did she even have a soul? Was she worthy of some salvation or damnation? Some quiet, peaceful end? Endless nothingness, like now? A beautiful facade of her perfect life? 

Do machines get to go to the afterlife if they can feel, can love, can hate, can reason, just as much as any other sentient creature? Did being made of metal make her any different, any more or less deserving?

She floated, existentially paralyzed by the broad endlessness of death. 

When she woke up, it was strange. It was little clicking sounds, soft whirring, clunky gears beginning to work. It was her internal processing telling her that her joints were working, hearing, eyes-

Goodness, it was bright.

Reyna woke up lying flat on a bed, bright light shining right into her optics. Blinking her vacant, black ‘eyes’, she blocked out the light and sat up, before opening them again, and wanting to gasp.

She was... well, not naked, but it was strange, to not be clothed in layers upon layers of pirated finery, to not have armor and mystery to protect her and her clockwork body. She looked down, seeing gloveless hands, ones that worked perfectly, every metal knuckle in place, clicking slightly. She saw her legs- one silver and slightly longer, from a musketeer clockwork who was dead before she found him- and the other her original, glinting in bronze and gold.

By the rocking, she was in a ship. Looking around, she realized- it was her ship, the Pyrite Swan, in her own bed. Not that she used it, seeing as clockworks didn’t need to sleep. Apparently, not until now.

“You’re awake!” The excited, in unison voices of Rhodium and Rhenium filled her ears, and she looked towards the doorway, seeing the two standing guard. “We’ve got to tell the others!” 

“Wait!” Reyna’s voice was rough, scratchy and screechy, painful. “Wait.”

The twins stopped, standing seriously and tilting their heads.

“What about- the humans- they-?”

“Oh!” Rhenium gasped. “Oh! So- okay, so after they figured it out- not until we were boarding the ship, but they did find out- Rat Beard almost hurt you, but Zircon almost killed him, and Bonnie Anne of all people defended us! She said to trust us, and the young pirate agreed, said you took that hit for them of all people!”

Rhodium nodded. “And then- oh dear- Emmet got a shot off I’m afraid, almost killed Sterling! She was so angry, told us all to calm down in that Mom Voice she has! It was so cool, they all shut up and let us explain! We set sail and told them our story- well, Sterling told most of it, we all chipped in with our own individual backstories- but goodness, you should have SEEN their faces. I didn’t know whether to laugh or hide!”

The two continued to ramble, back and forth, until finally someone was drawn to the commotion. 

“Zircon- help.” Reyna said simply, and the other clockwork nodded, pulling the twins out by their collars like misbehaving kittens, and then coming back. 

“Captain.” She started, voice stuttering, fearful. “You almost...”

“I didn’t, though.”

“Osmium and Meteorite finally worked together on something, figuring out how to heal you. It was... not pretty.” Zircon said, sitting gently on Reyna’s bedside.

“Maybe they’ll finally get over the romantic tension then.” Reyna muttered, and Zircon laughed.

“Yeah, finally.” 

Reyna sat up again, leaning heavily against Zircon as her systems got used to movement. “Help me up?” She finally said.

“Always, Captain.” Zircon said quietly.

Using her crew mate as a crutch, Reyna limped across her quarters. “I’m going to get dressed. Still doesn’t feel quite right without clothes, anymore.”

“I can help.” Zircon offered. Reyna’s grip on Zircon’s hand strengthened for a moment, a squeeze, a thank you. Heads knocking lightly, a clockwork kiss on the cheek.

Simple black trousers, a white shirt with a ruffled collar, and a captain’s hat, black with a broad golden feather. 

Reyna leaned heavily on Zircon, half starved for the touch, half actually needing it. They made their way across the room, and Zircon opened the doors again to sunlight of a new day. 

“Hey, Captain Ferro.” 

Reyna’s head whipped to the side, a blank slate of white and bronze and gold, maskless, and watched the young pirate captain approach.

“Captain.” They said. “You up to planning the next great adventure?”

Their voice was weak, hoarse. They had bloodshot eyes, a tear stained face. They had shaking hands, but offered Reyna’s sword to her nonetheless, standing tall, like a proper captain.

Reyna stood tall as well, arms off of Zircon, stepping forward. “Of course, Captain.” She said, almost playfully, head tilting as she reached forward- slow, cautiously- and grabbed the hilt of her sword almost reverently. It had dulled from battle, still covered in oil stains. 

She looked back at the young pirate, at their companions and friends behind them, watching. Finally, she spoke again.

“Just give me a few days to rest up, and our crew will be ready to take over the entire Spiral, before you know it!”

At her words, the crew, united, co-captained, broke into a wordless cheer, and Reyna fell back a bit, leaning on Zircon, letting the other girl half carry her back to bed.

Maybe pirates weren’t as savage, as uncivilized as she was programmed to think. Every one of them were thinking, living beings, with feelings, wants, needs. Just like clockworks, like those individual cogs that made up the once existent Armada. 

Pirate, Armada, Clockwork, Compassionate- 

Why not just be every single one? Take every label for herself? 

It’s what pirates do, after all.

[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

[angstmongertina]

16. Defiance (Inktober 2017)

Just quick background: Eunbyeol’s a medical student around the equivalent to finishing up her second year of pre-clinical in Korea, which I believe is somewhat similar, based on my quick Google search (I’m not entirely sure on her timeline since I forgot about the two year timeskip and now I’m all over the place with her age and stuff. Goddammit). And she’s been stressed. And Jihyun tries (the operative word being TRIES) to be helpful and... Well... They’re disasters, what can I say?

It took me a while to figure out something they’d have a serious argument about, but I hope this is believable. :P (Also, for the record, I have no idea where it went. Again. Writing them is like herding cats, I swear.)

....I’m just going to stop trying to give excuses on why I’m late. I have none. I’ll instead just say that apparently I bit off more than I could chew when I thought to take on Inktober.

AO3 Link || Masterpost

She glares, arms crossed over her chest and fingers digging into her skin. Of course, in contrast, Jihyun looks calm as ever, his face as peaceful as though they were simply discussing their plans for the upcoming weekend.

Eunbyeol generally prides herself on being a patient person, understanding that poor choice of words often masks good intentions and tranquility only benefits reasonable discussion, but…

But right now, his serenity is only more infuriating.

“Eunbyeol,” and even her name on his lips, soft and placating, is enough that her fingers dig harder, painfully, into her skin. “Please, just calm down. I only meant—“

“I don’t care.” The words escape her mouth in a hiss, quiet but vehement, cutting off whatever platitude he was planning to offer, and she takes a perverse amount of pleasure in watching him take a step back, his façade fracturing just enough for her to see the maelstrom of emotions bubbling underneath the surface.

A crack in his calm, at last.

She takes a corresponding step forward, close enough now that when she points at him, she nearly pokes him in the chest and, for one moment, she almost wishes she did. “We both know what you did say, so go right on ahead and just say what you think, instead of whatever you think I would rather hear. You don’t have to pretend that you don’t think I’m wasting my time or not contributing enough or whatever it is that you meant.”

It’s a bit of a low blow, enough to make him flinch, but she can hardly find it in herself to care, watching dispassionately as he opens his mouth, only to close it, once, twice.

After a moment, she nods and, when she speaks, her voice is so cold that it takes even her by surprise. “I see, then. Thank you for informing me.”

“Eunbyeol, please, wait!” Before she can turn away, a hand on her wrist stops her, though he falls back when she glares, icy cold, and tugs her arm free.

The hurt in his eyes unexpectedly makes her chest tighten, and she turns her gaze away, her jaw clenched.

At this point, she doesn’t remember the exact wording that set her off anymore, only remembers something about stress and support and the sudden, crushing realization that he doesn’t think she can do this, that he’s preparing for her to fail. She knows for certain that she’s never blown up like this before, alternating between bitter coldness and raging inferno, but any lingering confidence after her failed exam, especially in the face of another test tomorrow, has been obliterated by his words and she’s fairly certain that the righteous anger coursing through her veins is only several moments away from melting into tears that she really doesn’t want anybody to witness. Least of all him.

