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delimeful · 4 years

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you will see a better day

donation drive commission for @starrykid with the prompt: Remus dealing with intrusive thoughts and the others helping him through it.

warnings: canon setting, intrusive thoughts (a fair amount), gore mentions, implications of thoughts of self harm, Remus Going Thru It

Before, whenever he had a Bad Day, it was just more fuel on the trash fire that was his brain.

It was routine: Remus would wake up with a litany of grotesque images on the back of his eyelids, present every time he blinked or squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. These thoughts weren’t the fun kind of gross, the type that was fascinating or funny. They weren’t fun because he didn’t choose them, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get rid of them if he didn’t like them.

Guess that was how everyone else felt about you. Remus mashed a pillow over his own face as though it would muffle his own mind. What a stupid thought. He was a luxury few could afford, thank-you-very-much!

Back then, as soon as possible, he would find someone else in the Mindscape to bother, because if he had to deal with the awful thoughts carving and chipping away at the inside of his skull, it was only fair to share.

That was before, when things had been black and white and he could be a monster all he pleased because it wasn’t like anyone else thought differently. It wasn’t like Thomas thought differently.

Until he did.

And now they were all in one muddled up Mindscape and the others were trying, making an effort to clot their own bad habits and setting a place for him at the table. It was slow-going, like shoving a square peg into a circular hole, but it was also the most he’d ever had. Until something splintered, he was going to soak in every minute of it.

Or at least, that was his plan, up until he hit another Bad Day like a semi truck hit thrice-dead roadkill.

Same thoughts, same pounding (heh) headache. The difference was, now he couldn’t go word-vomit all over the nearest Side until he felt a little less like he was drowning. He was working to keep the delicate peace in his own way, and that meant not bothering the others with his… himself-ness on days like these.

He couldn’t stay in his room all day, though. For one it was boring, and for two, ever since they’d all agreed to try and cohabitate, Patton and Janus in particular were insistent on checking in if anyone acted strange. Cooping up in his room and not being his usual fantastically sickening and outrageous self would definitely pop up on their radar. If that happened, there was no way he could fool Janus outright. He preferred his own brand of frank honesty anyways, so clearly the only solution was to behave normally enough that nobody looked twice.

His version of normal, anyhow.

He groaned loudly and then dragged in a breath, manifesting a pair of slippers that looked uncannily like dead fish onto his feet. He would just have to put his excellent acting skills to use.

—-

Remus’s willpower was put to the test as soon as he reached the kitchen. A new record of his ability to destroy plans, this must be why Janus never told him anything.

Patton was spinning himself in circles on one of the round stools by the bar counter, humming a cartoon theme brightly to himself. At the stovetop, Virgil was sedately flipping pancakes, an easy set to his shoulders that meant he had probably recently taken a long-overdue nap in Logan’s room.

Normally, Remus would already be halfway into teasing the hell out of him, but now his brain felt scrambled with panic. Virgil was particularly susceptible to getting dragged into the cycle of intrusive thoughts on days like these, which meant the anxious Side was the last one he wanted to run into at the moment.

Two birds with one brick, his stupid hell brain suggested slyly. Send Virgil into a spiral and then it’ll be him who gets nagged, his fault for ruining the friendly atmosphere.

Stop it. Remus’s face twitched into a self-directed snarl for a moment, and he forced the thought away as Patton finally slowed his rotation to smile dizzily at him.

“Remus! Good morning!”

Virgil glanced over his shoulder, sending Remus’s heart rate briefly into the triple digits. Be normal be normal be normal. “Hey, Re. Morning.”

He didn’t even notice. So much for being your friend. If you’re subtle enough, you could sidle up behind him and smash his face into the hot burner—

“WHAT’S UP, FUCKERS!” Remus shouted, teeth spread in a too-wide grin. He bounced into the kitchen, depositing an assorted handful of teeth (his preferred currency) into the swear jar before Patton could say anything, and planted himself on the middle bar stool.

Patton scooted one stool closer to be next to him, because of course he did. Remus resisted the urge to start prying out handfuls of hair, his own or— no. Toned down, he was keeping it toned down. Buttcheek on a stick, this was difficult.

“Want to spin with me?” Patton asked, shifting antsily from side to side with barely contained energy.

“Whoever pukes first wins?” Remus replied automatically, and felt a bright burst of giddy joy when Patton giggle-snorted instead of recoiling.

“I think upchuck is actually supposed to mean you lose your lunch and the spinning contest, kiddo.”

Of course it did. You were designed to be the loser, even if you try to change the rules.

Remus knew that this time Patton had spotted the way his lips twitched down into a grimace, but before the fatherly side could say anything, there was the clink of ceramic plates on the counter in front of them.

“No spinning and/or vomiting if you want to eat my pancakes,” Virgil demanded, wielding a spatula threateningly at them as he clicked the stovetop off. “We’ll never hear the end of it from Princey if he has to reconjure all the furniture.”

Irrational, heated anger burned through him. Like Virgil could do anything to stop you. Social interaction was enough to give the guy a panic attack, he couldn’t tell Remus to do or not do anything—

“You good, Re?” Virgil asked, and he jerked, avoiding the other Side’s gaze as though eye contact would expose his thoughts. After a beat too long, his mind finally caught up with the plate in front of him.

His pancake was covered in a truly disgusting amount of cheese and ketchup, the way he always requested it back when they’d all been Dark Sides. Despite the fact that he always made a face back then, Virgil had made a point to remember, had done it without asking.

Like ravenous wolves, his thoughts instantly turned against him.

Pathetic. How could you think things like that about people who trust you? You shouldn’t even be here, pretending to be a person. You deserve everything coming to you.

His hand made it halfway to the fork sitting innocently next to his plate before he remembered himself. Virgil was still looking at him, clearly having caught the motion, and Remus lowered his hand, white-knuckled.

“Me, good? That’s a funny one, V-mo!” he tried to joke, but the odd edge to his voice made it fall flat. Virgil was outright frowning now, and out of the corner of his vision Patton’s eyebrows were drawing together.

“What’s wrong?” Virgil asked, his frame tight with tension and his gaze drilling into Remus. “Are you hurt?”

“I could be!” Remus blurted, trying to keep his tone saucy but ending up with something closer to desperate. “You ever think maybe bashing my skull in would be better than having to deal with its contents?”

The two of them winced, and he knew he’d given himself away completely. Shit.

Virgil reached out, and then stopped himself before he could make contact. Can you blame him? Jumping into an electrified tank of leeches would be more comfortable than willingly exposing himself to you.

Something of his internal diatribe must have shown on Remus’s face, because Virgil’s hesitant expression flickered into regret.

“Shit,” he swore, and this time Patton didn’t chide him. “I can’t-- I don’t want to send you into a spiral, Re. If I touch you, we’re just going to be stuck in a feedback loop of bad thoughts.”

“Like how you’re perpetually stuck in 2009?” Remus offered, instead of listing all the ways he could feasibly remove Virgil’s eyes from their sockets. It would almost be fun, if it wasn’t his friend’s eyes he was contemplating prying out with a spoon handle.

Virgil’s lips pulled up slightly. “Yeah, just like that. I’m gonna go get the others. They’ll be able to help you for real.”

He sunk out, and Remus’s head started to ache more severely as terrible and often gory predictions for the future began to crowd his mind. He shoved his hands into the roots of his hair and tugged ferociously.

“Hey, buddy, you shouldn’t pull on your hair like that,” a concerned voice chimed in. Remus had almost forgotten Patton was still there, sitting only a seat away.

He pulled harder on his hair, both out of spite and to distract himself from the urge to summon a weapon and see if Patton would still look at you with so much pity if you shanked his ass and tied his intestines into little bows.

“Hey, what do you call a seasick croc?” Patton asked, abruptly enough that Remus managed to shake his train of thought. He glanced up to look at the Heart, who offered him a tremulous mischievous smile. “A crocobile.”

Remus snorted, and Patton’s smile seemed to firm up.

“How about, why do ducks have tail feathers?” the moral Side asked in that same leading tone.

Remus thought for a minute. “‘Cause otherwise they’d lose their balance in flight and go splat against the nearest window?”

“I mean, maybe, but also!” Patton held up a finger for emphasis. “They have tail feathers to cover their… butt-quacks.”

There was a beat of anticipation where they both stared at each other, and then Remus threw his head back and outright cackled. Patton fist pumped in delight.

“I thought you might like that one, kiddo,” he said, beaming. Before Remus could reply, possibly with an atrocious pun of his own, Roman strode into the room.

There was a brief, awkward pause as the two of them made eye contact. Patton looked rapidly between them with concern, and Remus couldn’t blame him. Even now, their one-on-one interactions tended to end with vicious spats. They were too good, too practiced at pressing each other's buttons to settle into the newfound peace easily.

“... Bad one?” he finally asked, as though he could spot the wrong-evil-awful all over Remus from a mile away. Remus felt his expression drop into an irritable glower worthy of Anxiety, but before he could retort, Roman was seating himself primly on the communal couch.

He ran his hand through the hair at the nape of his neck in a nervous habit Remus constantly teased him about, and then straightened his shoulders and patted the cushion next to him. “I’ll… like when we were kids. If you want.”

Despite Patton’s confused head tilt, Remus got it immediately, and ignored the screaming violence in his head in favor of bodily throwing himself over the couch, jostling the hell out of his brother and eliciting a Grade-A Bitchface from him in the process. Remus grinned maliciously in return.

“Do the one that looks like a snake,” he demanded, running a hand through his hair and lengthening it. Of course, in addition, thick clumps of hair ended up falling out entirely, leaving weird-feeling bald patches that might have been interesting if he’d actually intended to create them.

“On purpose or don’t want it?” Roman asked, echoing a familiar question from their childhood. It had been a royal decree, before they grew so divided, that one had to ask before ‘fixing’ anything the other did, just in case it was on purpose.

“How are you supposed to braid what isn’t there?” Remus grumbled, gnawing on the inside of his cheek as he unwillingly imagined restapling his hair to his skull. “Don’t want it.”

Roman dragged his fingers through Remus’s hair, lengthening it until it was long enough to do all sorts of stupid-complicated braids. He also made the new hair unforgivably glossy and apple-scented, but Remus could get him back for that later, when he was sure it wouldn’t be (nails through nasal cavities, a cloud of suffocating darkness, decaying hands pulling you down into freshly turned soil and burying you alive) disproportionate retribution.

Two braids later, Logan appeared, rising up in the mindscape with his tie perfectly aligned but lab goggle imprints around his eyes. He only took a moment to absorb the scene, as though it was normal that everyone was crowding around Remus attentively. “Virgil informed me that you could use some assistance?”

Remus snorted. “Maybe you can perform some impromptu brain surgery to stop me thinking? Hey, if you don’t use anesthetic, I promise not to squirm too much, doc.”

“I don’t believe that man’s ever been to medical school,” Roman quoted absently, still caught up in combining three braids together into one.

Logan rolled his eyes. “Regardless of my unfortunately lacking PhD status, I believe brain surgery to ‘stop one thinking’ is also colloquially referred to as an induced coma.”

“Perfect!” Remus cheered, and then yelped when Roman tugged on his hair harshly in retribution. Patton was making that half-pitiful, half-furious face that he always made whenever the emo talked bad about himself, strangely enough.

“There are plenty of adjectives I could use to describe such a solution, but none of them would be ‘perfect’, Remus,” Logan continued. “A more effective and patient-friendly answer would be addressing your irritating or harmful thoughts through the use of various mental health tactics.”

Easy for him to say. “That might work for Tommy-boy, but I am the harmful or irritating thoughts, remember?”

“Falsehood.” Logan declared, proving that no matter what aspect of Thomas they were, the Sides were all dramatic theater kid bastards at heart. “It has become increasingly clear that while we all formed to handle certain tasks or aspects, we are all increasingly complex at heart. None of us can be diminished to simply one trait. In the same way that Virgil is much more than the experience of anxiety, there is no logical reason to reduce yourself to the thoughts that you struggle with.”

Remus shook his head, though he wasn’t sure what part of the assertion he was resisting. Logan folded himself into a sitting position and reached over for Remus’s hand, his touch grounding.

“You’ve gotten through days like this before. You’ll continue to do so after,” Logan told him.

“I got through Bad Days by making everyone’s day bad,” Remus retorted. “I’m not you, but I’m not stupid. Nobody wants me making it into a communal event.”

“That’s what family’s for though,” Patton said, shifting closer from his own spot on the rug. “Listening. Helping. Having each other’s backs when things get tough!”

Logan’s grip didn’t falter. Roman’s presence was solid at his back. Remus was beginning to wonder if he’d snorted something hallucinogenic recently.

“The sentiment is admirable, if a bit hypocritical,” a familiar voice chimed in, and Remus looked up to see Janus leaning elegantly against the kitchen archway. Virgil elbowed his way past, ruining the dramatic pose and flopping down on the couch next to Remus. He bumped his shoe against Remus’s leg in quiet camaraderie.

“Hypocritical?” Logan echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“Unless you’d like to tell me that everyone here has no problems whatsoever asking for help or expressing vulnerability on their bad days,” Janus proposed, smugly.

Logan inclined his head slightly. “Point.”

“Regardless, that doesn’t make Logic or Morality incorrect.” Janus looked at Remus intently. “None of us are allowed to simply suffer in silence, anymore.”

“I didn’t exactly suffer in silence before,” he pointed out, sounding uncannily sensible. Probably from the nerd’s proximity.

“Then you shouldn’t have a problem now, hmm?” Janus replied.

Logan sighed at them all, collectively, in general. “Look at it from this angle, Remus. Your previous coping mechanism was generally detrimental due to your lack of options and isolation. Now, you have neither of those holding you back. With knowledge and assistance, you can only improve from here on out.”

Now, that was doubtful. “And what if I don’t, huh? What if I just get worse?”

“Then we’ll still be here.” Logan squeezed his hand, and Janus confirmed his words with a nod, and even though his mind was cluttered and overwhelming, they were all still there at his side without complaint.

Maybe it wasn’t too much to ask, after all.

“Well, what are we trying first?”