Especially not now.

“Just… do whatever you want and leave me alone.” The words fall out of her mouth, softer, more vulnerable than she intended, and, eyes averted so she doesn’t see the concern that’s surely filling his gaze, she sets her face before striding out of the room, keeping her gait steady until she’s out of sight.

Only then does she run for her study, one of the few places in the house that’s hers and hers alone. Trembling hands lock the door behind her, checking it with a light pull for good measure, before she sinks to the floor, shoulders shaking. The grade, the burning disappointment, haunts her mind, swirls along with the pages and pages of notes that she should have remembered, the anatomical positions and hormones that mix and muddle. The look on Jihyun’s face, the tone of his voice, as he offered sympathy and words that only served to cut into her heart, that slithered, insidious, into her mind.

It’s all too much, and she can only bury her face in her hands and hope that it is enough to keep her cries muffled. Judging from the scuffling by the door, it isn’t, but he doesn’t say anything and she only curls in tighter on herself as her tears slow, his words still echoing in her mind. Always tired. Too stressed. No need.

No need...

Perhaps he is right in that, but then again, it’s not about need, has never been about need, but want. She sits up, not entirely sure how much time has passed, but that doesn’t matter. She has the whole night before her if she needs it, and she’ll use as much of it as necessary. For her own goals and dreams.

This was never about him.

With a resolute nod, she climbs to her feet and reaches for her backpack for her notes. She has work to do.

Hours later, she looks up to find that, other than the warm yellow lamplight, the room has gone dark, the sun having long since set. Blearily, she blinks, only to realize that, perhaps subconsciously, she has focused on the picture frame resting on the corner of her desk. Without thinking, she picks it up, lips curling at the sight of Jihyun grinning behind the glass, his arm flung around her shoulders, and remembers his pride when it was taken, celebrating her official acceptance into the medical program.

She has an apology to make.

Gentle fingers set the photograph back down in its place of honor before she hurries to the door, his name on her lips. Before she can call, however, she’s arrested by the sight of him, leaning against the opposite wall and asleep, neck cricked at an angle that’s sure to leave him sore when he awakens.

A smile rises, unbidden, to her lips as she kneels beside him, reaching out to lightly shake his shoulder. “Jihyun?”

He stirs, blinking several times before suddenly pulling her against his chest, arms wrapped around her so tightly that she’s not sure if he’s still dreaming.

“Jihyun?”

“I’m sorry.” His voice is muffled against her shoulder, but he pulls away enough to meet her gaze. “I shouldn’t have—”

She shakes her head, laying a finger against his lips. “No, it’s my fault. I’m the one who should be apologizing.” She takes a deep breath, studying his face carefully. “You were right. I was stressed after getting my scores back and I misinterpreted what you said and took it all out on you and I’m sorry.”

To her relief, he only laughs, pressing his forehead against hers. “We are a mess, aren’t we?”

At that, she has to smile back. “I suppose we are. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[90stimkon]

the predation club

Rating: Mature Length: 1,088 Pairing: Bokuto Koutarou/Kuroo Tetsurou (bokuroo / bokuro)

Summary: Bokuto isn’t just some velveteen rabbit.

Notes: inktober collab, day 19. hybrid au! inspired by this official rubber stamp zodiac merchandise, in case you’re wondering why bokuto is a rabbit and not an owl. unbetaed drabble.

my fic | buy me a coffee | commission me

You know that rush you get when you’re doing something you know you’re not supposed to be doing? That’s exactly the rush Bokuto gets when he steps into the Predation Club. The simple, no nonsense name made obvious the one thing that brought all its members together: a predator species’ desire to hunt prey and a prey species’ desire to be hunted by a predator.

Bokuto holds his breath as he takes off the jacket that hid his defining features; even if the club did boast security as one of its priorities, Bokuto wasn’t taking the chance. The chills run up his spine as his rabbit ears unfurl once his hood is slipped off, and the attendant who takes his coat passes him a half-mask with exaggerated rabbit features on it. Every person who enters the club receives a mask with their species on it, both preserving their members’ identities and allowing the members to seek out specific species for whatever kinks they may have.

Because that’s the other thing: this is a sex club.

On TV, there’s all kinds of reporters and academics arguing for species equality and an end to predator privilege, which Bokuto enjoys just as much as his fantasy of a big, strong predator holding him down and fucking him raw. Tonight, he might just score both.

Bokuto practically hops into the main lounge, spurred on by his curiosity. For so long he’s been used to seeing people of the same species stick together, so seeing a gazelle make home on a lion’s lap or a mouse making a lizard submit comes as a shock. Bokuto doesn’t dislike it though; he feels as free and guiltless for his desires as the others around him, and it gives him the confidence to walk to the bar, his cottontail shamelessly swishing from side-to-side for attention.

If that’s not enough, Bokuto’s next actions will be. He pointedly drapes himself over the bar and calls out to the bartender, “when can I use the hunting room?”

“As a hunter or hunted?” the bartender, an owl with soft, downy feathers peeking out of his mask, asks mildly.

“Hunted.” Bokuto’s response is shameless and unself-conscious, though it does take him a second to answer. He hadn’t thought that prey came to clubs like this to hunt, but he supposes it must be fairly common if he’s being asked. “I want the forest room, and I didn’t come with a partner.”

Beneath his mask, Bokuto’s blushing. His voice sounds so confident, even though inside his heart is thumping as much as his tail. It wasn’t easy to score an invitation to the exclusive Predation Club, and it’s Bokuto’s first time. He’d practiced asking the bartender for the room that would unlock his fantasy though, and all that time spent reciting in front of a mirror seems to pay off.

The bartender looks him up and down in an exaggerated tilt of his head. Bokuto understands; these eyeholes are tiny. Eventually the bartender says, “the room will be available in an hour. There’s already a predator interested in the room, so if you don’t find a partner you’d like to share the room with before it becomes available, we’ll pair you two.”

Bokuto nods and hops away, the weight in his chest settling light and funny. He’s no stranger to anonymous sex, but it’s new to know he’s going to consciously fuck somebody -- a predator -- he doesn’t know. It makes it a little more exciting; Bokuto’s not sure he could survive flirting and talking through a hunting-and-hunted fantasy, even as a vanilla as a forest scene. It’s too cliche, even if it is a two-year anniversary conversation. That’s how taboo it is.

He orders a drink and makes himself comfortable in the meantime, surveying the crowd. His eye falls over a barracuda, wolf, and eagle give him a once over after hearing Bokuto boldly declare his desire, and Bokuto wonders if any of them could be the interested predator the bartender mentioned.

It’s not long before a predator slides into the seat next to him and loosely wraps an arm around him, still touching the bar and casually enough that he could play it off if rejected. “Any predators you have your eye on?”

“No yet,” Bokuto confesses easily. He holds back the sigh in his voice, though. He’s used to being hit on by predators with corny pick-up lines in bars, so this doesn’t fall too far behind.

“Good, ‘cause I’m the one who requested the room.”

Bokuto does take a look after hearing that. The predator is a man, which Bokuto doesn’t mind so much as he’s a cat. Not a cheetah, not a lynx, not a jaguar. Not even a cougar. A cat. A domestic cat. “Oh.”

“Aww, c’mon, don’t give me that look!” the cat quips. His lips turn downward and Bokuto swirls his drink disinterestedly, imagining the cat’s eyes narrowing in hurt. “I’m just as good as any other predator! You’ll see.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Bokuto says vaguely. His hope for the evening just plummeted. Here he’d been hoping for a predator to outrun him, fling him over the shoulder, and drag him to the bed at the center of the forest room, but instead the person interested in sharing his fantasy is a kitty cat.

Bokuto feels his mouth curl into a frown before he can tell his face not to do that, and the cat leans in to bite the frown right off of him.

“What’s that for!?” Bokuto yelps. He jumps away, touching his bruised lips from where the predator nipped him. A few of the members glance at them, but most of them continue on in their business as though this is a common occurrence at the club.

Bokuto doesn’t get a response; the predator just stalks closer. “Proving to you that I’m just as good. You want me to be rough, right?”

“Well, uh…” Bokuto feels his tail quiver as he slowly nods. “Yeah.”

The cat winks at him, licking his lips. “Trust me, I can be a lot rougher, Cottontail.”

-

They end up making out in a private bathroom stall when they’re numbers are called out for entry into the forest room, but Bokuto can’t hear it when he sinks into his knees and unzips Kuroo’s pants. It’s okay that they missed their appointment, Bokuto figures, since the two of them are now members of the club and have plenty of time to explore the forest room together at a later time.

[ember-of-sin]

Writetober Day #1: Fear

Going to try some prompts from inktober/writetober, and see how it works out. Here’s the first day. Enjoy!

~

Hungry.

~

“Fucking Sudan,” Hamish Bertold swore, putting the cigarette to his lips and taking a long drag from it. The mercenary leaned back against the side of his jeep, looking up at the stars. “Fucking Sudan.” The Englishman looked over at the rest of his unit – Frederic Pashayev, a former Chechen guerilla, who’d giving up fighting for a cause once Russian artillery landed on his wife and child. Disgusted with both the failed separatist movement that couldn’t even save his own family and by the increasing number of Islamic fighters flooding into the country, the ex-Soviet had left his nation behind. Next to him, weaving his hands back in forth in a description of an event he’d probably mentioned ten times before was Jacques D’Entremot. Always well-groomed, even in a dirty fucking country like this, the Frenchman also loved fire. Perhaps a little more than he should, but not so much that Bertold had to make sure he didn’t go burning down a village for no reason.

Sitting on the hood of the car was the fourth member of their team; Anna Lee Smith, an American. ‘Little Orphan Annie’ whenever you thought she wasn’t listening. You didn’t find many women in this kind of work, but Smith was one of the exceptions. A head shorter than Bertold, she wasn’t squat or bulky, but built and definitely tough enough to lay out any man that thought she was an easy mark. Smith was also prone to starting bar-clearing brawls whenever she thought that she was getting less than the full amount of respect that she deserved.

Bertold ran a finger around his collar, desperate for even that temporary relief. It was a hot night here, so humid you could practically drink the air. “How much longer, Abdul?” he asked.

“Please, sir,” their guide offered in a voice of forced obsequiousness. ‘Abdul’ was not his real name. In the North, he was a devout Muslim convert. In the south of the country, he was an upstanding Christian by birth. For want of an actual identity, Pashayev had given him his name and it had stuck. “It will take however long it takes.”

“It better take less time than that,” Frederic commented darkly. They’d been waiting here, outside another shithole Sudanese village for the past four hours. Allegedly, Abdul had a contact here who would know where their targets were headed.

The mercenary ran a finger through his collar again. A very wealthy man had hired them after his very idealistic daughter had run off to join one of the aid agencies working in the country. A death squad had visited the girl’s camp. They had not been terribly impressed with the group’s humanitarian mission, and had objected to the dispersal of supplies, food and medical attention to the southern Sudanese. They had requested that all goods be turned over to them, as government authorities, for proper distribution. The medical personnel had not wanted to do this. The northerners had insisted. Quite strenuously.

Officially, the government knew nothing about the ‘Camp Holtisce Massacre’, where 87 southern Sudanese men, women and children were slaughtered, 7 foreign aid workers were butchered and one very wealthy man’s overly idealistic daughter was raped and murdered. The very wealthy man had pressured his government to take corrective measures, which amounted to a strongly-worded finger-wagging. The very wealthy man then spent a considerable amount of money to find out exactly who had carried out the Camp Holtisce atrocity and to contract, through appropriate channels, Bertold and his team. Who would, thank you, locate the team and make sure to express the very wealthy man’s extreme displeasure before sending them off to whatever lay in the hereafter.

A good job for good pay.

Bertold’s team had been tracking the northerners for some time now and were almost on them, but somehow they’d given him the slip. They’d moved into the small, out-of-the way southern town to do what came naturally to genocidal lunatics – at least Bertold had thought so, but the notable lack of shots and screams showed a restraint that was totally out-of-character for the northerners. Either they had decided to give peace a chance, or they had figured out that Bertold and his team were tailing them and were either a) lying in wait, or b) had snuck out of the village either to escape or circle around and then ambush the mercenaries.

No matter how it went, Hamish did not like the possible outcomes. He’d fallen his unit back off the main roads far enough that they should be able to spot any flanking attempts, but there was no sign of life from the village ahead.

Abdul had gone ahead to signal his contact there, and received the ‘wait’ response. Which only made Bertold and his team more nervous.

Smith and D’Entremot had swept the area three times already; no sign of flankers and Abdul had checked with his contact again, got another ‘wait’. So, what the fuck was going on?

“This is ridiculous,” Pashenyev growled. “If they’re going to fucking come at us, then come at us already.”

“Maybe they’re bunkered down, thinking the same thing?” Anna suggested, cradling a sniper rifle that seemed two sizes too big for her.

Hamish nodded to himself. No point in waiting any more; if there was a trap, they might as well go in to spring it. “Move out, then. We’ll leave the jeep here.”

“And, you can be assured that will I safeguard it valiantly,” their guide promised.

Frederic grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and gave him a shove. “You’re on point,” the Chechen growled.

~

“Motherfucking Christ,” Smith whispered in horror as the cone of light from her flashlight played over scene of carnage.

There’d been no sentries.

No drunks loitering around the outskirts of the town, no children sneaking out of bed, no men and women carousing. There was only the stench of blood, the hissing of small, unattended fires and the crackling of glass from shattered windows underfoot. There were no bodies. Only bloodstains splashed against walls and doors, dirt and fences. Bits of bone, pieces of entrails. Drag marks leading off into the savannah.

The crude wooden floors of huts were splashed with dark, reeking fluid. Fingernails had curled deep scratches leading in floors, door frames and windowsills. The woman’s nose crinkled at the mingled scents of blood and urine, the actinic musk of perspiration underlying everything. Not, not just perspiration; fear.

Anna could feel her heart pounding in her chest. She didn’t know why; she’d fought on a dozen different battlefields, seen and done things far worse than this empty village but here… it was wrong. Indefinably, inescapably wrong. Something… something bad had happened, beyond even what her eyes were telling her.

They shouldn’t be here.

-run-

It was a whispering, chittering voice in the back of her skull, repeating the mantra over and over again. Run. Run. Run.

The mercenary played her flashlight over the walls of the house she was in, a squat and simple one-room hut. There; something on the walls, some kind of writing, it looked like. Smeared on the planks in a shaking hand, barely legible, it trailed off into an indecipherable scrawl as its author was dragged away:

They are h...

Inside her, the voice grew louder, but she shoved it away and backed out of the empty house, continuing her sweep of the village, and if a shiver of movement caught her eye, it was only ever the rustling of grass or some litter that had caught in the wind.

~

“This is wrong,” Abdul said, clutching his own pistol tightly. “Death squads leave the bodies as a warning. This is not a regime were people are disappeared. Not like this.”

“Yeah? So where are they?” Hamish demanded, playing his light over a broken bicycle. The dirt beneath it had been torn up with frantic movements, a dark stain in the dusty soil. A busted watch lay discarded in the dirt, its strap torn, the glass face broken. The mercenary knelt down to pick it up. It had stopped over six hours ago, even before the death squad had gotten here.

That was impossible. It meant-

“Ham,” Anna’s voice crackled through the radio. “Get over here. We’re in the village square.”

“What’d you find?”

“Our targets.”

~

The death squad; a dozen men armed with a variety of weapons, from machetes and hammers to AK-47s and even an RPG or two. Not that it had done them much good. These bodies were still here, left out where they’d fallen, their manner of their deaths telling a very distinct tale.

They’d come to the town to rape, pillage and murder and found it just as empty. Fanning out to search for the villagers that they’d believed to be hiding, they’d been hunted down and killed themselves, picked off one by one. In houses, searching closets. In the street, standing guard, or when they’d tried to run.