#sanders sides #ts remus #ts janus #ts roman #ts patton #ts logan #ts virgil #donation drive #commissioned works #writing #my writing #starrykid #woohoo!#hurt/comfort #found family

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itsomgitsgreenblogging · 4 years

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Re-sublimity: A Critical Role Fanfic

I swear, I was just planning on writing a few small fics for @shadowgast-week. I swear. And then, this happened and I basically shoved all of the prompts into one gigantic fic, which will have to have a second chapter...at least. I do this to myself. So essentially...this is a Jupiter Ascending inspired fic.

...enjoy!

Read on AO3

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>Journey Log #105

>Entered Intergalactic Standard Time 23:04

>Order: Read Transcript

Dear Traveler,

You should have seen me today! We dealt with what Fjord calls a “clusterfuck” with no problem! It was space pirates, you know, like Avantika except these ones weren’t cultists to a Deep Space Snake thingy. Yasha said we should call them bandits, but I remember you telling me that all crime in space is actually piracy because space counts as international waters. So I’m going to call them space pirates, okay! I was able to channel your energy through my STAFF, and do some serious damage. Caduceus is getting pretty good with his STAFF, you know, he was still using an actual wood staff to channel the Wildmom’s energy when we first met him. The techno-staffs are so much easier to use, and I’m excited about showing him how to update his later just like you showed me.

But the funny thing about these space pirates were that they were kobolds! Caleb said that kobolds originate from a planet called Darastrixhurthi, which was really hard for him to pronounce. I took a guess at how to spell it here, hopefully I did it right. He had never heard of them piloting a spacecraft before, but their ships were these super duper rinky dink ships that Fjord said they most likely stole from the nearby planet and fixed up to be barely space-worthy. I’m sure you’ve seen kobolds before, but they were so cute, even though they were stupid and still tried to shoot us down after we gave them food. Anyways, Nott’s getting really good with her vibro-crossbow, and Beau’s lightning punches really saved the day. And you should have seen Yasha, she just about cleaved a ship in two with her vibro-sword! But I promise, I made sure to give them food and tuck in a statue of you as we scared them off. I’m trying to give something just as you always teach me.

It was too bad about Frumpkin getting punted, but Caleb said he could fix him up again once we get to the nearest planet. Everyone said that because we saw the kobolds and passed by Darastrixhurthi, we’ll be reaching the Xhorhas System within two days, so long as we don’t have any more run-ins with trouble. I really hope we don’t because this has been the longest we’ve journeyed without stopping and I’m getting reaaaaaal bored. It’s so much easier when we have a hyperdrive that actually works to, you know, space travel! But I don’t really want to explode or anything. I’ll find something to do for the two days, besides rewatching my holo-dramas. Maybe I’ll have Caduceus teach me how to use the wand that I picked up on that planet with the fish-people.

As always, I hope I can see you sometime soon when you aren’t too busy. Please look out for Mama, and my friends, and me.

Bye!!!

[Record, included below is an image of kobolds wearing funny hats and flying on ships shaped like dicks]

>Postscript 1, Added by Captain Fjord: Jester, I'm begging you, please stop putting dick drawings in the official journey log. We have to turn these in at port sometimes.

>Postscript 2, Added by First Mate Beauregard: Oh come on, Captain. These are so fucking dry, I’m sure people would find it entertaining.

>Postscript 3, Added by Nott the Brave: I personally think that kobold on the far right needs a bigger hat.

>Postscript 4, Added by Jester Lavorre: >:D

>Postscript 5, Added by Navigator Caleb Widogast: It’s 24:00

>Postscript 6, Added by Nott the Brace: ...your people did this to my people.

>Postscript 7, Added by Caduceus Clay: Imjuhbdwpqidnamap

>Postscript 8, Added by Yasha Nydoorin: I don’t think Caduceus meant to enter that.

>Postscript 9, Added by Captain Fjord: No, he told me he meant to ask Jester to please call the Wildmother by her name if she can...you know the Wildmother. Alright everyone, go to sleep. We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.

The solar system of Xhorhas was the place where the Kryn Dynasty had been born, a rising power that’s influence was only dampered by the ever expanding reach of the Dwendalian Empire. When the starship SS Balleater docked on the planet of Asarius, two things were made extremely clear. First, based on the look that the officers gave their ship, they were a bit worse for wear. Second, they took bureaucracy to a whole other level here. They had been waiting in a long twisting line at the Customs office for exactly two hours and twenty seven minutes, in darkened rooms only slightly illuminated by low green lights. It had frayed on all of their nerves, to be honest. The Mighty Nein had never done well with long waits, and tended to get into trouble when they weren’t doing something of pressing importance at every moment. The past twenty days of deep space travel without a functioning hyperdrive had made that extremely clear. To make matters worse, Caleb was sore over the loss of Frumpkin, who had been kicked to shit by one of the kobolds who had managed to board the ship. Familiars, or animal companion droids, could be hard to maintain but he would be able to repair him, as long as he could acquire the necessary parts.

Caleb was relieved when their crew reached the front of the line, and came face to face with an overworked and obviously underpaid Kryn officer who looked at them all like she was awaiting her last breath. She was drow, an alien species that was related to the elves that had colonized so many planets during the first space expansion. However, unlike the other species of elves, they were originally an earth-dwelling species. Their coloration was dark and their sensitivity to light kept everything dim in the official buildings like the one they were currently in.

“Welcome to the planet of Assarius, is this your first time entering the Xhorhas system?” the officer asked, her voice dull and bored.

“Yeah, it is,” Beauregard said, not sounding impressed by this officer’s obvious existential crisis.

“Very well, then you will have to undergo the registration process. I will need to prick your finger and gather a blood sample, and ask you a few questions so we can complete the registration questionnaire. Denial of this means you will not have access to the Xhorhas System and we will have to ask you to leave immediately.”

“So...we all have to register our DNA to get anything here?” Beauregard demanded of the Kryn officer behind the glass, who looked like she wanted nothing more than to slide the glass closed on Beauregard’s face. “Isn’t that...like...extortion or something?”

“Clearly you are not from around here,” the Kryn officer said pointing to the sign above the desk...written unhelpfully in the language of their culture. None of them spoke it, and with a quick type into his wristband STAFF he was about to cast Comprehend Languages for a translation when she seemed exasperated by their quietness and did the translating for them. “What you need is a Kryn certified Identification and Navigation Aid, or INAV, which you utilize to transfer credits and license your spacecraft. You only receive an INAV once you have registered with our offices, and to be registered you have your DNA filed with us. Not only is this process used to prove the legitimacy of our monarchs and members of our dens, but also, yes, to prove you are who you say you are when you are paying for goods and services. Unless you want to give blood every time you go to buy food, you get an INAV.”

“How do we know you aren’t using our DNA for shady shit,” Nott asked suspiciously.

“Lady, I just work here,” the Kryn official snapped, motioning to the ever expanding line of annoyed and tired travelers behind them. “Either let me do my damn job here or leave the solar system.”

“Let’s not make her life more difficult than need be,” Fjord said as he held out his hand. She put a device like a heart-rate monitor on his finger and Fjord flinched as it made a small “psst” sound. She clicked the device back into the desk, and typed something into her computer. “My name is Fjord.”

“Last name?”

“Tough,” Nott supplied, and Fjord gave her a long look.

“Tusktooth!” Jester chirped.

“Just Fjord,” Fjord clarified.

“Planet of origin?”

“Nicodranas.”

“Business here in the Kryn Dynasty?”

“Ship repairs, and mercenary work.”

“Take two steps to the left and maintain a neutral expression.”

Fjord did as she said, and a picture was taken. The woman tapped her screen, and a confirmation ding was made. Out popped a drive that was about the size of Caleb’s index finger. She demonstrated how it extended and a tiny holographic image of Fjord’s face and his basic information as well as the genetic marker appeared. It was then handed off.

“Alright, next,” the officer said, voice somehow more clipped than it had been moments before. They went down the line, Caleb taking up the rear as they did. He wasn’t excited for this at all...after all the last thing he needed was more traces of him where the Empire could find him. But sometimes you had to take a risk, after all, it would be far more suspicious to tap out of the process here surrounded by Kryn officers.

Caleb held out his hand and felt the pinch of a needle before it was retracted.

“Name?”

“Caleb Widogast.”

“Planet of origin?”

“Outer territory Rex-33, Settlement BLU-MENTHAL.”

“Business here in the Kryn Dynasty?”

“Mercenary work and droid repair,” he said, showing her the currently out of commission Frumpkin who was in his side-satchel.

“Take two steps to the left and maintain a neutral expression.”

Caleb did so, and heard the sound of the picture being snapped. However after she tapped something into her screen there was a different noise. An obvious alert noise that had him immediately tense up. The officer stared at her screen for a moment, then back at Caleb and then back at her screen...clearly doing a double take. Before anyone could move, she waved at a senior officer behind her. He was a tall bugbear, and made a strangely funny picture as he leaned over the small drow. He frowned.

“I’m sorry, sir. Can you check this? I must have entered something in wrong,” the officer said, her voice confused...but not angry or suspicious as she pointed to something on the screen. The senior officer looked at what she was pointing at and then popped out the INAV and extended it, inspecting the genetic code. He double checked it with the screen, seemed content with whatever he saw, and he exited out from the glass door separating the officers and the lines.

“No, that’s correct. Nothing wrong with the intake,” the senior officer said before addressing Caleb and inspecting him closely. “Sir, have you ever registered DNA with our system before?”

“No, I’ve never been to this system before.”

“And how old are you?”

“I’m 33 according to the Intergalactic Universal Standard Calendar,” Caleb said, frowning.

“Human, right?”

“I would be.”

“Yeah, Minryna, that sample was catalogued approximately 850 years ago. There’s no way it’s been accidentally re-entered. It’s legit,” another senior officer called back to the one inspecting Caleb. Other clerks had stopped what they were doing and had gathered around the screen, and Caleb felt the pinprick of a thousand eyes behind him and a rising tide of whispers.

“Well, Luxon bless me,” whistled the officer before looking at Caleb. “I guess it’s someone’s lucky day isn’t it?”

“Lucky day?” Beauregard asked incredulously.

“Forgive me for the long wait. Congratulations on your Recurrence,” the officer said holding out his hand. Caleb, numbly, took it and let it be shook before the officer opened the INAV and signed the bottom with his finger. It glowed a silver color, as opposed to the blue of the others.

“Recurrence?” Caleb asked, feeling more and more confused by the moment.

“Follow me,” the officer said, and the whispers behind him grew louder. Officers moved out to seperate them from the obviously curious crowd.

“My friends…”

“Of course you may bring them as well. We’ll make sure your ship is taken care of post haste, we’ll probably need to take off from here within an hour..”

“Wait where the hell are we going?” Beau demanded as they all walked.

“Why are you saying congratulations?” Nott asked as they all entered an elevator, and the officer punched the 110th floor. It was traveling up at a dizzying speed, totally glass so you could see the work on each platform as they rose.

“Genetics carry a sacred connotation in our society,” the officer explained. “I’m sure you have heard of our practice of consecution...of the soul being reborn through the power of the Luxon Beacon. However every person is unique. In the vastness of space and time it is of course possible for a genetic code to be reproduced exactly. We consider that to be a true rebirth, a Recurrence.”

“So...my genetic code has occurred once before?” Caleb asked. This was far less incriminating then he had feared, but also that idea was terrifying on so many levels. He could barely handle himself...the idea that there had been another one of him running around at one point was dizzying and horrible. Who knows what he had gotten up to, knowing him.

“Yes,” the officer said simply.

“And Caleb was someone really cool before?” Jester asked, sounding excited. “I read a holonovel sort of like this once! Of course the discovery was wayyy sexier but-!”

“I don’t think this is very sexy,” Yasha said softly.

“It is neat,” Caduceus said, sounding extremely impressed.

“So where are we going right now?” Fjord asked, trying to get them all back on track.

“I am taking you to the upper deck, where they handle Genetic Inquiries. We just get an alert that a Recurrence has occurred and the year of the genetic sample taken of the previous life...in theory that is. We certainly haven’t had any recorded cases of Recurrence within my lifetime. Anyways, they will be able to assist with other questions, including and not limited to who your previous incarnation was, and matters of any titles they may have left you in their will."

“Wills? Like money?” Nott asked, her interest thoroughly peaked.

“It’s common to leave parts of your will for a future recurrence, especially amongst the nobility.”

“This is all strangely morbid,” Caleb said, unable to help the way his mouth quirked.

“That’s very thoughtful,” Caduceus said with a nod. “We should all be considering our futures and how we would like our affairs put into order.”

“Of course you are into that,” Fjord said with an incredulous shake of his head, though the look he shared with Caduceus was fond. Caduceus was from a race of aliens who worshiped a nature deity and were essentially stewards of the dead. His interest didn't surprise Caleb in the least.

They were brought to an empty looking office...well, in comparison to the line they had just been in it was downright barren. A single goblinoid looked at them from behind a desk that was laden with stacks of tablets and papers. Behind her was a seemingly endless sea of files.

"This is the one?" she asked, looking at Caleb and his flashing silver INAV. She held out her hand and he handed it to her. She opened it, inspected the contents and the signature and then signed it herself before turning to her computer. "Very well, let me just type in this and...here we go. C-12B-Jg73_E05_8."

She suddenly pushed with her legs and went skating down the hall with her chair. It was attached to the ground glided along easily and then with a tap of a button she was sent up to a second level. The goblinoid tapped in some code, opened a file, retrieved a holodisk, and then with a lever pull she was returned. She plugged the external drive of the holodisk into the computer checking it and reading it quickly. She then reached to plug the holodesk into the INAV. She pointed at a long document that Caleb skimmed before going to the bottom and signing with his finger.

"Very well, congratulations, my Lord," the goblinoid said. "This highlighted section is the section of the will devoted to you."

Caleb felt the others crowd him as the goblinoid spoke on the com in Undercommon. It didn't truly surprise him to see this script written in Proto-Zemnian. That means the person had been alive Pre-Calamity or at least 800 years ago. It made sense considering talk of 850 years ago. And of course if he did share DNA with someone, it also was somewhat comforting to know it was with another Zemnian. He recognized some of the script, but utilized his techno-magic to translate typing into his STAFF and approving the magical sequence.

"What does it say?" Jester asked excitedly.

"He isn't gonna tell us," Beau bemoaned, now officially caught up in the excitement.

Caleb ignored them and read it out loud.

"And to my future recurrence, if one should ever appear and claim my title, I leave two things. First, my journal of spellcraft. If you are anything like me I am sure you will find it interesting. Second, I leave my second home on the planet of Rosohna to you if it is still standing. Both can be collected from the arbiter of my will...my…" Caleb nearly choked over the next words. "My beloved. If he still lives."

"Oh, he lives alright," the goblinoid said as grim looking guards appeared from the side door. "Best of luck with meeting you husband again!"

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

>Personal Log Entry #365242

>Entered Intergalactic Standard Time 01:11

>Order: Record.

Current success on project RESONANT ECHO has continued, using my STAFF I am capable of pulling a version of myself from a discarded timeline for limited amounts of time. This has been not only thrilling, but also frustrating. They are still limited in what they can accomplish. I may have to go back to traditional spellwork and iron out the details there before attempting again with a STAFF. Sometimes raw mana cannot substitute for good old fashioned components.

On a more personal note, I have decided to bench my idea of pulling a Resonant Echo of another willing creature for now. Firstly, I have no willing creatures to test this idea on. My solitary nature has thwarted me again, unfortunately. And secondly...I am not sure I could bear the idea of success. I do not care much for the moral quandaries of such matters, and that isn’t what stops me. I only worry that it might put me on a path that is ill-advised for my mental health. The only thing more important than progress is being able to enjoy the fruits of my hard work. I am still my own greatest resource at the end of the day.

>Postscript: Add obsidian to shopping list, to be delivered to my personal address. Order for the delivery service to leave the package with TOWER.

>Completed transcription, would you like to save, override, or delete this file?

>Order: Save.

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

Essek Theylss was in the most boring meeting of his whole life. Economics had never been his interest, though of course he understood them. He had been given a thorough education at his Den's hand, and being a long-lived species meant you had time to become knowledgeable in anything you desired. But, as always, he wished to be doing his own research as opposed to attending meetings.

Just as he was making this wish, the meeting was interrupted by Taskhand Adeen.

"My Queen, forgive me for my interruption," the Taskhand said, as always his face was an impossible to crack study of ice. "But an urgent matter has just occurred, I was just informed of it by the guards.

"Then speak," the Bright Queen ordered, now sitting at attention.

"My Queen, it is news of the most importance. Shadowhand," he said suddenly, and Essek was thrown off guard because-him? What had been discovered? What one of his moving parts, his schemes, what-"there has been a Recurrence. Congratulations, your husband returns."

"What?" Essek asked as he stood and floated, the words hitting his skin and freezing over like icy rain. His brain, oddly, felt slow on the uptake. It was a thoroughly disorientating and dizzying experience. The words churning in a strange fog and then a rising panic. "I'm sorry, could you...could you repeat that?"

"There has been a Recurrence of your husband, Shadowhand. He returns now, brought from Asarius. We have genetic confirmation from the Solar System database-"

Essek knew his levitation dropped because suddenly there was a burst of pain in his knees. It was strange...suddenly he had no strength in his limbs...and his sight was swimming. Recurrence? His husband? No, it couldn't be true. His husband was gone, gone forever. Whoever this was...it wasn't him. It couldn't be him...he was just a stranger wearing his husband's face. Another ghost to torture him, to leave him behind-!

"Essek," a gentle, concerned voice said. "By the Luxon give the boy some room!"

"Deep breaths," came another voice, echoing in his skull and rattling in his brainstem. "Deep breaths, Essek. In and out."

"Do we need a medbot? Merciful Light! What were you thinking, just springing that on him in public!" The Bright Queen...he knew it was the Bright Queen who chastised Adeen. He was following instructions, breathing in and out, and it was becoming easier to discern who was around him. The lights ceased their strobing, his heart receded from his throat and made it easier to swallow. The one keeping him from melting into the ground was Quana, the Dusk Captain and wife of the Bright Queen. The one coaching him through the essential process of breathing was the Skysybil. He was in the Bright Queen’s throne room. He wasn’t dying. He was having a panic attack.

"Forgive me for my unsightly display," Essek said breathlessly, trying and failing at pulling himself together, welding the shards of his icy-exterior back where they belonged. This show of weakness...how could he have let himself succumb to that in public regardless of what was happening? There was always time later.

"This is of course emotional for you," Quana said, with a gentle pat on his shoulder. "Your husband returns. Of course the feeling is overwhelming."

"It is a joyous thing, a holy occurrence," the Bright Queen said, crossing the room and looking as radiant as a newly born star. "It is no weakness to be overwhelmed by the Divine. The Luxon has seen it fit to return your husband, and to give us all a sign of His favor. You must go and prepare for him, just as we must begin preparations to welcome him."

The Luxon! As if the Luxon had anything to do with this! It isn't him, Essek wanted to scream. It isn't him! He's gone from my side forever. This stranger...it won't be him. This isn't divine...it's a cruel trick of fate and genetics. It isn't him, it isn't him.

"Prepare, yes, I...I must prepare," Essek said before nearly fleeing the chamber before anyone could stop him. He must have teleported back, though all he felt was a blur of noise and light and suddenly he was there. Everything felt so strange. Nothing was right anymore. His usual sanctuary had been breached by the abnormal, and all he wanted was to make it stop.

The hum of his levitation seemed to be the only noise that echoed from the halls of his home as he arrived. He sent the droids that acted as servants away, and slammed the door to the study close and locked it with a wave. For a moment he paused before continuing on in spite of his racing heart. The ocean between him and the desk seemed immense as he crossed it. Opening the locked compartment he removed his husband's will from inside gingerly.

It has been at least a hundred years since he had looked at it. It was written on parchment...because of course it was, his husband had always been old-fashioned...even back then. He had kept it in a temperature and moisture controlled capsule to prevent decay ever since it had been written. He had memorized every line a long time ago, he was sure, and yet now looking at the last section he paused. The spell book and the summer home and that was it. On paper it was nothing. Hardly a blip on the radar of the vast wealth that Essek commanded at his fingertips. But he would have to give it up...more remnants of his husband that he clung to would disappear from his grasp forever.

It wasn't fair, Essek thought, breathless with grief as he pulled his husband's spellbook from the same controlled compartment. He held back his tears stubbornly. Essek was unwilling to stain the cover of the well-loved book as he cradled it to his chest. Inside was his husband’s soul, the work that Essek had founded his magic on. This interloper would take from Essek what little he had left that he held sacred.

"Sir, your heart rate is elevated as is the saturation of stress hormones in your blood," TOWER, the AI that ran the home systems reported. The screen of his INAV lighting up the alert for Essek to see. "Are you in need of assistance?"

"TOWER, what is the rate of Recurrence in the general population?" Essek asked, refusing to answer that question. There was no good answer, after all. Why waste his time?

"The rate of Recurrence in the general population is one in ten trillion."

"One in ten trillion…" Essek murmured, truly grappling with that statistic for the first time in his life. He had heard that number before of course. Back when he was in school, in his courses meant to educate and indoctrinate him into the faith of the Luxon. But now it seemed so vast, so unlikely. Bards sang songs about this, subscribed entertainment was based on this. And yet somehow it was really happening to him. "And do these Recurrences...when they happen, is it reported that the person is...similar, to their previous incarnation?"

"Physically identical, however the rate of Recurrence is so low there has not been the opportunity for true scientific studies on the phenomenon, sir. Only anecdotal accounts."

"Give a general summary of the anecdotal accounts, TOWER,” Essek said with little patience.

"It is theorized that though the core of a person may be written in genetics, environmental factors such as planet born, levels of sustenance during formative years, chemical and radiation exposure, family structure, socio-economic standing, and other psychological factors and epigenetics will have an effect on the individual. As such, the Recurrence may not be the exact same individual as the previous incarnation."

"Good," Essek said as he finally drew in a breath. "Good...then this will just be an unpleasant meeting. But who knows? He may not be interested in the book and I'll be able to keep it."

"Are you unhappy, sir? By my database's reading this is supposed to be a happy event."

"Of course I am unhappy!" Essek snapped at the AI. "Some...some ghost wearing his face is coming here. A ghost who by sheer dumb luck is given a title to land and my husband's spellbook...and...well...my hand in marriage."

"Would you consider it better or worse if he was the same as your husband, sir?"

"Oh by the Nine Hells if I know!" Essek groaned. But he was lying to himself. Of course it would be worse if he was the same. If he was the same...if this ghost truly was his husband...Essek would fall apart at the seams. After all, there wasn't a worse fate than being happy, for all happiness turned to ash and ruin. He had a husband for only ninety years. In the lifespan of his people that was hardly a season, nothing worth fretting over. And yet, he was still so cold at night without him...he still woke some nights, expecting his husband to be beside him.

Essek wouldn't go through it again. Not again, not ever. He wouldn’t allow it.

"Contact the Theylss arbiter and have them prepare documentation for an annulment," Essek ordered TOWER as he stood. He looked towards the wide windows, the violet-blue interstellar clouds that shimmered with the radiance of distant stars. His garden called to him, his sanctuary pulled him to it like the indelible force of gravity. He was one with it...drifting quietly as always. "I would like this to be over and done with quickly."

Essek was about to say something else when the sound of a call going through interrupted him. He knew who it was without even looking, which is why he didn’t bother to say hello as the voice came through.

"Essek," his Denmother said, her voice cold and commanding as her image appeared on the screen. "Congratulations. We have much to speak about."

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

“What do you think your husband is like?” Jester asked curiously, bouncing in her seat in the flight deck.

They were currently being escorted to Rosohna by the Echo-Knights, who’s speedy Moorbounder ships kept in tight formation around them. They had had their ship’s general needs repaired in record time, their ship restocked with supplies, and had been told that when they reached Rosohna their ship’s hyperdrive would also be taken care of free of charge. They had actually been offered a completely brand new ship that was so beautiful it had almost made Fjord cry. They had refused it, because as Beauregard pointed out if something was fucked with on their own ship, they would be able to tell easily. For now, considering the results of Nott and Caduceus’ quick investigation, it seemed like everything was fine and in working order. All of this somehow and for a reason that Caleb was still grappling with was due to the fact that Caleb was apparently married.

“He’s not my husband,” Caleb murmured, arguing for the sake of arguing the point, though his protests sounded weak to his own ears the more he read about Recurrence and the significance it held to Xhorhassian society.

“According to the laws of this Solar System, yeah, he is,” Beauregard said as she slid the holodisk at him and rotated the image so Caleb could read it. “Right there. Xhorhas General Law, Part 2, Title 3, Chapter 507, Section 258 on the validity of marriage. The clerk shall require written notice of intention of marriage, on forms furnished by the state registrar of vital records and statistics, containing such information as is required by law and also a statement of absence of any legal impediment to the marriage, to be given before such Xhorhassian accredited clerk under oath by both of the parties to the intended marriage. After a marriage is solemnized by an approved Dynasty religion or other official method, the marriage is considered binding until a time when an annulment is performed, see sections 280-320 for specifics. And then I looked down and here, in Section 283 it says, if one party to the marriage dies, the marriage vow is considered null and void and the living party shall receive the benefits given within the will, can apply for a remarriage, and shall be able to file for government aid if needed. However, if a Recurrence is found of the deceased the previous marriage shall be automatically renewed in the system and upheld until the time that both parties file for an annulment.”

“Congratulations?” Fjord offered weakly.

“Caleb isn’t married!” Nott half screamed.

“It sounds like Caleb is married,” Yasha noted.

“We don’t even know if this guy deserves Caleb!” Nott argued, nearly frothing at the mouth.

“We are technically married until we file a divorce then,” Caleb clarified, feeling like his stomach was twisting in his belly. He wished desperately he had Frumpkin to hold, but the guards of Assarius hadn’t been able to supply the specialty parts he had needed. He had been told that they would be provided easily by his “husband’s” family.

His mind came back to the concept at hand. Marriage. Caleb wasn’t against the idea of marriage as a social construct. He had once even dreamed of marrying. He had wanted to marry the girl he loved more than anything else in this universe. He had planned to marry her, and die beside her in the name of his King and Empire in the great battles against the evil that threatened the security of that Empire. Of course, things didn’t turn out the way one planned… and apparently he had been married all along.

“You are going to divorce him?” Jester asked, sounding heartbroken and drawing Caleb from his strange thoughts. “But what if he’s wonderful? What if you love him?”

“I can’t love someone I’ve never met before,” Caleb said, apologetically.

“In a past life you did though,” Jester said, her pout deadly in its force. “That’s what Recurrence basically is, right? Being reborn.”

“We would refer to it as reincarnation,” Caduceus added as he appeared with a teapot. He poured a cup for Caleb and gave his shoulder a gentle pat. Caleb accepted it, if only to have something to do with his hands.

“It is a genetic anomaly,” Caleb argued, motioning at the page he was reading. “I understand that genetics and rebirth are an important aspect of the Dynasty’s religion but it’s just that. It’s just a religious belief. I don’t know this person that shared my DNA, but you wouldn’t assume that if I married someone that person would also be married to my identical twin, right?”

“You have a twin?” Jester asked, her tail swishing excitedly.

“I don’t have a twin,” Caleb sighed.

“Twins don’t count as a Recurrence,” Beau mentioned. “Chapter 436, Section 23.”

“I don’t...it was just an example. Besides, I’m sure it’s...I’m sure that person’s husband wouldn’t want to be married to me. I am not the person they loved.”

“It must be painful for them,” Yasha said softly, eyes drawn dark with grief. “But I’m sure they might be grateful too. There isn’t much…”

Yasha trailed off, but Caleb didn’t need to hear the rest. After all, Caleb was also well versed in the language of grief. Yasha was right, there wasn’t much he wouldn’t do for the chance to at least glimpse at the faces of the people he had loved the most again.

"Den Theylss though, I've heard they are a huge deal in these parts," Fjord said quietly, tapping the steering thoughtfully. "They are one of the three most powerful families in the Kryn Dynasty, second only to the Bright Queen's den. When I was running the merchant routes back in the day, the merchant ships that came out here always said that the three dens own thirds of the Dynasty."