One of them was slumped at the wheel of one of their vehicles, a jagged chunk of metal imbedded in his skull, thrown with considerable force and accuracy.

“Their magazines are still full,” Jacques pointed out, touching a finger to the barrel of the driver’s gun. It was no warmer than the Sudanese climate allowed for. “Whatever happened, happened fast.”

“It must have been the villagers,” Pashayev said, his fingers tapping against his submachine gun in a cadence continually increasing in tempo. He felt it too. It was in the air. Something wrong had been here.  “The villagers. They decided to not to put up with these fuckers’ shit and gave a little back.” He didn’t sound like he believed it, but Bertold could see Frederic was rattled. They all were. There was something about this place

“Yeah, you think?” Smith spat, shining her flashlight into Frederic’s face. “You think a village of goat-farmers just up and killed a dozen men and then ghosted off into nowhere again like the fucking SAS? That strike you as plausible?”

“Maybe the old man hired someone else for the job,” Jacques snapped back, stroking his natty little goatee. “They just got here first. Some other merc troop.”

“No…” Bertold mused. “We would have heard. And nobody on the market is this good.”

“Then what the fuck happened here?”

“More to the point,” Anna raised her hand. “Why do we care? The targets’re dead, we’re not. Let’s go get paid. Do we really have to play the horror movie cliché of ‘explore the spooky village’?”

Jacques nodded. “I agree. Answers are for people who care to ask questions. Let’s not.” There was an edge to his voice and Bertold looked over at his companion; he was feeling it too. They all were.

“All right,” he said. “Let’s-”

“Wait,” Abdul put in. “We must find our contact.”

“‘Our’ contact?” Pashayev grunted.

Hamish pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sure he’s fine. He probably lit out when he saw us coming in.” Burn the village, run away run away never come back.

The Russian laughed. “Didn’t want to be mistaken for another spook in the dark.”

Whatever Abdul had been about to say in reply was cut off by a startled shout from Anna. “Movement!”

Hamish spun, lifting his gun and sweeping the flashlight beam across the empty village; there. Someone had just run between two houses. He gestured to his team, Frederic and Jacques breaking off to slip around while he and Anna moved in. Abdul remained where he was.

The clear night was starting to cloud over; only the orange glow of the small, still-burning fires and the thin cone of light from Hamish’s lamp provided any light at all as the moon’s glow was slowly devoured. He flicked off the flashlight, unwilling to give away his position. Ahead of him, he could hear raspy, frightened breathing, the scrape of feet over dirt. His nose twitched.

-blood-

The village reeked of it, stunk of fear and pain. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to listen to the gibbering voice inside him and just run, run until he no longer could and pull the ground in over him. Instead, he forced himself to take another step and then, another.

His head throbbed, the flush of adrenalin making his entire body shake. I know this, some ancient part of him quavered. I… remember this. Long-forgotten, buried beneath generations of human primacy, some atavistic part of him shivered in uncomprehending horror. That … there was no word to describe it. The human sense of smell was vestigial compared to that of other organisms and the scent of blood and death, ash and befoulment in this place was almost overpowering, but beneath it… one particle in a thousand. A million. A billion. There was no definable odour, but he could still feel it. It was everywhere. This is a bad place, that primitive voice whimpered.

Beside him, he could hear Smith, the hitch of her own breathing telling him that she felt it too. Their eyes met, each of them wanting to run, each of them shaking off the primitive instinct as nothing more than the willies. But, the little voice insisted, growing louder. You’ve seen worse. You’ve done worse. Why this place?[/i]

He remembered a tidbit he’d heard on one nature program or another. The scent of a ferret so terrifies rabbits that some die of fright before they ever see it...

Stop it! he ordered himself as he continued down the alley. A ray of moonlight pierced through the clouds as they briefly thinned out. There was a shadow on the other side of nearest house’s corner. Hamish slid sideways, cursing himself for the scuffing his feet made in the dirt. You’re better than this!

So thick in the air, he could almost feel it, making every nerve scream in primal terror, he forced the incomprehensible fear away and moved closer, adrenalin starting to make his arms shake.

As the moon’s light retreated again, he gestured for Anna to give him a little space as he whirled around the corner. There was a startled cry as he swung the barrel of the gun into the face of a terrified girl.

~

The man who today went by the name of Abdul swore to himself and kicked a furrow in the beaten-down dirt of the path. He didn’t like this, anything about this. Jamal should have been here waiting for them when they arrived, even if the village was like this. It wasn’t like him to play these sorts of games.

Waiting for the mercenaries to return, Abdul sighed with disgust. He headed to Jamal’s house, forcing himself to loosen his grip on his pistol, but each time he inadvertently found his hands tightening about it painfully, like a child with a security blanket worried about the Boogeyman.

He passed by a patter of red in the silhouette of a man and suppressed a shudder, recalling too many local tales of the jinns. In some tales, they were harmless tricksters. In others, they were malign spirits. Still others… Abdul shook himself. Superstitions, he told himself. That was all.

There; he was at his destination, a small chicken coop on the edge of town. Jamal’s brother owned it and it would not be out of place for his contact to be seen here; that was why they had chosen it. There was a cluttering of clucks from the hens; they were all cowering in their coop, heads cocked at Abdul, terrified eyes staring... almost expectantly.

Abdul suppressed the insane urge to scream at them, demanding that they tell him what they had seen. He paused, catching some motion in his peripheral vision, but when he turned to look, there was nothing. Just another stupid bird.

He found the small shed that Jamal contacted him from, frowning as he picked out a strange shape in the dirt. It was Jamal’s flashlight. Why would it…? He turned it over in his hands, freezing as his fingers touched something sticky, warm and wet. With a suddenly shaking hand, he drew his own flashlight and shone it on the ground, revealing the thick, matted bloodstains there.

“No…” he whispered.

“Khalikh,” he heard someone call his name, his real name.

He looked up, seeing a form slip behind a house. “Over here,” the familiar voice called.

“Jamal? Is that you?”

“Over here, Khalikh,” Jamal called. “Over here.”

His heart pounding, the man vaulted over the fence, rushing to the building, and rounding the corner, but there was no one there.

“Khalikh,” the voice called, a little closer. There – in the shadows between this house and the next, he could just make out a human form. “Over here. Hurry.”

“Yes, yes. Just stay there.”

“I’ll stay,” Jamal promised. “Khalikh, come here.”

Khalikh stepped into the darkness. “What happened here, Jamal? Are you all right?” the other man did not respond. “Jamal? Are you hurt? Say something!” He fumbled with the light, almost dropping it before turning it on, a spotlight shining on the ground, catching the dried pool of blood there perfectly, a fresh drop splashing onto the crimson soil. The blood drained from Khalikh’s face as he panned the beam up over the figure. “Jamal,” he whispered, reaching up to close his friend’s eyes. Left here like… like…

…like bait.

“Khalikh,” Jamal’s voice called from behind him. “Over here.”

~

“Please!” she begged, cowering away from the mercenary. “No hurt!”

As keyed-up as he was, Hamish almost pulled the trigger anyways. “Who are you?” he demanded, his nostrils flared. “What happened here?” He could barely form the words, his breath ragged and hoarse in his throat.

The girl – her skin was lighter than that the southern Sudanese African population, pressed herself up against the wall as if trying to flatten herself against it. “Don’t hurt me! I’m afraid!” She didn’t look more than twenty years old, if that. Kill her! some part of Hamish shrieked in rising panic.

“It’s okay,” Smith tried to reassure the frightened girl, but could barely form the words. Run, her mind screamed even louder, a shriek that bubbled up from the deepest, darkest recesses of racial memory. Run from her! But even as that voice screamed and gibbered, another insisted that everything was all right, that she didn’t have to be afraid, that she just had to reach out and help the girl…

“I’m afraid,” the young woman repeated.

“You don’t have to be,” Smith tried, swallowing back her own terror, forcing herself not to retch. Her legs were shaking. “We’re here to help you.” She had to help her; the poor thing was so frightened, she had to, to get closer and…

..she took another step.