"Maybe you ought to stay married to this dude," Beauregard said seriously. "He's rich. Their family did just totally mostly fix our ship in a day."

"I want to be kind to him," Caleb said, and left it at that.

They arrived shortly after. Rosohna was a distant planet, it’s orbit kept it approximately seven years out of the light of the sun and gave it one year with seasons. In space, it showed like a glittering jewel. It was the founding planet of the Kryn Dynasty, where the Bright Queen raised her people from the shadows underground and led them to the space age. As they entered the hemisphere Caleb immediately noticed the brightness of the city that built itself silver into the dark exterior as they landed on the loading dock.

“Alright folks, gear up, let’s rock and roll,” Fjord said standing up.

“Aye, aye Captain Tusktooth!” the rest of the crew shouted back, before grabbing the necessities and disembarking off the Balleater.

They were met immediately by a group of Drow, one of the natural inhabitants of Rosohna. There were all dressed in robes, shaded darkly but with touches of glitter and shimmer, enough to catch the low light. That separated them from the woman who walked before the rest of the group. She was dressed the most exquisitely, in a dress made like it was gathered from violet clouds that moved and shimmered with an almost iridescent quality. Her silver hair was pulled back high on her head, and her ears were decorated with what had to be thousands of credits worth of jewels.

“You stand before Deirta Theylss, Umavi of Den Theylss,” one of the group said. Fjord immediately bowed, and everyone else followed suit. When Caleb rose from his bow, he saw Deirta’s eyes raking over his face intensely. She was an attractive woman, older in the almost imperceptible way elves aged, but cold and austere. Something about her gaze set him on edge immediately.

“How fascinating,” she said, reaching out to take Caleb’s chin. She turned him this way and that, and Caleb resisted every instinct in his body that screamed at him to shy away from this woman. He didn’t like looking people in the eye normally. This forced contact made his skin crawl. “It is truly, utterly breathtaking...how much like him you look. An absolutely perfect match if my memory serves. There is no doubt, we have been blessed by a true Recurrence. The Luxon truly shines it’s Light upon us and our den on this day.”

She released him and folded her hands in her sleeves. Caleb could feel the rest of the Mighty Nein draw close to him, a semi-circle of protection that grounded him the present and kept him from scratching the skin off his arms.

“It has been...a lot for a day and a half,” Caleb admitted, swallowing nervously. He understood the wariness of the others now. There were eyes on them everywhere, almost all of the movement in the hanger had ceased.

“I am just happy to welcome my son in law home,” Deirta said with a smile that did not reach her eyes. “There is much we must discuss, of course. But the first order of business is the Reintroduction, the second is the will.”

“Reintroduction?” Jester asked.

“Between him and Essek, my son,” Deirta said. Essek. No one had yet said his name to Caleb. Essek Theylss was his husband by law in the Kryn Dynasty, a man that Caleb had never met before. He had the insane urge to speak it out loud, to run the name over his lips, as if that might spark something in him other than crippling anxiety. “This will be followed by the meeting with the Bright Queen tomorrow.”

“The Bright Queen?” Nott and Jester and Fjord and Beau all demanded at once, one with suspicion, one with excitement, and the other two with abject disbelief.

“You all clearly do not appreciate the cultural significance of Recurrence,” Deirta said lightly as they all walked to the transport ship. They were seated in a flying craft, with a large see-through lid that was sent up through a channel and then ported them out to the city itself. For a moment Caleb was too dazzled by the silver city itself, and almost didn’t hear Deirta’s command. “Smile for the cameras.”

“Cameras?” Caleb asked before nearly yanking his own head back at the sight of the huge holo-screens lining the streets that lit up with their image. There was the sound of cheering audible from even up there. Jester waved manically, as well as Cad and Yasha...a bit more shyly.

“You, child, are a phenomenon that occurs 1 out of 10 trillion,” Deirta said cooly, though she smiled sweetly for the camera that tracked her wave and the movement of the craft. “And even less likely to be discovered. You demonstrate the most sacred law of our deity, the chance for true rebirth. In such times as these, you are proof of the divine nature of our lives. And as if that were not enough, you are husband to a Theylss. Not just any Theylss either, son of the Umavi, Shadowhand to the Bright Queen, and considered to be one of the great beauties of our people. Any one of them would kill to be in your position."

“You’re wrong,” Caleb argued as they passed the holo-screens and continued on, towards a castle of silvered metal towering from the ground. “I’m just...I’m just Caleb.”

A murderer, a fugitive, a crazed lunatic, a self-made orphan, perhaps. But proof of the divine? Only if the divine was looking for a cosmic joke.

“Perhaps before today,” Deirta said as she looked towards the castle. “Not anymore."

Soon enough they were out of the city proper and into the Firmaments District, as the captain of the ship informed them. The Bright Queen’s Cathedral was a massive castle-ship, currently docked in place and surrounded by the high pearly white walls that separated her and her court from the people of Rosohna. In the district behind were the houses of the other most prominent dens, laid out amongst the maze-like streets like small treasure chests.

“Your friends shall stay with me in my household as honored guests,” Deirta Theylss ordered as they moved down to street level and moved through the city streets. She turned her seat to face them. “We shall go to your home to meet with your husband.”

“No! Caleb doesn’t go alone!” Nott argued fiercely, planting herself firmly in front of Deirta as if she were three feet taller. “Either I go with Caleb, or he doesn’t go anywhere.”

"The same goes for me," Beauregard said, crossing her arms in front of her chest, flexing the muscles there. She made a much more terrifying picture as Yasha sidled up beside her and echoed the same motion. Jester joined with Nott.

"The Might Nein stays together," Fjord said, placing a hand on Caleb's shoulder, as did Caduceus.

"Very well, I'm sure Essek will make the appropriate arrangements," Deirta said before turning to the officer who was piloting the transport craft. "Fine, go to Essek's residence."

"Yes, my lady. Sit down, we'll arrive within a few moments,” the pilot of the transport ship said before closing the hatch and separating Deirta in the Captain's quarters from the Mighty Nein.

"I don't think I like her," Jester hissed as she plopped down in her seat again and crossed her arms over her chest. "Your mother-in-law is mean."

"She doesn’t have to be kind, she is an Umavi," Beau grumbled. "That’s like super nobility, but besides that she's a politician first, did you see the way she set us up?"

Besides just the political boost, there was a more obvious reason now that he thought about it. Of course she wanted his face plastered on every holo-screen in the Dynasty. Now everyone would know his face, Caleb realized. She was far more shrewd then Caleb had given her credit for. If he tried to do something stupid, like escape without a functional hyperdrive in his ship, everyone on this side of the universe would know who he was. Tightening the noose, Caleb thought, his breathing suddenly funny in his throat.

"This is all very complicated now," Caduceus said worriedly before stopping. "Are you alright, Caleb?"

"I feel like I'm going to be sick," Caleb admitted, gripping his hands hard to keep them from shaking.

"Oh no, Caleb," Jester said, immediately taking residence at his side.

“It’ll be alright,” Nott worried his shirt quietly before gathering his hands in hers. “It’ll be alright. I promise. We’ll find a way to get out of this, I promise.”

“Thank you, my little friend,” Caleb said weakly, letting Nott press a kiss to his forehead.

“Let’s be prepared, who knows what could happen,” Fjord said, looking seriously out at the street.

They arrived at a residence that was really three towers connected by walkways on the ground and above. The towers themselves had a uniquely antique feel in the city so smooth and chrome, built to resemble stone. However in the flickering low lights they revealed a glittering effect. On the top of the tower spun some sort of mechanism that shifted like gears and seemed to be measuring something. Caleb’s curiosity was thoroughly peaked, though, he wasn’t sure that this was the appropriate time to sate his curiosity.

A servant-droid greeted them at the door to the front tower, bowing before Lady Theylss. She didn’t give the droid a single glance.

"Where is my son?" Deirta asked shortly, brushing out her skirts though there were no folds or wrinkles to be seen.

"In the gardens, my Lady," the droid stated.

"Of course," she sighed tiredly. “Lead us there.”

They walked through the tower to the walkway between the towers. There was a garden, filled with Glowing Nightblooms, a flower that when blooming cast soft blues and violets and whites into darkness. He had read about them before. They were a staple in the cheap credit a dozen novels he brought from outposts or second hand merchants, but seeing them in person was another. The path led them past crystal statues of geometric shapes that made light fracture into rainbows and painted the air vibrantly. The garden circled a pond, a dark tranquil pool that was so still that it was almost a perfect mirror with the star-filled sky. A single small shrine stood in the middle of it. And there in the center a person standing before the shrine...almost appearing like a ghost as silver incense smoke curled in the air.

"My son, come and greet your husband," Deirta said. The figure turned from the shrine, he crossed the lake. Caleb had been to the edge of the galaxy itself, and yet he didn’t think he had ever seen a more handsome man before. He was composed of sharp edges and elegant lines, his skin a smooth and peerless dark plum, and his hair perfectly tamed and coiffed. There were no ripples as he moved-no-skimmed across the water’s edge as weightless as fog. He arrived on the stone path, and immediately knelt, expensive dark robes shifting as he did.

"Welcome home, my beloved," Essek said, bowing deeply enough to press his forehead to his fingers. Geometrical earrings caught the light, as did an impressive, elaborate mantle that was settled upon his neck."I have been awaiting your arrival.”

“Please, lift your head,” Caleb half-begged, feeling flushed and oddly ashamed. He hadn’t done anything to deserve this act of devotion from this complete stranger.

“I hope you have found everything suitable," Essek said as he continued to bow, pointedly ignoring his request. Caleb could almost sense Deirta gloating from where she stood a few feet behind him.

"Your home is...it's beautiful," Caleb said, not sure if the words even came out past his panicked choking.

"It is your home as it is mine, I am happy it pleases you," Essek said as he stood effortlessly, robes swaying as he did so. The silver of his eyes illuminated his face, flecked with pale blue and violet in the shifting light of the pond and flowers. His expression was hard to read, though his mouth curled up in a soft almost-smile. "I am Essek Theylss, son of Deirta Theylss, Shadowhand of the Bright Queen."

"Caleb. Caleb Widogast," Caleb said softly.

"Caleb," Essek said, something flickering upon the surface and dissipating just as quickly. "And your guests?"

"My friends. The Mighty Nein."

"TOWER," Essek called, and a screen lit up along the wall. "Make sure the service droids prepare rooms for my husband's friends."

"Your will shall be done, sir," the AI stated.

"In your room you shall find both the spellbook and the deed to the home as stated in the will," Essek said, tone businesslike...formal. Caleb wasn’t sure what he had been expecting. Perhaps crying? Screaming? Anger or sadness or grief? And yet Caleb saw none of that as he looked at this stranger. There was only politeness...a cool sort of acceptance. "Both already confirmed by the arbiter and myself. Are you capable of translation or will you need assistance?"

"Ja, I can," Caleb said lifting his wrist to show his staff. Essek reached out his hand and offered it expectantly...and Caleb did the only thing he could think of and laid his wrist in Essek’s grasp. His touch was cold and fingers soft, and just that was enough to raise goosebumps along his skin.

“I have never seen this model of a STAFF,” Essek said, inspecting the device, interest sparking in his gaze. It was the first truly genuine thing he had seen from this man who was meant to be his husband, and it soothed something in his heart. Caleb caught a glint of a STAFF upon Essek’s own wrist as well.

“I...ah...I built it myself,” Caleb admitted. “I could not afford one with the specs I desired, so one has to do what they must.”

"Then we have that in common, I also built my own staff. You are a techno-mage, I see," Essek said, sounding unsurprised. "Wizard speciality I assume?"

"I...yes, how did you…?"

"He was the same," Essek said quietly, releasing Caleb’s wrist. Essek didn’t need to say who “he” was, they both knew. Caleb drew it back, and resisted the urge to stroke the place where Essek had touched. His skin still tingled from the touch. “Is there anything else you all required?”

“Ah...my familiar,” Caleb said, opening his satchel to show the limp body of the companion-droid. “I would like to fix him, do you know where I can get the materials?”

“As you may have noticed, I employ droids heavily. I have droid-repairing materials here, TOWER shall acquire for you whatever you need,” Essek promised. He paused before looking to Deirta. "I am sure you have more you wish to discuss with me, Umavi."

"Yes," she said, without a scrape of anything resembling maternal love or affection. Instead there was only business.

"Very well, we will speak in my office. I shall take my leave now," Essek said, turning to address them all. "If there is anything you require, you may call for the home AI, TOWER."

And with that, he drifted past them with the Umavi, leaving them all alone. Caleb felt that he could finally breathe as soon as he was gone.

“Wow...this is just like that scene in Tusk Love,” Jester said, steepling her fingers and looking starstruck.

“What part of Tusk Love?” Nott asked curiously.

“The scene where Genieveve meets her fiance, you know, the one her dad wants her to marry instead of Oskar?” Jester asked. “And the fiance totally tries to seduce her over dinner by giving her that beautiful red dress and the necklace made of lumincrystal?”

“Oh! I love that part, especially when the fiance put his hand-” Nott started.

“I don’t think this is like that,” Fjord said, interrupting warily.

“If anything I don’t think it was horny enough,” Beau complained. “Like...did this guy even like his husband? He sure as fuck didn’t act like it. Like, if I spent two weeks away from the person I loved the most I would be shoving them into the nearest supply closet with me. Imagine hundreds and hundreds of years!”

“Would you?” Fjord asked incredulously, and Beau elbowed him hard.

“We all deal with loss in our own ways,” Caduceus said as he looked on at the shrine still settled in the pond like a cloud in the sky. “But he loved his husband...that’s for sure.”

“What makes you say that?” Caleb asked, swallowing in an attempt to wet his tongue.

“Such a fine grave could only be upkept with devotion,” Caduceus said, motioning to the small shrine. And as Caleb watched the single curl of white smoke still rising from the incense, carved words upon marble meticulously polished he realized that Caduceus was right. This wasn’t a shrine...it was a grave. “It’s beautiful.”

Caleb looked away, unable to quell the ache in his chest.