“Please,” the girl said – did her lips twitch just then? – pulling deeper into the shadows, but letting Anna approach. “I’m afraid.”

Something’s not right. Hamish realized, pulling himself out of his stupor. He grabbed his radio. “Jacques, Fred – come in.” There was nothing; only static. “Abdul.” No response. “Anna, let’s-” Smith was reaching for the girl. Yes, that was the thing to do. Run! Don’t be afraid. Never stop, never stop! Hamish grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

“The fuck, Bert?” Anna demanded, but the mercenary captain’s eyes never left the young woman in front of them, his gun still shaking in his one-handed grip.

“Don’t hurt me,” the girl sobbed, so small and frightened. “Please. I’m afraid.”

The moon returned, filling the entire village with cold, clear light. It lasted only seconds, but that was enough. The shadows vanished and Hamish could see the dark stains covering the girl’s clothes, the dried blood around her mouth… and the green cats-eye gleam of her gaze. She was beautiful, but… wrong somehow, her near-Arabic features perfect; too perfect. As if someone had tried to sculpt a human, but didn’t quite realize what one should be. She saw his realization. Her eyes glittered with reflected light as she smiled, exposing a too-wide mouth full of gleaming teeth. “Please help me,” she begged in the same pleading tone. “I’m hungry.”

Shoot her! Shoot her shoot her shoot her now! Hamish’s mind shrieked, but he couldn’t make himself pull the trigger. It was all he could do not to run, his heart pounding in his ears like thunder, his entire body shaking. He backed away from the girl, pulling Anna with him, each step an effort not to throw the woman at the thing in front of him and flee in blind panic.

There was a flicker of motion and the girl was gone, as if she’d only been his imagination.

~

“She was there,” panted Smith. “She was there.”

“Yeah,” Hamish nodded, checking behind them. “Yeah, she was.” He grabbed his radio. “Abdul, Jack, Fred. Where the fuck are you?” Christ, her eyes. Her mouth. Was that just a… a trick of the light? He almost staggered as faded, washed-out memories threatened to overwhelm him. No, not memories. Not really. No faces. No images. No sounds. But they were there, a terrifying recognition. His knees buckled, but he kept control of his stomach, clutching the radio as if it were a lifeline to sanity. His conscious mind struggled to make sense of atavistic memories, interpreting them as fragments, scenes played out over and over so many times that they’d imbued themselves directly in his genes. A warning, dormant for generations but now shrieking as strongly as any other primal instinct.

-screaming, dragged off into the darkness-

-gleaming green eyes in the dark, Cheshire grins of sharp teeth-

-the scent of them filling the air, nostrils flaring, hooting in rage and fear, a fist clenched in panic-

-they are watching, always watching-

“We’re here,” Jacques answered, his voice crackling through the radio, pulling Hamish out of his spell.

Bertold pulled himself back to his feet, trying to calm himself, but he was still shaking, that fear was still there, eating away at him. He had enough firepower to kill this village himself and he’d gotten the shakes over a ninety-eight pound waif? What the fuck happened here? What were those things? “Christ, you assholes take a vacation or something?” Focus on them. On them, nothing else. We’re getting out of here, that’s what matters.

“We’re here. Are you coming?”

“Fuck you,” Hamish growled. “We’re pulling out. Now. I can’t raise Abdul. You seen him?” Yes run run run run.

“No.”

“Too bad for him, then. I’m not waiting. We’re leaving.”

“Where are you?”

“We didn’t go far, jackass,” Hamish snapped. “You?”

“Over here.”

“Thanks. Very helpful.” Bertold had reached the village square again, the dead death squad still laying where they’d fallen. He staggered and almost fell; looking down, he saw what had tripped him. The flashlight from Frederic’s uniform. There was a spot of red liquid on the lens. Hamish picked it up, the blood draining from his face. “Jacques… let me speak to Frederic.”

“I’m here,” Pashayev’s Russian burr growled through the comm. It sounded just like him. “Are you coming?”

“Yeah. Yeah, we are…” Hamish said, acid bubbling up his windpipe. Just like the girl.

From behind them, he could hear a soft, flowing melodic cry. The girl. She was crawling over the thatched roof of the nearest house, arms and legs moving like a spider, feet dug in, ready to spring. She was staring at them, her eyes shining green in the reflected firelight, the blood around her mouth glistening wetly. There was no malice in her expression, just… intensity. She opened her mouth and sang again.

Something nearby answered her, a hushed, taunting whisper in Jacques’s voice: “Over here.”

Hamish let the flashlight fall from his hands, looking to Anna for… what, he didn’t know, but the woman was gone. He looked back up at the girl, watched as a long, bifurcated tongue ran over her lips and the blood there. It was fresh.

Her expression never changed as she continued to stare. Patient. Wary. Hungry. Name. My name is Hamish Bertold, he told himself. “I know what you are,” he said; barely a whisper, his mouth was dry. He forced himself to scream it: “I know what you are!” I have… I have survived worse than this. I have killed dozens of men. I am a human man, top of the food chain and I am not afraid. I am not afraid. I have a gun and all she… they have is… is…

I know what you are, she seemed to say, his imagination filling in her part of the conversation. And it is simple. Prey.

It was only the smallest gesture, really. The girl slid her tongue out towards him, a beckoning gesture. His courage failed entirely and Hamish opened fire, screaming incoherently, the weapon bucking in his shaking hands as he sprayed bullets in all directions, hitting nothing. In seconds, the weapon clicked empty and he threw his gun away, running for all he was worth. His lungs burned as he ran, his heart thudding so hard it felt as if it would explode, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter where he ran, just as long as it was away.

Rabbits and ferrets…

There was a rush of movement behind him and he looked over his shoulder, he had a glimpse of green and white as he tumbled to the ground, flailing, shrieking and gibbering in blind panic as warm breath blew over his face and sharp teeth closed on his throat.

“Please,” even over the sound of his own screaming he heard someone speaking in Anna’s voice. “I’m hungry.”

[ramblinganthropologist]

Inktober Day 28 - Gift

Summary: Ayame has a gift to help Ray and Vaughan do proper idol activities. It’s hard to get your own Aikatsu pass when you’re indy.

---

Monday; even in Japan, it was the worst day of the week.

“Stand! Bow!”

From her seat in the back of the room, Ray's back threatened to crack in two. She still wasn't too sure about this whole bowing thing – it seemed dumb to her. But it was Japan, and she wasn't a total asshole. When the class rep barked orders at the end of class, even she listened.

Class was over for the day inside the general education wing of Star Harmony Academy. Girls in green dresses with blue collars filtered out of their classrooms, heading to club activities or other obligations. Class 1-3 was no different. Once they were free to go, out they went.

Ray was the last among them. She took her time gathering up her books, grimacing at the day's attempt. Between her awkward hiragana – kanji was beyond her still – and doodles when she had lost focus, not a whole lot was going on there.

“Guess I might need to look at Mei's notes again.” The girl in front of her was no doubt being polite to the dumb ass foreigner, but her notes were a godsend. It wasn't as if she wanted to rely on them, but it was just so damn hard to pay attention in class, especially in her heavy uniform as spring warmed up around them. It be a miracle if she stayed awake at all come summer.

Really, though, she was stalling. The last thing Ray wanted right then was to go out into the hallway and expose herself to the girls of the general track. After what had happened on Saturday... she winced at the thought. No thanks.

That had been beyond a shit show.

Sighing, she eventually threw her backpack over her shoulders and left the classroom, entering the corridor that would lead her outside the school gates. Maybe it was just her imagination, but a few of the students whispered as she passed.

If it wasn't them, it was her goddamn teacher asking if she was going to transfer. No.

“Ray.”

It wasn't the voice that drew her attention. Rather, the person speaking hadn't tacked anything onto it. That was rare, especially at school. So, Ray broke out of her mini pity party and looked in the direction it was coming from.

Ok, clearly the whispers weren't for her at all. Good to know.

“I think you're on the wrong side of school, Ayame.”

Her stepsister's school shoes and the bright pink bow made that more than obvious. She stuck out like a sore thumb on this side of the campus. Among her idol classmates no one would have batted an eye but this was an entirely different country practically. One with more practical shoes, for that matter.

Then again what did Ray know about that, her street shoes were combat boots.

Ayame had been standing by the classroom door, no doubt creating quite a scene. Really, it was a wonder Ray hadn't noticed her. Maybe it was the warm weather. Either way, her stepsister wasn't in the practice room, and that was weird.

She normally didn't leave that on school days til practically 7 unless she had a job in town. What gives?

“I needed to talk to you about something. Could you come with me?”

Oh... shit.

If this was about transferring, Ray didn't want to hear it. Still, she fell in line behind Ayame as the older girl started walking. Together, the pair went from the general education side of the school towards where the idols had their classes. There was no official line in the sand to mark them off, but even so. It felt different.

It kind of felt like she was invading as she crossed over.

“How was class today?” Ayame's tone was polite as they walked through the corridors of the idol section. As Ray looked in the door, she saw girls in track suits practicing their moves or going through other lessons in the practice areas. There was nothing like that on her side of the school – they didn't really need it. “Is it getting easier to write in hiragana?”

“Yeah... kanji's still kind of hard though. I don't get stroke order for shit.” She looked around frowning. “Ayame, if this is about transferring classes, I already said I wasn't interested. Besides, I'd break my neck in those shoes.”

Seriously, who made heels part of a school uniform? It had to be idol hazing – everyone else got nice, normal shoes that slid on easy. Those looked like torture devices, especially since the idols had to wear them all day. Forget about it.

Her stepsister didn't break stride as they kept walking. “First off, you'd be surprised how quickly you can adapt to them if you wear them all the time.”

She would rather not.

Ayame wasn't finished though. “Wait here, I'll be right out.”

They stopped not at some administrator's office, but at a small room that Ayame entered after briefly making herself known. It was hard to hear what she was talking about through the thick wood, but the glass gave a pretty good view. She was talking with some adult who was at a whiteboard covered in multicolored writing. Something about Sakura Sensation maybe?

“Guess that's her manager.” Ray had never met the woman, though she had heard about her over dinner. She was pretty sure that was Suzuki, but it wasn't like she was being introduced to her or anything. “Wonder what's up?”

She froze briefly when the woman looked straight at her through the glass, back snapping ramrod straight with such a ferocity she swore they'd be able to hear it crack all the way back in Amarillo. Luckily, nothing was broken – just her pride was a bit bruised.

Ayame came out a few moments after that, closing the door behind her. From the looks of things, they weren't stopping to chat. That was fine by Ray as she fell in step behind her stepsister – introductions could lead to other things, like pink bows and heeled school shoes. Besides, she had once been told she had a problem with authority.

No idea where they got that from.

“Something up?” Ray asked when they got away from the production room. They had stopped at the small outside area where the fountain could be accessed by both classes. There was a free bench, so that's where they wound up. Much to her surprise, she swore she could feel a tension in the air.

Her stepsister didn't answer at first – she was too busy sorting through small cards, dividing them up into two neat piles to her right. Whatever she was working with, it was like she handling some holy book. There was love in her touch, almost outright devotion.

… Well, shit. What the fuck had she done now?

Ray had never been good at waiting for things. Twitchy, her grade school teacher had said when they were being polite. Outright asshole was what the less polite ones had gone for. She wasn't a patient person, and it was showing now. It took everything in her not to get up and look, and even as she remained seated the urge was there. But somewhere a teacher got its wings as she stayed in her seat and for once in her goddamn life, didn't open her mouth.

Wouldn't her mother be proud?

When Ayame had finished, she scooped up one of the piles and sorted it again. Then she turned to face Ray. Finally, she handed the small stack over, a smile flitting across her face. The second pile she kept in her hands, probably for safe keeping against the wind.

“What's this?” Ray glanced down and blinked in surprise. At the top of the pile was a shiny pink card with a diamond to the left and her name in katakana to the right. It was held in a little pink carrier, much like the one Ayame kept on her schoolbag. “Wait, this looks like your-”

Aikatsu Pass. It was an Aikatsu Pass – hers.

Wordlessly, Ray put the pass and holder aside. Underneath were four cards, each of them depicting an article of clothing. Unlike Ayame's, they weren't branded with anything other than a spade for the cool type, but she didn't need that. After all, she had worn the exact same outfit on stage, give or take a few modifications by whoever had seen fit to make it.

Seeing her stepsister's face, Ayame filled in the details. “Suzuki-san helped me make the coord cards and fill out the information for your pass. Vaughan's stuff is over here. I hope he doesn't mind his pass is pink – we only have that kind here.”

She kept on, still smiling. “You have the Aikatsu app on your phone, right? If you scan the QR code you can put your coord in there so you can keep your cards in a binder.”

“Uh... yeah.” Ray swallowed hard, suddenly finding it a little hard to do so. Allergies, maybe? “I mean... thanks. You didn't have to do this.”

With her own pass and cards, she technically had all she needed to be an official idol. Unlike the last time, now she and her partner could access the Aikatsu system and the illusion stage. There would be no more standing in front of a blank screen in front of an audience used to that sort of thing. If they chose to, they could work the system the same as any other idol.

Because... well... they were technically idols now, weren't they?

Ayame shook her head at the gratitude. “I did, really. You two didn't stand half a chance against Pure Palette without passes or coords. It's amazing you scored as well as you did.”

She handed Ray Vaughan's pass and cards and the two shared a gaze. For the first time, Ayame didn't look annoyed with her. Rather, there was something almost like pride. Was she proud of her? That wasn't exactly something the younger girl was used to, and she quickly averted her eyes as her face heated up. So much for being a tough guy.

“Yeah, I know it was a shit show. You don't have to bring it up.”

Her stepsister giggled at the reaction. “Sorry, didn't mean to bring up any bad feelings. You'll get them next time.”

She stood, looking towards the practice room. “I have to get back to my lessons, but I'll see you tonight at home. Tomorrow I'll show you and Vaughan how to use the system.”

Great, because it made no fucking sense to Ray – bunch of buttons and weird light shit that popped up out of nowhere. If someone who understood it was willing to show them the ropes, they'd take it. Besides, they had practice at her school tomorrow anyway.

Before she left, Ayame ha one last remark. “Put them away before you lose them.”

“Yes, mom.” Ray's voice was thick was sarcasm as she slid both the cards and one of the passes into the front pocket of her schoolbag, zipping it tight. “They're in my front pocket.”

Well, that fuzzy moment was over – her sister disappeared, leaving her alone with her thoughts and pass. In her hands, it looked so small. Yet as it reflected the light and showed her name spelled out so neatly in katakana  -neater than she could ever write it – a funny feeling took her over.

Instead of shoving it into the pocket of her backpack, Ray threaded it through the zipper. Then it was on her back as she headed not for home, but for her partner's school. They had practice planned for that afternoon, though it was scheduled to be more of a performance overview.

Maybe the cards would brighten their moods. After all, it wasn't every day you got a gift like that.

[save-the-spiral]

InkWizTober Day Twenty-One: Treasure + Summons

Welcome to day twenty-one of inktober! I wrote more about pirate101 because I Could Not Resist. I made a crew of OCs for Queen now, continuing on (this post). Tried to not accidentally mention SU characters or school gemstones in the process. Warnings for limb loss, weapon mentions, blood mention, general pirate stuff.

(link to prompt lists) (link to inktober tag)

She understands now.

The urge, the calling. Once out on the open skyways, where everything is laid out like a feast, the hunger sets in. It seems so simple, at first. Just a matter of survival. Her against the world now. 

She wants. And for the first time, she can do whatever she needs to in order to get whatever she wants. She finally feels worthy of her name.

Masks become regular, a mask above a mask. A disguise of rags. One that quickly becomes a disguise of a gaudy, secretive captain. Dressed in rich blacks, draped in gold and silver, a large black hat with a broad ostrich feather dyed gold.