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

He spent a good portion of the evening tinkering and repairing Frumpkin with the materials provided. He was unable to explain his relief when the usual start-up menu appeared in their shared link. The feline-droid meowed happily at being reawoken, and spent a long time cuddling up with Caleb and performing his usual therapeutic routines, before settling to be charged. After that he worked on reading over the spellbook that had been given to him, marveling at the notes (trying not to think about the handwriting that was his own from the way he crossed his z’s to the dashes he used for his i’s). The Mighty Nein ate dinner together, with Essek noticeably absent from the halls and rooms. They were given a spread of traditional Xhorhassian cuisine prepared by the servant droids, and Caleb came to the realization that there was not a single living servant in the home. They were all given their own rooms, and set to retire in them. It was decided to play nice...to make the show of gratitude. If there was one constant in almost every culture across the universe, it was to know better than to trample on hospitality given.

“What do you want to do?” Nott asked him nervously before they separated for bed.

“I don’t know…” Caleb admitted, scrubbing at his face with his hands as he watched Frumpkin charge. “I get the feeling they aren’t going to let me leave so easily.”

“They said the hyperdrive would be fixed in seven days. That’s the soonest we’ll be able to escape,” Nott said softly, close enough that any bugs that may have planted in the room wouldn’t have caught it. “Think about it, but don’t worry, you're stuck with me regardless of what you want to do, alright?”

“Alright,” Caleb said, catching Nott’s eyes and smiling. And he tried to sleep...he did. But his mind was racing, and finally he could do nothing but leave the room. He figured a quick walk around would settle him, and did his best to memorize the corridors and stairs and rooms he could enter. All information at this point was power, things he could use to get the upper hand in a game that he felt completely outclassed by.

Eventually though...he found himself back in the cloisters...the high arches and beautifully carved pathway to the garden. And he wasn’t alone, as he soon discovered. Essek stood solitary, next to a pillar looking out onto the pond and the grave. The flowers themselves were pale as a moon, glowing with a soft ethereal iridescence that almost seemed to float up to the clouds of violet and amber dust.

Caleb drew in a breath, and Essek stiffened. A slender dark hand curled against the pillar, but he didn’t move.

"I'm sorry," came the voice from the figure. The accent was smooth, voice soft and thoughtful. He did not turn, and somehow just that felt more genuine then any words they had exchanged thus far. He sounded exhausted, and so very apologetic...as trapped and frustrated as Caleb did. "I'm sure this all must be very difficult...I know this has been the strangest two days of my life."

"Ja, I would say so," Caleb said, and watched as the figure cringed. Oh...his voice. It must be the same or at least similar to...to his real husband. "I am the one who should be apologizing...I'm sure this has been harder for you in more ways than I could ever comprehend."

“If you are as alike as I fear, I would say that isn’t true,” Essek said, the tired tones of his voice biting into Caleb’s skin. “My husband was always an intelligent man...and always managed to surprise me with his inopportune insights. If you are like him...then there is little hope that you wouldn’t understand me...and I’m afraid that’s far more terrifying than the alternative.”

“All I can do is apologize it seems,” Caleb murmured. “Apologize and hope that you accept that as my truth.”

For a long moment Essek didn’t respond, and he wondered if this was Essek’s way of asking him to leave. Caleb was about to...to say something when Essek shifted instead.

"My husband…" Essek started, faltered and then straightened his shoulders, still refusing to look his way. "I can’t explain it, no matter how much I desire to. His love sustained me through so much. He was one of the first humans to voyage to the stars and come to this distant shore. He was brilliant and kind and so much better than me in almost every way. I love him...even so many years after his death...he has been the only one I have ever loved."

"I do not...I wouldn't ever presume…" Caleb started...but faltered. What could he say to make this better? There were no words he could summon in this language or his mother tongue to even scratch the surface of this situation. Instead his voice petered out, running out of gas.

“There will be many things asked of you soon,” Essek said, retracting his hand from the pillar and slipping it into his sleeve. “I am just sorry I will not be able to spare you from it...from all of it.”

“What do you mean?”

He turned around, and Caleb’s breath left his lungs. He was as beautiful as the heavens unfurling in the hours of twilight, a single solitary figure against the quiet light. Instead of drawing near, he seemed to recede further into the shadow cast by the pillars. His expression was empty...there was nothing there, simply a reflection.

“I have been informed there will be no annulment,” he said cooly, as if he were talking about the weather. “We shall have a Vow Exchange and Marriage Ceremony in seven rotation’s time.”

“They would have us married?” Caleb asked in shock.

“Remarried technically, as by law you are my husband.”

“Do they have no concerns for your feelings?” Caleb asked, suddenly infuriated for Essek’s sake.

“I have none to be concerned about...not anymore,” Essek said softly as he drifted forward. He didn’t walk, that was certain. Instead he moved as if buoyed in his own gravitational field. “I am a loyal subject to my Queen first, a child of my mother’s den second, a citizen of the Dynasty third, and a person last. I have a duty I must fulfill...and by marrying you, I shall be furthering the aims of my government through the greatest single act of propaganda we have seen since our Queen’s famous speech at the Breach. Though I have nothing to do with that, after all, I have been told that I am living the romance of the millenium. I should be very grateful.”

“Seven rotations?” Caleb echoed. A week, a single week. That was how long it would take for the hyperdrive to be fixed. The same day...of course it had to be the day that he was sure the entire solar system of Xhorhas would be watching him. Nothing could ever be easy...he didn’t deserve that much.

“If you are planning on escaping...well...I wish you the best of luck,” Essek said with a wry smile, a glint of fang twisting up Caleb’s heart. “I doubt you will get far. My mother has told me that this shall be the single most lavish affair our people have seen since the last marriage between the Bright Queen and the Dusk Captain, and no expense will be spared for things like security.”

“It isn’t right,” Caleb argued, blood pulsing hot and rapid in his veins. The injustice of it wrenched at his insides. “It isn’t fair, that they should treat you like some...some tool! I-”

Suddenly, Essek crashed right into Caleb’s chest. Hands balled into Caleb’s shirt with bruising force, and he stood there dumbly as Essek pressed his face more firmly to his shoulder and shuddered as if he carried the weight of the whole planet upon his shoulders.

“It’s not fair,” Essek gasped, voice fracturing into a million pieces. Bitter and desperate and hopeless and overwhelming. “Why does it have to be this way? You even feel like him...smell like him! Please...please stop being kind to me. Push me away...run from me, hurt me. Stop sounding like him! Stop...stop talking like him. I beg of you...I beg of you. If you stay...I won’t be able to let you go again. I’ll do anything I can to stop you. I’ll be cruel, and vicious, and I’ll hurt everyone and anything that gets in my way. That’s the way I am. I am the most selfish creature that ever crawled upon the surface of any planet. So please...abandon me.”

“You are a victim too,” Caleb said, instinctively wrapping his arms around Essek’s waist. He felt so slender in his arms...so delicate, like he was a shard of the universe...like he would disappear if he held him too long. And despite everything...it felt so right. It was just an illusion, brought on by the stress. He had never held Essek before...but he could almost imagine it with how wonderful it was. “Will you forgive me...for trying to find a way to save us both?”

“Never,” Essek said, looking up at him. His eyes were silver like the moon-dust freckles that shimmered upon his skin, glittering with tears. “I’ll never forgive you. Just gazing upon you gives me a glimpse of that which I most desire, and even if you are just a shade if you stay I will pursue you. Don’t you understand? I am your greatest enemy. So you must go...you must escape without ever looking back at me.”

“Won’t they hurt you? How could I just leave you?” Caleb demanded. “You are innocent. I won’t damn an innocent again for my sins...never.”

“Innocent? Ha! Abandon that pride of yours, Light damn it! Why don't you understand? The only thing I can do is protect you from me!"

"I won't. If I leave you here...like this, what will happen to you?"

"Nothing I don't deserve after everything I've wrought," he said bitterly, pulling away and leaving his arms so empty and bereft of purpose. "Caleb...I have done everything to deserve this fate, I see that now. This is my punishment, but it is not yours. Escape, Caleb. Escape the Kryn Dynasty. Escape my fate. Escape me. That alone...it will be enough for me for the rest of eternity."

Essek disappeared into the shadows, leaving Caleb behind.

#critical role fanfic #shadowgast week #shadowgast #essek theylss #caleb widogast #sci-fi AU

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yandere-daydreams · 5 years

Text

A commission for the lovely @wolfwantsart! I absolutely loved working their OCs, Vivian and Vincent, two ‘heroes’ with the power to embody light and darkness respectively.

Word Count: ~2000

It was dark. At first, that was all Vivian could think about.

It was dark, and she was on something coarse, rough, and bed-shaped (calling it a real mattress seemed like a stretch of the imagination). She attempted to push herself up, stiffly bent limbs still sore and aching, blinking herself awake while she tried to see her surroundings. Wherever she was, there couldn’t have been any windows. Even on the darkest nights, a little moonlight would always shine through. This was an advanced darkness, a purposeful darkness. Now panicking, her eyes darted uselessly around the small room, only the outlines of tables and desks coming through clearly. Fuck, she could barely see the walls.

Vivian strained to see, instantly regretting the effort. A shot up to her forehead, a steady pounding accompanying the sudden lines of thin, sharp pain. Reluctantly, she ran a hand through her hair, dismayed by the knots but glad she didn’t find an injury. A bleeding wound was the last thing she needed, especially now. Still, the idea of a concussion was going to be something she’d have to worry about later. But, the dryness in her throat, the way she desperately wanted to go back to sleep, pointed to a more measured threat.

Someone fucking drugged her. Someone drugged her, then dragged her into a sealed off, windowless room where she couldn’t even use her powers, with god-knows-what in mind for when she woke up.

Luckily, she didn’t have to worry about the implications for very long. The door at the far side of the room swung open, the sound of metal scraping against concrete putting her further on-edge. She was tempted to jump to her feet, to try and run for it, but the pain in her legs made the idea much less appealing. The distinct click of a deadbolt sliding into place took some of the pressure off, though. Still, she glared in the intruder’s general direction, fighting against the pain to see her captor. “What the hell do you want?” She asked, the harshness in her voice uncharacteristic. “Where am I?! Who are you?!”

There was a familiar sigh, before the man took a step closer, seemingly hesitant. “It’s just me, Viv. You don’t have to be afraid.”

“Vincent!” This time, she didn’t stop herself from getting up, rushing to her friend as quickly as she could. Before she could take a step, however, a gentle hand pushed her back down, the other shoving a glass mug into her hands. “You’ve been gone for months!” She started, practically ignoring the cup in her hands. “It’s like you fell off the face of the Earth, what happened? I’ve been trying to text you for months, and no one was at your apartment… I thought you were avoiding me.”

The boy exhaled deeply, shakily. “Drink,” He ordered, and she took a sip obediently. It was just water, much to her relief. Cold, but less unpleasant than the chilled air of this… bunker? Why would Vincent have a bunker? “I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to worry you.” His voice was unusually quiet, even for him. Like he hadn’t been sleeping well, recently. It made sense, in a way. She was always the one to drag him to a bed and practically hold him down until he agreed to get a decent night’s sleep. “But, you shouldn’t have to worry for very long. Soon, we won’t have to be apart.”

“Yeah, because you’re going to come home.” As soon as the words left her mouth, Vivian new how she sounded. Ignorant, childish… like she was ignoring the darker subtext. But, this was her best friend. It wasn’t like he could ever hurt her, even if the way he’d chosen to re-introduce himself was just the slightest bit concerning. There had to be a reasonable explanation, though. “And once we get out of… wherever this is, you’re going to explain why you’ve been missing. Everyone’s going to want to see you!”

“About that…” He rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous gesture she’s gotten used to. Reflexively, she grabbed his arm, gently pulling it back to his side, keeping her hand on top of his own to stop him from just going back to his anxious ticks. “I… I can’t let you leave. Not yet, at least. I would’ve come to get you when I was actually ready,” He paused, intertwining her fingers with his. It was an intimate gesture, but she didn’t object. They’d been apart for a long time, and even when they saw each other on a daily basis, he was always... touchy. “But, I couldn’t wait that long. You get it, right? I needed to see you, even if I only have half the materials I need. It’s not like I can’t work faster, I will work faster.”

Vivian squeezed his hand, trying to draw him out of the quickly approaching rant. “You’re rambling again. And you need to tell me what’s going on, Vinny. Now. Before I freak-out and assume you’ve gone villain.”

At this, Vincent laughed, running his free hand through his hair. “I might’ve, honestly. I’m not sure anymore.” She opened her mouth, ready to ask him what he meant, but he cut her off before she could. “It’s alright, I swear. Because you’re never going to leave my side again.”

Taking a deep breath, Vivian pulled back, forcing her hand out of Vincent's grip. He relented easily… for a moment, at least. She stood as he spoke, straining her eyes to make out the nearest surface. She needed to put this mug somewhere, she told herself. Even if getting away from Vincent for a second wouldn’t be terrible. “Have you been talking to Divine, while I’ve been gone? Or Rapid?”

“They’re my friends, I’ve had to. I kinda relied on them while you were missing-in-action,” She admitted, finding the table she was looking for. She didn’t bother masking the frustration in her voice. It was deserved, really. “So, what happened? And should I even ask what you’re talking about?”

He mumbled something incoherent, allowing silence to dominate the room. A freezing, ice cold gust of air brushed past her leg, a shadow more defined than the darkness surrounding it. Slowly, Vincent manifested in front of her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, pulling her into his chest and kissing her forehead. “You won’t have to deal with them anymore, and neither will I. The only person you’re going to rely on is me.” His grip around her tightened, arms slipping to her waist as he buried his face in her neck. “When we’re fused permanently, they’ll all know to stay away. Not that you’ll be interested in other people, at that point.”

The mention of fusing sent a chill down her spine. It was a hard balance to maintain, two people so different trying to co-exist in one mind. It helped that the combination was always unstable, always deforming quickly, but... Vivian may’ve forced herself apart from him, on occasion. He always proded, always tried to poke around in her memories and hold on a little too tightly. Sometimes, she was tempted to do the same. Luckily, the things he dared to say out loud were always enough to make her hesitant.

Biting her cheek, Vivian reluctantly pulled at the boy’s coat, making a poor effort to pry him off of her. This didn’t sound like Vincent, he could never say something like that. Something so… crazy. He was her friend, he had been for so long. She needed to have faith in him. She wanted to have faith in him. “Are… are you alright? Fusing isn’t permanent, Vin. It can’t be.”

“But it can!” His voice was too energetic, too excited. He tried to get closer as he continued, like Vincent was willing his skin to melt into hers. She supposed he was, actually. There was another deep breath, warm air hitting her neck. Another sigh, too, dreamier than the last and twice as disturbing. “Or, I think it can be, theoretically. I’ve been working on it, even if my lab here is primitive,” He explained, shifting to face her. She’d rarely seen him smile, let alone so widely. “I’m so, so close. It might be dangerous, but isn’t that a risk you’re willing to take? For me?”

Vivian forced herself to relax, narrowing her eyes as she rested a hand on Vincent’s shoulder, a heartbreakingly platonic gesture. But, if Vincent noticed, he didn’t care. That wide, eery smile stayed in place, never faltering as she scanned over him, trying to look anything but scared. “I love you like a brother,” She said, waiting for him to process the reluctance in her voice. “But what you’re talking about is insane. You need help, dude. Help that you’re obviously not getting by locking me in a dark room and trying to find a way to manipulate something as unpredictable as fusion. Let me take you back to the city. Whatever you’re doing, it’s not healthy.”

For a minute, she thought he understood. His hands fell away from her, fists balling at his sides. His eyes, similarly, dropped to the ground, gaze successfully torn away from Vivian. She watched intently as he scowled, giving him a sympathetic smile when he finally met her eyes. “I… you don’t understand!” His volume came from nowhere, his anger even more sourceless. She took a step back, holding up her hands defensively, but he just stalked forward. “You’ve never loved someone, and you’ve never had to watch your best friend go around and be so warm, smiling at everyone and just ignoring you whenever you try to confess how you feel! You’ve been avoiding me for years! Sure, you pretend to care about me, but when I say something honest, you just call me ‘insane’ and try to run away!”

Vivian’s hand searched behind her, looking for anything to defend herself with or the warning of a wall. But, the cold metal frame of the cot (something she was really starting to hate) met her instead, forcing her to stumble onto the low surface. She fell backward, letting Vincent corner her, looming over the girl with a passionate frustration still radiating around him. “You’ve never laid awake at night, wishing you could crawl inside someone’s skin, just to know how it would get rid of all the awful, awful things that keep running through your head. You’ve never been devoted to someone.” Suddenly, the boy smiled, letting out a low, deep chuckle. “You’ve never been rejected before.”

Without thinking, Vivian shut her eyes, willing her body to dissolve into whatever light she could find in the dark little room. But, it was impossible. Even as the cells in her body burnt in exertion, there wasn’t a scrap of light she could lose herself in.

And Vincent knew that. He’d planned it.

“But, you’ll understand. Eventually.” Slowly, he reached down, cupping her cheek. She wanted to shy away, or hit him, or punch him that fucking grin right off his face, but… it paralyzed her. How unfamiliar he looked, how helpless she was. He pulled away soon enough, turning towards the door and walking with an awkward haste. He only stopped once, glancing over his shoulder before he walked into the pitch-black hall. “Besides, it’s not like you’ll have a choice. I don’t think you’ve earned that luxury, yet.”

#yandere #yandere x oc #yandere imagines #yandere drabble #yandere oneshot #yandere prompt #oc x oc #writing commission #yandere commision #commision #commission #yandere commission #yanderecore #yandere oc

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cottontail20 · 5 years

Text

A Legend All Their Own, Chapter 60: The Right Decision

Summary:Things are improving in Sokovia.

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16736589/chapters/49003682

As it turned out, Queen Wanda and King Vision proved themselves to be exceptionally worthy successors to those that had come before them.

Soon after Wanda and Vision's Coronation/Wedding, Thor and most of the Asgardian soldiers who had helped Wanda regain her throne departed for the journey back home. However, the Asgardian Prince left behind blessings for the happy couple, a promise that he would return to visit his 'Brother Of The Hammer', and an oath of continued friendship between Asgard and Sokovia.

In support of this friendship, Loki was staying behind to join Wanda's new council. A small squad of Asgardian soldiers would remain with him. The Valkyrie was one of those choosing to stay. Vision had discussed this briefly with her, and he understood her reasons. In Valkyrie's eyes, she had let her best friend down by failing to protect her son when he was a baby. Perhaps she could fix her mistakes with the impending arrival of Hildegarde's grandchildren.

Wanda had stopped bothering to hide her belly not too long after the Wedding. There wasn't a lot of point, as the longer she tried, the more suspicious it would seem when she did reveal it. Thankfully, as Wanda had expected, nobody asked too many questions. The news of her pregnancy had mostly been met with joy, as she and Vision were already proving to be quite popular rulers.

With the help of their Council of new advisers- I.e, the Avengers, now Loki, and Laura, whom Wanda had recruited to represent the interests of the common people- The new King and Queen had already set about fixing the mistakes of Ultron's reign.

Wanda had immediately resumed all the special measures her parents had once had in place to provide support Sokovia's more disadvantaged citizens. Meanwhile, Vision had commissioned a project to restore and eventually re-open the orphanage he had lived in as a child, before Ultron had shut it down. Working in tandem with Vision's project, Wanda was also in the beginning stages of a plan to organize more easily accessible education for Sokovia's poor and orphaned children, hoping to guide them toward a better future.

For this, Wanda aimed to talk to the tutor, Peggy Carter, when she arrived at the Castle. But not right away. Wanda had already scheduled a different 'Welcome' meeting for Peggy. --

One day, as Wanda and Vision were taking what had become their regular mid-morning walk through the Castle gardens when Peter Parker raced over, bowing to them.

"Good Morning, Your Majesties."

"Good Morning, Peter" Vision smiled fondly.

"Do you have a message for us?" Wanda asked.

"Yes, Queen Wanda" Peter stood, nodding. "The new Tutor, Mrs. Carter is here. Would you like to see her?"

"Oh, there's no reason to jump into business right away.." Wanda smirked. "Would you mind asking Captain Rogers to give her a tour for us?"

"Not at all, Queen Wanda" Peter bowed again. "I'll tell him right away.."

"Thank you. And Peter?" she called after the boy as she turned to leave.

"Yes Queen Wanda?"

"You and I were friends before I was a Queen. I would not mind at all if you decided to just call me 'Wanda' sometimes, okay?"

"Yes, Queen.." Peter blushed. ".. I mean, Wanda."

"Good boy" Wanda smiled. "Now go find Captain Rogers."

Peter nodded and rushed off.

"You are a cheeky thing" Vision chuckled, wrapping an arm around Wanda to draw her close and kiss the top of her head.

"I know" Wanda looked up at him, her green eyes sparkling with mischief. "But you love me for it."

"I do" Vision's own strange eyes sparkled. "So much." --

Nearly a week went by before Wanda had a chance to properly sit down with Peggy Carter, but the smile on Steve Rogers' face when she saw him deep in what looked like an intimate conversation with the tutor a few days after her arrival was worth the Queen's patience.

Wanda had found her happiness with Vision, and they were both more than happy for their friends to share in it. Luckily, it seemed like they were.

Clint was blissfully happy to be reunited with his family, and it became a regular sight to find Natasha playing with one or sometimes all of the Barton children in her spare time. Pepper Potts, while still living in Leestown, was now visiting the Castle once every couple of weeks for romantic rendezvous with Tony.

Away from the rather large shadow cast by his older brother, Loki was becoming a shining star in his own right. He was an absolutely vital member of Wanda's Council, with knowledge of Royal customs and history that the Avengers lacked, along with a useful habit of picking up gossip.

Doctor Strange had returned to the Sanctum Sanctorum, but made regular visits to monitor Wanda's pregnancy. On his last visit, he had informed them that the Sanctum had become quite busy, with a crowd of new recruits arriving to join the sorcerers after seeing them in action during the war.

Everyone was happy, or at least well on the way to happy. Not just in the Castle, but outside too. The streets were filled with fun and laughter rather than whispers and fear.

This, more than anything else, let Wanda know that she had made the right decision in taking back her Throne. --

Months went by, and things continued to improve under Wanda and Vision's rule.

After a string of busy days, the King and Queen were spending a lazy afternoon lounging in their chambers. The biggest advantage of them having employed so many advisers they trusted was the fact that they could delegate tasks and take a bit of time out when needed. With Wanda now five months pregnant, this could only be a good thing.

Vision was currently laying on his stomach on their bed, a piece of parchment laid before him, sketching out plans for their cabin by the spring.

Wanda had her slightly swollen feet resting on Vision's back, hands idly stroking her growing belly.

"How many bedrooms do we want?" Vision mused, tapping his quill against the parchment. "I have three right now.. One for us, and one each for the twins when they're old enough.. How many more after that?"

"I don't know, Vizh" Wanda smiled softly, watching him at work. "What do you think?"

"Well.." He blushed a little. "We're thinking at least one more child at the moment, right? So one more room? But what if we have more?"

"More, huh?" Wanda smirked. Vision's blush deepened.

"I only meant.. you never know.. I'll add another room.."

"If you say so" Wanda chuckled, then froze, her brow crinkling. "Oh.."

"What?" Vision looked at her, concerned. "Is something wrong?"

"No" A bright smile spread over Wanda's face, and she moved her feet from Vision's back, taking his hand and tugging it to rest on her belly. "Feel.."

"Oh.." Vision gasped, awestruck. "They're moving.. I.. I can feel them moving!"

"I know."

"We don't have anything else to do Today, do we?"

"No" Wanda grinned.

"Good" Vision shifted to rest both hands on her stomach. "I don't want to miss any of this.."

#scarlet vision #ScarletVision #scarlet vision au #scarletvision au #Scarlet Witch #wanda maximoff #vision mcu #wanda x vision #vision x wanda #Avengers #MCU #avengers au #mcu au

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sunflowerspectre · 5 years

Text

Of Strange Brothers | Dungeons and Dragons Commission

This commission was for KiwiToast, of her original D&D characters.

Dungeons and Dragons

Original Character Commission

Summary:

A series of scenes shot throughout the Mistletoe Strangers Series focusing on Alagarthesis and Neronvain.

Requested Word Count: 2k - 5k

Final Word Count: 2026

Also on A03

Of Strange Brothers

Neronvain’s heart is beating wildly against his chest to the beat of the music inside of the castle. He has successfully glided through the many patrons of the ball, blending in seamlessly into the crowd. His pace has been quick, but even and steady as to not draw too much attention to himself. He would have gotten too many looks if he had just darted away or ran, especially if he was seen running away from the mistletoe where (despite being masked) the very recognizable Desire had been.

He glances around often, a paranoia creeping up his spine. With no sign of anyone, nevertheless Desire, he rests against the balcony’s banister. An odd sensation of disappointment rises his chest. He swallows it down; it is better for both of them if she does not find him, right?

He really should stop listening to that womanizing, romantic brother of his, but how was he supposed to say no? When he saw her standing there under the mistletoe, just waiting, the very image of beauty, for the first time in a long time, he had found himself acting before thinking. Which is new, and more than a bit dangerous.

“Sooo how was it?”

Algatheris’ cheeky voice rings, causing Neronvain to curse. He turns to see a grin stretching out across his brother’s face, akin to a cat that ate the canary. His eyes are twinkling with an aura of happiness and giddiness, a stark contrast the sense of doom that has been settling around Neronvain.

“How was what?”

Algatheris tsk’, “Don’t get coy with me, you kissed her, so tell me, how was it? Was it romantic? Deep? French?”

“It was a kiss,” Neronvain states simply, keeping his voice simple and to the point as he turns his back to his brother, “A kiss that I shouldn’t have let you sway me to do.”

Algatheris sputter, “Sway? Me? If you recall dear brother, I did not say a single word about kissing her. I simply told you that she was there. The kiss is all your making.”

Neronvain opens his mouth, an argument on the tip of his tongue before he swallows his words. He closes his mouth and focuses on the starlight that drips through the sky. The temptation of screaming in frustration growing, he lets out a huff.

Algatheris pats him on the back sharply, taking the breath from his lungs, but rubs it in a comforting manner. He leans over beside him, his hand now draping around Neronvain’s shoulders to bring him in close.

“Do you regret it,” Algatheris asks, his voice dropping its usual aloofness.The somberness of his tone makes Neronvain pause. He looks to his brother, but Algatheris’ eyes are on the skyline with a wistful, knowing gleam to them. A smile graces Algatheris’ lips. Not the cheeky grin he gives when he knows he’s gotten away with something. It’s not the boastful grin of a man who won his trophy nor the teethy, flashy grin that he flashes to everyone who looks his way. It’s too somber. The grin you give when a grandmother holds your hand on her dying breath. It’s sincere, loving, but unsure of what’s going to happen next.

Neronvain is quiet for a moment. The silence covering them both as the music behind them begins to blur out of focus as their minds become preoccupied.

The kiss could have bad consequences. Neronvain can’t even begin to imagine what would happen if Desire finds out that it was him. She could get mad and even refuse to speak to him again. She could kick him out of their traveling party. She could steal his wallet out of revenge. Their kiss brings more cons than pros, yet...

He can still taste her on his lips. Her lips were a bit dry and he could tell exactly how much she had drank, but her lips were warm. Warm enough to light a fire that he is still trying to dwindle.

“No, no I don’t.”

Algatheris’ grin stretches as he pats Neronvain on the shoulder, “Then that’s all that matters, isn’t it?”

Neronvain doesn’t answer him, wishing that it is as simply as that.

#####

Theoretically, the idea of watching them from the windows should have also meant that he could hear them. He couldn’t. He watches as Desire drinks - and drinks and drinks - with his brother. The dusting of pink on her cheeks when a hand grazes hers at the first drink. The words that seem to flow easily from her lips as his brother nods and listens. It isn’t as if Desire never talked to him; at times, she talked too much. It isn’t as if she never listened to; there are maybe five times he remembered where she did. But this is different. He can feel it.

Neronvain scrambles, a tad more ungracefully than any ‘prince’ should, away from the window as Desire quickly approaches the door. The idea of staying there, having her confront him, played only for a moment in his mind before his usual confidence falters just enough for him to make a dive for a hiding spot.