People mutter about her. They scatter in fear of this captain running a ship with no crew, who never drinks at pubs, who will stare with shadowed eye sockets from her mask. They wonder who and what she is. Most bets are that she’s a new rival to the young captain who had been both dominating and helping the Spiral in one swoop. Some think she’s some old legend revived by a witch doctor.

Queen is glad to know that no one suspects her. No one suspects a defective Armada puppet. Not even when she brings several haywire battle angels under her protection, giving them names and clothes and freedom like they’ve never known. They all call each other sister, and tell their tales.

No, at the closest people get is assuming she was once Valencian royalty, and got sick of the Armada. Only one of those is right.

Now when she walks its not the straight backed, aristocratic sway of a proper lady. Her left leg was destroyed by a Monquistan guard who tried to play hero. It still aches, even when replaced by the slightly shorter limb of a fallen Armada musketeer. She limps, and even that is enough for people to look away quickly, still able to pity her and feel disgusted in the same glance. 

Queen loves the imperfection. It makes her more alive. It makes her feel like a pirate, battle worn.

She has stolen now. She steals and lies and cheats, even in her written notes to communicate with people outside her crew. She kills now, blood and oil and strange magics all the same when they spill under her blade. She does whatever she wants, never answering to anyone anymore. 

And so she’s a pirate now. Enemy of every government. Something to be feared. Something free and living outside of any society. The power is intoxicating, but she works hard to remember to never put herself on a pedestal. Arrogance was Kane’s downfall, it could easily become hers. 

Queen is humbled, however, when she and her crew finally reach the Skull Island Skyways. Every pirate here seems more vicious than they could ever be, all of them almost bored by the wanton violence. Crime is the way of life here, it is what builds every single home, what fuels every fire.

Queen feels like she’s coming home, another misfit finally finding her island. Her crew of fallen angels can only agree, all of them awed by the bright skies, the flourishing greenery, the intricate flags flying high. They’ve reached paradise.

Their ship is moderately sized, with plain black flags only depicting a delicate golden wing. A reminder of their past, what they all were meant to be. They wear black and don masks, metal bodies resistant to the heat. When they dock at Skull Island itself, they all glance at each other as if they cannot believe it. 

Even Queen finds an artificial breath shuddering out of her chest, a protocol meant to quiet her gears. A majority of her old protocols were to make her quiet, unseen. She tends to ignore them gleefully now.

Her right hand, an ex-angel she gave the name Sterling, was gripping the plain wooden wheel to their ship so hard it had begun to creak in complaint. Queen gently places a hand on Sterling’s shoulder, hearing faint muffled clicks as every joint in her right hand’s body relaxes. 

“Anchor down.” Queen calls, voice almost drowned by the loud sounds of ships and crews casting off or also docking. Two of her crew mates, Rhodium and Rhenium, the ones who insist on acting like twins, drop the anchor and high five, always more youthful than their sisters.

The dark wood of the deck clacks awkwardly with her limping gait, her heeled original leg sharper than the almost flat musketeer’s leg. Queen gestures for Sterling to follow, gathering her crew near the largest mast, waiting for their look out to slide down from the crow’s nest.

The crew’s lookout, given the name Malachite for her penchant for greens, slides down with ease. Her calm demeanor is betrayed by nervousness, and her hands shake under green gloves, fiddling slightly with her guns.

Malachite nods nonetheless. “No battles anywhere, seems as busy as usual.” 

Rhodium and Rhenium are practically vibrating, eager to explore the island, too childish for their own good. “Let’s go then!” They say in unison, holding hands.

The crew all turns to Queen. She wants to protect them all, and her chest aches with something she has not been able to name. A dozen ex-angels, all of them lovingly named by her, named after precious and unique things, stones and metals. To remind them that they are all people now, that they have worth. 

And now she had to decide if she could trust them to stay safe on an island full of pirates that would rip them to shreds if they caught wind of the clockwork hidden under baggy clothes and masks, boots and gloves and mystery.

Zircon, ever surly and combative, crosses her arms with a sharp click and, if she were able too, would surely frown. “Everyone settle down. We cannot all go at once, too many masked pirates draws attention.”

“Don’t we want that though?” Sterling asks with a quirked head. “We want to speak to Avery, after all. He would be intrigued by a new crew.”

“But they could think we were-” Malachite cuts herself off, “Well, they could assume the wrong thing. Shoot first, ask later. Then they get one of our bodies and-”

“We could take them.” Zircon scoffs. “But I still say only Captain and Sterling go.” 

More of her crew chime in, Stichtite with her wild ideas, Spectrolite with the inevitable pun, Osmium trying to pick a fight with Meteorite. The others try to add their two cents, only for it to be drawn into arguments and jokes, all while Queen tries to decide.

“Okay- everyone, listen.” Queen says. And they all do, going dead silent, and it feels like a ghost ship for one dreadful second before Rhodium giggles. “So. The plan is now that I and Zircon will go to Avery. Malachite and Sterling, you go to the pub.”

Queen is proud of the way Zircon handles herself, adjusting the dangerous mace on her shoulder, not bragging as she once may have, not overcompensating. Malachite stands at attention as well, nervous energy gone now that she has a mission. Sterling is as reliable as ever at her side.

Queen continues to speak now, reassured. “Gather any intel about current events on the island, especially the young captain. Don’t make a big deal of being on my crew, but mention it. Cobalt, you are in charge of the ship while we are away, if anyone comes to talk to you, tell them to wait for our return.” 

With a small nod to herself, adjusting her feathered hat, Queen holds one hand on her scabbard as she jumps ship, unbalanced on the dock. Sterling quickly follows, helping Queen regain her land legs. 

Zircon and Malachite follow, and they begin to walk from the docks to the beach, all of them covered head to toe in cloth or armor, revealing only the flash of blade or the barrel of a gun.

Once Sterling and Malachite break off from the group, Zircon follows Queen closely, acting the part of loyal guard dog, staring down anyone who even thinks of grabbing the bounty on the head of her mysterious Captain.

It’s a rather high bounty, to be fair. Queen is rather proud of that fact. To not have an official name, but to be feared nonetheless, it is something that does her rogue heart proud.

They enter Avery’s Court to many stares, whispers in all accents like a rushing tide. A few people scamper, some of them off to tell others, some in fear.

Queen recognizes quite a few people who she has met in battle and thoroughly beaten. Even they leave her alone, pirate’s honor in this haven as coveted as gold, only the scum at the bottom of a yum barrel would bother attacking her now in this sanctuary.

They walk up to Captain Avery’s door and knock. This is a demonstration of fearlessness, of daring that only so few can possess. Avery is a respected man, too crafty for his own good. The pirate that bet everything and won, who made Skull Island, who guides the young captain through the Spiral, who was able to retire alive and wealthy.

Queen admires the man, but only as one can admire a leader, never as a person. She resolved to be attached to no man as soon as she realized what Kane had been turning her into. 

The door opens to Captain Avery seated at a long table, sipping tea. The young pirate captain and their right hand are seated as well, looking uncomfortable. All three turn to look at her. 

“I had been waiting for an opportunity to meet you, mysterious captain of the Pyrite Swan. Why don’t you and your friend come in for a spot of tea?” Avery grins, a gold tooth shining in the sunlight. “I promise we all can make it worth your while.”

When Queen sits, Zircon stands at her shoulder, mace in hand. Neither speak, and the similarly mute young captain looks confused, their face soft with baby fat and scarred by their journeys. 

Zircon hands Queen a golden quill and a roll of parchment, and Queen turns to Avery, waiting for him to speak.

She can only wait to see what game they’ll be playing soon enough.

[ramblinganthropologist]

Inktober Day 3 - Roasted

Summary: It’s not you... no, it’s you. Ayame had hoped Ray could get along with her fellow idols, but KiraKiratter blowing up that day is proof otherwise. At least she didn’t punch her? 

---

“Are you freaking serious?!”

It had been such a nice, quiet morning too.