He watches as Desire leaves his brother’s abode, half drunk and dazed. She misses the step by the door and he twitches, almost going to help her, but why should he when Algatheris isn’t too far behind? When Algartheris is the one she goes to? When his brother is the one she spills all her concerns too? When apparently she’s oh so close to his brother?

Neronvain waits until she is gone before he approaches the door himself. His hand hovers over the door, but stops before it hits the wood as the door swings open. Algatheris leans against the door frame, casually, with a grin stretching across his face and a gleam in his eyes.

“You need to learn how to hide better if you don’t want her to see you,” Algatheris comments.

His never-faltering grin only causes Neronvain’s bitterness to grow. It makes Algatheris seem as if he knew something that Neronvain didn’t, as if he knows everything. The sour sensation in his mouth made it harder to admit what he wants to say. Neronvain crosses his arms against his chest and other than a small twitch beginning to form at the corner of his lips, his face remained stoic.

“Why would I worry about her seeing me?”

“You tell me, you’re the one hiding.”

Algatheris watches his brother closely, a more calculating look in his eye. He knows his brother waited outside for quite a while, but he isn’t sure about how much he could really hear.

Neronvain scowls deeply like a pouting child, “I was not hiding.”

“Ah yes, because we all hide within the bushes for fun,” Algatheris laughs, “If you want to make amends, you are more than welcome to come in for a drink….”

His laughter dwindles off as he leans forward with a wink, “...But if you want my opinion, you should stop hiding and go after her before someone else does.”

Neronvain looks closely for any signs of what his brother really means by that statement; what exactly is he implying? Algatheris simply blinks innocently, as if he never implied anything at all, as he waits for a response.

“I suppose I should make sure that she doesn’t get eaten on her way back to camp after all the drinks you gave her.”

There’s an accusing tone to his voice that Algatheris ignores, grinning, as he watches Neronvain finally depart after her. He can hear the way his brother continues to grumble under his breath, I was not hiding.

#########

It’s been too long since Algatheris has heard from his brother. He rereads the last letter he received, detailing a close call with an ambush on his party’s last trip. It doesn’t say much, other than it being too close for comfort and that it could have been prevented if he was paying attention. There’s a vague mention of Desire, something about her being stupid for almost getting killed. Something that, while worrying him, does make him smile. Neronvain has always had a strange way of showing he cared.

He hopes that rereading it will ease his fears, remind him that if Neronvain is well enough from that ‘close call’ to write a letter, then he is sure to be fine. He had already sent his best wishes, along with five feet of parchment reminding his brother to be careful. Maybe he never got a reply back, but it usually took a while for Neronvain to reply.

But it shouldn’t take this long.

He wonders how bad Desire’s wounds are - if her almost getting killed meant something that could kill her later. He’s always liked her - she’s funny, makes interesting conversation, stirs up trouble, and makes his brother happy. She’s his friend.

But she is much more than that to his brother. If something happened to her, if she passed due to her wounds, then he can imagine why Neronvain isn’t sending any letters. It would destroy his brother, as much as he would never admit it, if she got killed. He can’t even begin to imagine what his brother would do - well perhaps he could, but that thought process definitely doesn’t help his fears.

Months go by and each day, each hour, he gets more worried.

He gets a letter the day before he’s ready to head out himself to find his brother; his duties be damned if his brother needs him. He already had a bag half-packed sitting in his bedroom and maps thrown about his desk as he decided on a route that would take him close to where his brother’s letter was sent from. But all those maps are tossed aside when he gets a letter with his name neatly written in his brother’s handwriting across the top of the parchment.

His heart is about to beat out of his chest, unsure of what he is about to read. He likes to think it will be good news - receiving this letter at all eases his worst fears. He takes a deep breath, not even bothering to sit down to read it. He carefully runs a thumb over the seal, noting the familiar wax seal of Desire’s horns. He swallows thickly, his stomach turning as he steadies his hands.

The letter should be good news, yet this small detail. This little symbol of wax is making his stomach turn. Desire never really sends letters, not formally, and as such she doesn’t typically use her stamp (a stamp, he remembers, that Neronvain got for her). He vaguely recalls Neronvain being upset when he found out that it was shoved deep inside of her belongings, never to see the light of day unless she had to write formal letters - things like business, parties, and funerals. Using her stamp, but knowing his brother’s handwriting, worries him more than hearing no response.

He hesitantly breaks the seal and scans over the letter carefully. The more he reads, the more his worries turn into happiness, his face breaking out into a grin.

“Son of a bitch,” he whispers under his breath.

There are a few paragraphs at the end that are also in her writing, her swirling and unsteady letters contrasting against the strict, calligraphy hand of Neronvain. Unlike Neronvain, she writes more casually and some of her words are scratched out and their corrections written in smaller writing above it. There’s a few careful words chosen, cautious phrases that new lovers use, as if they don’t want to scare the other off. A few little notes that Desire wrote, added in little letters with arrows at Neronvain’s paragraphs. Desire even signs her name next to Neronvain’s.

He has to say, they really did a hell of a job getting their message across. His heart swells in his chest, happiness blooming for his brother.

“They finally did it.”

Interested In A Commission?

#dungeons and dragons #fanfic #fic #story #stories #original character #original characters #myworks #mycommissions

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46ten · 5 years

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Henry Knox and Lucy Flucker Knox, part 1

Mini-summary of The Revolutionary War Lives and Letters of Lucy and Henry Knox by Phillip Hamilton.

Historian P. Hamilton has transcribed and published the approx.150 remaining letters between Henry Knox and Lucy Flucker Knox, his wife. Part of the Gilder Lehrman Collection, the letters most extensively cover the period 1776-1778, with a few more from 1779 and 1781. Hamilton notes that alongside the letters between John and Abigail Adams, the Knoxes letters to each other provide one of the few opportunities to observe a written dialogue between spouses during the revolutionary war period. If one wants to imagine the language in the letters Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton wrote her fiancé/husband, Lucy Flucker Knox's letters are a fantastic resource. There was only a year age difference between the women, and both grew up in established, wealthy families (Albany vs. Boston).

Henry Knox was born in 1750 in Boston. His father was a financially struggling shipmaster who sailed to the West Indies and died in 1759. With the additional deaths of his two oldest brothers, Henry had to abandon his formal education and support the family at an early age. He got a job as a clerk in a bookstore; with an interest in books on military science and artillery, he joined Boston's Ancient and Honorable Artillery Company in 1768. Hamilton (the author) describes him as, "ambitious, eager to rise above the hardships of his youth, and supremely confident in himself....he always dressed in the most elegant suits he could afford, and he remained fastidious about his appearance throughout his life." Henry lost two fingers on his left hand in a 1773 hunting accident, but concealed this injury throughout his life with a silk handkerchief.

In 1771, Knox opened his own bookstore, the "London Book-Store," possessing "a large and elegant assortment of the most modern Books in all branches of Literature, Arts and Sciences" according to an advertisement that year in the Boston Gazette. He regularly engaged his customers with discussions on the topics of the books within; he especially liked to discuss military science and engineering, but he also began to learn other languages and kept himself au courant with the knowledge and ideas of the day. As one can see, he was largely self-educated. He was also a "gentleman." After his bookstore was raided and destroyed by British soldiers, he nevertheless made the final 1000 pound payment for a shipment of books from London that he never received, out of his sense of propriety and duty.

Thomas Flucker Sr was the Royal Secretary for the Massachusetts Colony and a wealthy merchant who married Hannah Waldo, daughter of Brig. Gen Samuel Waldo*, in 1750. Lucy was born on August 2, 1756 (making her only a year and a few days older than Elizabeth Hamilton).

It's not certain when the teenage Lucy Flucker first laid eyes on Henry Knox - she may have seen him in military demonstrations or at the bookstore, but in 1773 she began spending so much time at his bookstore that a relative commented that it seemed she was courting him.

As Hamilton writes, "[t]wenty-three-year-old Henry Knox cut an impressive figure - physically large and fit, and officer in the city's elite militia company, and a witty and knowledgeable conversationalist on most subjects. Thus he seemed to be a dashing and attractive catch...Like most young couples in the mid-eighteenth century, love and physical attraction were increasingly important - indeed, vital - to a courtship's success...As [Lucy] most likely realized, the emotional and material quality of a woman's life was largely determined by the decisions she made during courtships. Therefore, beyond her obvious infatuation, Lucy surely considered Knox's ability to support her and any future children they might have together." Henry was industrious, ambitious, intelligent, and a gentleman - qualities that mattered more than being "well-bred." "Nor could [Henry] help but notice her family's lofty social position and considerable wealth..." Henry let Lucy take the lead in getting her father's consent to their marriage:

HK to Lucy Flucker, 7March1774

What news? Have you spoken to your father, or he to you upon the subject? ...I am in a state of anxiety, heretofore unknown. My only consolation is in you, and in order it should be well grounded permit me to beg two things of you with the greatest ardency. Never distrust my affection for you without the most rational and convincing proof. If you do not hear from me in a reasonable time do not lay it to my want of love, but want of opportunity; and do not, in consequence of such distrust, omit writing to me as often as possible. My love is, as it were, in its infancy. It will increase to youth, it will arrive at the most perfect manhood, it will grow with such a steady brightness that if the youth of both sexes do not esteem it their chiefest glory to come and light their tapers at it, want of discernment must be the reason...

Henry was 24 and Lucy was 17 at the time of their marriage on 23 June 1774, at Henry's house. Although her father had eventually consented (after encouragement from her other relatives), neither of her parents attended. Lucy and Henry fled Boston in April 1775; Henry joined the militia army, and the rest is history. (Or rather, if one is interested in Henry Knox's participation in military campaigns during the AmRev, wikipedia is a start. One note though: Knox's famed artillery train from Ticonderoga occurred when Knox was a mere 25 years old - certainly such feats were in AH's head when he was approaching 25 and had no comparable glorious accomplishment.) Lucy's family fled to Britain shortly afterwards and cut off all contact with her.

Henry wrote that Lucy made him, "the happiest of mortals" (to his friend, Henry Jackson, following his wedding to Lucy). Lucy was also, "the animating object of my life." Besides being "My dearest Lucy," she's also addressed as: “My dearest hope, My dearest friend, My dearest tender friend, my dearest love, my lovely love, my best beloved, My dear dear wife, my dearest blessing of heaven, my charmer,” though once he writes, "I leave [off] the usual address at the head of my Letter because I can fix upon none the thousandth part strong enough to convey the Idea of the strength of my attachment & love to you,” HK to LFK, 6Apr 1777.

To Lucy, Henry was, "My only love, my only friend, My Ever Dear Harry, My dearest friend, My all."

One of the themes P. Hamilton presents is that the challenges that spouses faced during the AmRev, especially wives with long-absent husbands, led to a sense of greater equality between men and women. Lucy was left in charge of financial management of what she could obtain of her family's affairs - and manages without Henry. At one point, Lucy decided on a course of action that Henry disagreed with (so much for the stupid thought that wives were absolutely obedient to their husbands); Henry pleads with her to follow his advice instead as, "your Best Friend, your Lover, and blessed by Heaven to be your Husband..." They are certainly an example of the companionate marriage ideal: marriage as a partnership between best friends, strengthened by their attraction and physical intimacy.

There's a lot of great information in their letters about American Rev activity, patriotism and American grievances re. Britain, smallpox inoculations, the ins and outs of other generals and their wives (Caty Greene is mentioned frequently), and eventually their children's education and Lucy's concerns about their financial stability. Henry shared a great deal of information with Lucy not only about his day-to-day life, but about military plans and ambitions (as was prudent - many letters mention the fear of miscarry and falling into enemy hands). There are more surviving letters from Henry to Lucy than the other way round - Lucy's letters were likely lost by Henry as he traveled with the army.

The below quote from Lucy summarizes as well as anything I've read why EH likely destroyed her own letters to her husband:

29 or 30 April 1776. L to H

I should long before this have indulged myself in the pleasure of writing to him who is allways in my thoughts, whose image is deeply imprinted on my heart and whom I love too much for my peace, but the fear that the language of a tender wife might appear ridiculous to an impartial reader (should it miscarry) has restrain'd me. Is my Harry well. Is he happy. No, that cannot be when he reflected how wretched he has left me. I doubt not, but the please of his little girl, as he used fondly to call me, must sometimes draw a thought from him tho surrounded with gaiety and scenes of high life. The remembrance of his tender infant must also greatly affect him when he considers it as so great a distance from its Father, its natural guardian in a place exposed to an enraged enemy and almost defenceless.

2 May 1776. H to L

I sigh for my love. I think of her night & day & I wish her here, but dread the fatigues of the Journey. I am extremely chagrin'd that I received no letters from her by the last post. What can be the reason? But my love did not know I am being at New York, she must have thought me on the road.

28 Aug 1776 H to L

Dear Girl, how much I love you. War will bring peace and bye & bye we will live together, enjoying the felicity & happiness of each other's society 'till time walk us to immortal happiness. Kiss my babe for me & Believe me to possess a sincere affection for you as it is possible for a mortal to do.

In his letters, Henry also asks for, “intelligence concerning the dear pledge of our mutual affections,” [little Lucy Knox], and later refers to their children as, "dear little images.”

After rising to the position of Major Gen., Knox resigned his commission in 1784 and became Secretary of War in 1785, continuing in this position in Washington’s cabinet. Most of his duties revolved around "Indian Affairs." At some point, he also comes to weigh over 290 pounds (Lucy reached around 250 pounds.) Tied up with his various business ventures (x, x), he did not participate in the suppression of the Whiskey Rebellion; AH became acting Secty of War in Knox's place. [HK and AH were good friends - well, besides that matter of their rank in 1798. Their wives likely were also, or at least shared the same social circle. The Knox and Hamilton children shared tutors at times. HK is the author of the letter informing AH of EH’s likely miscarriage in 1794.] Knox retired the position in Jan 1795 and he and Lucy settled in the Maine frontier and were hated by most of their neighbors, to the point of armed conflict. (Maine settlers found Knox to be aristocratic - Henry Knox is the inspiration for Hawthorne's Col Pyncheon in The House of the Seven Gables. It's a useful reminder, in this age of Founders Chic, how rapidly the vision of the Founders was rejected by the American people.) Henry choked on a chicken bone, developed an infection, and died in 1806. Only three of their 13 children survived to adulthood, and Lucy lived alone in their home until her own death in 1824.