Ayame yawned as she exited her bedroom, rubbing her eyes. Her schedule said she didn't need to be up for another hour, but she preferred to rise early in the morning. It gave her a little bit of personal time where she could prepare for the day. After all, an idol always needed to be ready.

The girl sharing the room next to her clearly hadn't gotten the message about needing eight hours of sleep, however. When Ayame poked her head in, the dark circles under Ray's eyes were practically visible from the door. She winced in sympathy for whoever had to cover those up later – she was pretty sure Sunburst had a variety show later.

“Weren't you supposed to be in bed by 10 last night?”

Tired green eyes focused on Ayame as her stepsister untangled herself from her blanket and met her at the door. Ray was a half head taller despite being a year younger, and she definitely had more muscle on her too. It wasn't totally rare to have an athlete become an idol – Ema was the best lacrosse player at their school after all – but someone with her... sparkling personality... definitely was.

Ok, she was kind of crabby. Or really crabby... now she was getting mean.

“I couldn't sleep. Ai sent me some shit about the show I'm going to be on later and I fell into a black hole of video clips.” She yawned and scratched the back of her head. “Was gonna grab some breakfast but then little miss sunshine decided to ruin my day.”

Ray held out her phone, the cracked edge barely protected by her violently pink rubber cover. Her KiraKiratter was set to English, so it took Ayame a few seconds to remember her classes. Thankfully, what she was supposed to look at was in Japanese

Yuuki Aine: Getting ready for today's variety show! Can't wait to see everyone there!

Underneath was a photo of the popular young idol waving to the camera. Her partner Mio was close by, and from the looks of things both were wrapping up some early morning training. Despite the time, it had already wracked up quite a number of views and comments from fans and well wishers alike. No doubt the show would be a popular one.

Especially considering Sunburst was going to be on the same one.

“They didn't tell you Pure Palette was going to be there too?”

Ray responded with a groan as she stuck her phone back in her shorts pocket. This was so she could backtrack into her room to start getting ready. Her school uniform was a heap of cloth on the ground, one sock by the window and the other rolled under her desk. It mixed with a lot of other clothes. The girl may have been many things, but neat wasn't one of them.

“Just that a popular Friends unit was going to be on with us. The way they were going I thought it was going to be the Space Cadets, not Pinkie and the Brain.”

Ayame shook her head at the nicknames and opted instead to sit on her stepsister's bed. Watching Ray get ready in the morning was like chaos incarnate, and not in a good way. How the girl kept her head on her shoulders was beyond her.

“You know you can't call them that at the taping, right?”

Ray had been in the process of stuffing her card binder into her backpack, the long-abandoned school official bag collecting dust next to her desk. Brown eyes met green – there was some annoyance there for sure.

“Yes, mom, I know. It's Aine and Mio from Pure Palette. They’re only fucking everywhere lately.”

She put her bag on the desk. “You should probably get ready too. Doesn't Sakura Sensation have that gourmet food thingy later?”

“Not until noon, don't get out of it.” Ayame crossed her arms over her chest. “You're a student of Star Harmony Academy, don't make us all look bad.”

Of course, Ray would have to wear her uniform to do that, and she more than often 'forgot' to do so to official events. She 'forgot' to do a lot of things sometimes. This was why Sunburst needed a proper manager – Sakura Sensation was always pristine, no matter where they went. Of course, she had long since given up trying to tell them that. They were all stubborn so the best she could do was shrug.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Mind getting out of my room so I can get ready, dearest elder stepsister?”

Ayame was already standing, heading to the door. “Have a good day at work today, Ray.”

“You too.”

The door shut behind her and Ayame was free to head downstairs for breakfast. With any luck, it would give her some ideas for the gourmet taping later that day. Though as she walked down the stairs, there was a sinking feeling in her stomach from more than just gravity. She cast one last glance back at the door, but then turned away.

Nah. As bad as Ray was, even she knew how to behave herself in public... right?

---

“Alright, that's a wrap everyone!”

Ayame sighed in relief as she relaxed her posture. It was the end of the filming, and her stomach was feeling more than a little full. She didn't mind of course – the waffles she had been sent out with her partner to try were delicious. As she had mentioned in her report, the fresh strawberry-infused whipped cream had been the best part. Plus, the cafe was downright adorable with its cat motif. Normally she had to say it anyway, but she would definitely be heading back again on her free time.

And... maybe getting a smaller serving.

Next to her, her Friend partner Honoka had already pulled out her mobile to check social media. Of the two of them, the glasses-wearer was far more savvy when it came to using things like AiTube and KiraKiratter. Managing Sakura Sensation's presence was part of her pride and joy, or at least she had said so when Ayame had asked if she had needed help. She seemed content to scroll her feed, so there wasn't much problem there.

“Anything good today?”

Honoka wore a bored expression as she continued to scroll down her feed. “Something from Reflect Moon about their upcoming live. We should probably go to that to see if they're as good a unit as they are apart.”

“I'll stick it in the schedule.” Ayame was already reaching for her Mobile and penciling it in. “Anything else?”

Sometime during scrolling, Honoka's eyebrow shot halfway to her hairline. That only made Ayame's stomach drop even more, even though she hadn't heard anything yet. It was like she didn't need to – she already knew.

“Please don't tell me.”

Honoka turned the screen around. “She did it again.”

Her feed was, in short, chaos. The most comments came from two posts – one from @Sunburst_Ray and another from an account she didn't know. The one from her stepsister's was in English, though Honoka had already translated it.

Anyone know how to say 'I'm not your friend, leave me the fuck alone' in Japanese? Asking for a 'friend'.

The answer as to why was a brief video clip taken from the back stage of the variety show Sunburst was supposed to be at with Pure Palette. From the looks of things, it was after filming and post Pure Palette's victory performance. Only two people were on screen – Aine in her school uniform, and Ray in her street clothes with a half finished can of energy drink.

“Ray-chan, you look tired! Did you sleep well last night?”

“No.”

Ayame winced as she watched. She knew that tone anywhere; it was her stepsister's “leave me alone” voice. Most people had no problem picking it out, but Yuuki Aine was a special one. She admired her for her commitment to making friends, but right now was just... dumb.

No wonder the two girls didn't really get along.

All Ayame could do was watch as on screen, Aine's cheeks puffed out. “That's no good, idols need their rest! You need at least eight hours to perform well!”

“Yeah, I know.”

No thank you, just another long slurp from a rapidly emptying can. Ayame could already see the exit move – brush past to throw it into the recycling bin. She had used it at home a few times already with their father. Only Aine wasn't their father and didn't realize what was going on.

Honoka clicked the volume down a few steps as  the next part played. “Make sure you go to bed early tonight, Ray-chan! A full night's rest and a good breakfast should fix you up in no time!”

“Oh no.”

Oh, yes. On screen, Ray's eyebrow twitched. Then her fist. Suddenly, she had Aine up against the wall, one fist near her head. The pink haired idol looked positively terrified as Ray leaned in, probably within a half inch of her face.

Where the heck was security, and who was filming this instead of helping?

“R-Ray-chan, wh-”

“Stop fucking trying to help me!”

“But... I want to help a friend o-

“I'm only going to say this once. We. Are. Not. Friends.”

And then she shoved off, leave Aine to stand there against the wall. The other idol was shaking, yet her face was starting to turn pink. Meanwhile, Mio was rushing over to her, looking ready to shout after Ray's form. Ray just didn't care – she kept walking, towards the camera from the looks of things. Then it shut off with just a focus on her face.

Oh boy... she was pissed.

Ayame could only groan and place her head in her hands. “I told her to behave herself.”

“She's not very good at her emotions, is she?” Honoka was already surveying the damage from the sound of things – and by how fast her finger was going. “No way Aine's going to return her feelings like that.”

…

Well, now she had a headache for multiple reasons. And it wasn't going to go away anytime soon as more posts about the so-called passionate confession continued to flood her feed. All she could do was watch and wonder how anyone had read romance out of that.

Clearly, Ray was roasting the crap out of Aine in one last ditch effort to make her leave her alone. But hey, what would Ayame know about that? She only lived with the girl.