To be cont’d

*Henry and Lucy eventually became landowners of part of her grandfather’s large patent of land, once called the Waldo patent, in what would become Maine. They later sold it to William Bingham.

#Henry Knox #Lucy Flucker Knox #18th century marriage #18th century letters

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stillsolo · 6 years

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for the first in a while, I'm gonna ... try to take it easy, today.

I actually have a lot to do but I really need to chill the fuck out for a second and take a breather. my OCD's made my life remarkably difficult lately and I've begun to disassociate in order to cope. I know disassociation plays a key role in obsessive-compulsive disorders; I know my OCD's fairly severe and it's been getting worse as I get older, but I'm not...usually this bad. Even when under stress.

for example, a batch of 200 commissioned banner icons suddenly turns into 400+, and I'm still not done because I can't stop keep remaking them.

oh, this one's coloring is off. but these frames are split second to each other ... can't have that, gotta redo 'em.

wait, the pixels are...'weird' looking in the corner, here. rejected.

this one could've been cropped way better. how could I expect them to use this?

why is this one in the 'final version' folder when the border around it overlapped a part of the icon?

I need to redo these 73 because the shadow is too dark and blocky beneath the icon. it’s supposed to be a fade. it’s what they ordered and you’re not giving them what they asked for.

someone's paying you for this shit get it TOGETHER

yesterday, my OCD got triggered about 3 times? I have a couple of forms. I had a breakdown in front of my mother after she came home and asked me if I ate and I know I must've made some kinda stupid face that gave it away because seconds after she'd asked, I realized I didn't know what the hell ate other than the toast she'd watched me eat before she left for work at 9am. It was 11pm when she asked.

I also had mini-breakdown while talking to my customer and it was terribly embarrassing. I got a nosebleed to top it all off too lmao ( i'm so sorry if you're reading this, john omfg you've been the best to me and I'm sorry because I'm sure all you'd wanted was icons to rp sdfkjsd )

but I just.

All of my friends think OCD is just me having high ass standards or just being 'know-it-all'. I've been called that all my life. In fact, I've been called that by friends I thought would never say anything like that about me because I thought we were friends

We live in this new age of 'awkward is cute'. It's hip to be square, cool to be uncool, and sexy to be nerdy and quirky. and there isn’t any better way to declare your individuality and weirdness than branding yourself 'so OCD' about something.

Ahaha.

I fucking loathe people who do this.

OCD isn't a quirk or a set of tendencies. It's not fucking buzzf.eed list, not a little buzzf.eed quiz you can take and readily relate to the results; it's an incapacitating, isolating disease that makes you afraid of your own mind.

If my friends could see, just once, what it's like for me, when I'm caught in an obsessive-compulsive loop, maybe then they'd finally understand me when I say ''''it's bad''''.

Even Something as simple as drawing a line-art from a sketch turns into a complete and total nightmare. 8/10 times, I'll redraw the line-art like — hm, I don' dunno — about 7 fuckin' times in a row, then, delete all of it because IDK, it wasn't 'right'? ( Who am i kidding; I do the same with sketches ヽ(・ω・)ﾉ )

Oh, yeah, for sure. Me and my ‘high fucking standards' did this.

NO. No one in their right mind would do this. They wouldn’t re-draw the same fucking drawing 7 times in a row and the same layer style over and over, not even changing things up to maybe get some progress. Nobody. Jfc.

And oh, god, that moment when you realize, it's been more than 8/9 hrs since you began and you haven't eaten or drank anything; you don't remember the last time you looked at your phone or what the hell happened to the time because last time you looked, it was 11am and now it’s 9:48pm.

Moreover, you made exactly zero progress on your project — because IDK — there’s no valid reason? JUST COULDN'T STOP HA

I never thought I would talk about this, but uh, Y'all know how much I love han. I want Han to be seen in the best light possible. while SW has been one of the few things that have held a light in my life, he's helped me become a better person in more ways than I can articulate. and no, I don't mean I suddenly started picking trash up off the highways.

I mean, by writing him in this amazing place filled with people I don’t have IRL who share my interests, I’ve met so many new people, friends, learned so many lessons, about characters and life and writing.

When I began writing Han, here, I had just learned what present and past tense was in English. I was winging my writing, trying really hard to understand. English isn't my first language. In Cantonese, my native language, there's no such thing as a past tense.

By writing Han with you guys, I've taken huge steps in life, without even realizing it.

So, everything I do for han, I want for it to be good.

Not outstanding, and definitely not exemplary or nonpareil — just ... good.

And icons — haha. I love icons. I love and hate making them. similar to my writing, I work very hard on his icons. ... but I need to learn where to draw the line.

I once remade an icon 23 times before I was happy with it. ( i had 23 versions left in my folder lmao ). like these here? 10 versions of each, in the least.

( the last one is kinda an exception... I think. I made that one well over 25 times, for sure. but I think it's because I'm not accustomed to Blaine's coloring yet. )

Wow, this really turned into a long post. I don't really care, though. My OCD is something that has always been completely ignored IRL. Shit, it's ignored by even my online friends. I can't even game online without one of them thinking I must get off on establishing my superiority and overall knowledge of '???’ game. Haha.

'Show me your build?' :D 'Er...nah. I think I'll pass.' 'Why? What's the matter?' 'You'll pick it apart.'

It's never considered 'advice' when it's from me. It's me as a know-it-all, as someone who looks down on others for not having up-to-par stats.

I'm sorry I did the math for you so you wouldn't have to. This is simply advice you're free to toss aside, but it's not like it matters. Even if I reassured that—you're already too annoyed to listen for any longer.

So, I’ll also apologize for how I can recall faction modifiers, body part modifiers, critical hit and stealth modifiers, as well as debuffs; how a certain amount of damage of one type turns into inflicted damage to a target while considering type modifiers and armor, and knowing the damage formulas needed to calculate the number of hit points required to kill an armored or unarmored target, with or without a finisher multiplier figured in — because I want you to do the very best with your weapon of choice, even though I can name 5 different weapons that utterly outclass it by tenfold.

In reality, I never had much of choice. Information like that doesn't stop looping in my mind, even at night, when all I want is to sleep.

Sometimes ... I wish I could be that one character on a comedy show who has a quirky disorder or ''OCD'' and everyone seems to love him for it because he's funny when he does it or he's generally helpful

More often than not, my OCD just ruins everything. I don't feel like I belong anywhere.

I need to take a breather.

#˒・*。◞ ( ooc ) *･ﾟ✧ ⎸ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏғ ᴄᴀʀʙᴏɴɪᴛᴇ.#;; — rp woes #;; — general venting #;; — ocd cw #( . trying to be positive but it might've come off negative? okay tldr; i wanna take it easy. i even slept in (kinda) today.#( . im sorry for all the new people seeing me complain lmao i promise i'm usually an active han #( . i just need to finish my commissions first

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comfsy · 4 years

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The Legal Nomads 2019 Gift Guide: Art and Jewelry

I did my first ever holiday gift guide for travelers a few years ago, which was fun to compile. Readers seemed to enjoy the various items, and I was happy to share some of the products that accompanied me on the road. This year, I wanted to do something a little different. For starters, my life is a little different – something all of you already know. As a result, my own gifts to family and friends aren’t souvenirs from far-away places, but fun things I’ve discovered online. I wanted to share some of them here, especially as many are small businesses like myself.

I completed the resulting creative gift guide later than expected, because I could only type in 20 minute increments. I hope you enjoy this gift guide, one that focuses specifically on art and jewelry. There are so many shops with interesting work out there, and sometimes it’s hard to narrow it down.

The items below are from artists that I have supported, some of whom I’ve actually met, and they are all products I stand behind.

Unique Art and Jewelry Gifts for 2019

BECCA JANE DESIGNS

When searching for a gift for my mum’s birthday this year, I thought I would do something a little different. I looked for an artist who could illustrate our family with a beautiful border and then send her a printed copy for her birthday.

I’ve never commissioned this kind of gift before, and Rebecca – the artist I chose – was patient and kind, and we went back and forth a few times until I was satisfied. She even agreed to make my brother as depicted, wearing his favourite martini t-shirt.

I was waiting on this gift guide until my mum received her gift, and she loved it!

Rebecca’s full shop here, and note that she will do other kinds of designs as well, like Save the Dates for weddings, holiday cards, personalized baby blankets, and more.

LEXIGRAPHIQUE

I’ve followed Michael Buchino’s whimsical word work for some time on Instagram, as it combines two of my favourite things: learning, and art. His Insta feed, Lexigraphique, is one of those accounts that I send to multiple friends many times a week.

Before this guide went up, I wrote him to ask if he had any holiday items I could include, and lucky for all of us he was just about to launch the hygge cards below.

You can buy his prints and these cute holiday cards in his Buchino shop, here.

PICTRIXDESIGN

Anne Connell’s shop is a wonder to behold, chock full of paper goods designed — as she notes on Instagram and on her website — with an “absurd attention to detail” She lists herself as a precisionist, and it’s easy to see why. Her artwork is meticulous, delicately crafted, and very unique.

I found her botanical card series first, and clapped my hands with glee. As someone trying to get out in nature during brief spurts of respite from bedrest, they were a breath of fresh air. Her constellation cards, featuring each of the zodiac signs, are a clear crowd-pleaser. I’ve put those two types of cards below but honestly it’s worth heading to see her full shop.

I realize these are listed as cards, but I think they are frame-worthy all by themselves.

Botanical cards here.

Constellation cards here.

And the full shop here.

NICALLENART

Nicola is a long-time Legal Nomads reader, and a fellow lawyer and traveler. She has generously shared bird illustrations and other fun to keep me cheered up when I’ve been down. She’s also a very talented artist, and her cards and other items are rich in puns and joyful artistry.

Nicola’s work reminds me of the children’s’ books I loved most, with creative characters, maps, and whimsical animals. A talented hand-brush lettering artist, she also includes a lot of drawn typography in her work.

From a grumpy owl to a festive sheep, you’ll be sure to find holiday cards to your tastes. And one of my absolute faves is her wedding card below, “Of all the fish in the sea” — delightful.

Nicola’s full shop is here, with specifics from the above illustrations as follows:

Grumpy Owl here

Festive sheep here.

Of all the fish in the sea here.

BIRDSTRIPS

I’ve had the pleasure of meeting Jess, the genius behind Birdstrips, in person twice. She’s currently in Montreal, and a friend introduced us just before I re-leaked last summer. Her illustrations have grown a huge following on Instagram due to its relatable messaging, and her captions that accompany the drawings are raw and vulnerable. Together, it’s powerful work that makes almost everyone feel heard.

In Jess’ words, the shop comprises “the existential distress of the flightless through the eyes of the flighted.”

You can check out her images and pick up mugs, shirts, prints and more, here.

ABSTRACT AERIAL ART

JP and Mike Andrews, two brothers from the UK are an Instagram favourite of mine. I often share their images with my community because their eye is unique, and their pictures compelling. Like me, they absolutely love to travel. Unlike me, they specialize in photographing bizarre, aerial images our planet using drone photography.

Their goal: to share perspectives of the world otherwise unseen, captured from a vantage point most of us miss. A great gift option for those who love to roam.

Here’s one I love from them: Skyline, a drone photograph of a freighter that looks like a cityscape.

And this aerial view of a beach made me smile:

Their full gallery shop here.

TEKSTARTIST

Jason Markow, aka TEKSTartist is an artist I found a few years ago, and was hooked immediately. His work combines both traditional and digital media, a fusion of techniques that result in elegant yet crisp products. Given that my own products are typographic representations of food, I love that his art includes quotes he’s enjoyed over the years, visually represented in unique ways.

One of my favourites: this flower, “Your Garden, Forever” available here, created by warping and twisting the words from Tennyson’s famous quote – “If I had a flower for every time I thought of you…I could walk through my garden forever.”― Alfred Tennyson

(c)TEKSTartist 2019

And the item below, The Giving Tree, was created by warping/twisting the words from the entire set of text from Shel Silverstein’s iconic book “The Giving Tree”. Buy a copy of the artwork here.

(c)TEKSTartist 2019

Full shop here.

EFFIN BIRDS

These illustrations of birds with curse words sayings are all the rage on Instagram and Twitter, for good reason: they’re hilarious. Crafted by Aaron Reynolds, they do seem to offend some, but as the name suggests exactly what they are it’s hard for anyone to be upset. Don’t like them? Close the tab. Personally, I find them exactly what I need, each and every day. Clothing, mugs, pins, and more at the link, including a new Effin’ Birds book.

Buy here.

TOTE BAGS: TYPOGRAPHIC MAPS OF FOOD

I’m excited to share the new tote bags in the Legal Nomads shop. Previously, I offered a canvas, bull-woven tote of the maps, with the map printed on once side. These new tote bags are black and white – and if people like, I can also swap out the handles to make them red or mustard! – and the design is printed on both sides.*

*If you’d like to swap out the tote bag for a different handle (example here), just send an email to jodi-at-legalnomads.com after you order, and I’ll make sure it happens.

The new tote has sturdy handles and holds up to 44lbs, perfect for errands and/or carrying a laptop without a laptop bag. Food maps of Japan, Thailand, Vietnam, Portugal, Italy, and Mexico available.

Shop the new totes here. The full shop is here.

VANRILEY

These beautiful macrame earrings are courtesy of the Van Riley shop, run by a fellow leaker. I wanted to share her work as I know how it is to worry about making ends meet with a CSF leak. If someone in your life loves macrame, please consider supporting her shop!

Macrame earrings and other items, on the VanRiley shop here.

MICAPEET JEWLERY

Given my love of nature, it’s no surprise that I also love jewelry that depicts it in design. I saw these gold leaf earrings recently and ordered a pair as my holiday gift to myself. They’re lightweight — great for anyone with headaches — and they are delicate and just so pretty. I like the contrast of the gold with the emerald green stud in the ear.

If leaf earrings aren’t your thing, Mica also has necklaces, rings, and other earrings in a variety of shapes and sizes. They’re lightweight and beautiful, and oh so creative. Her jewelry is hypoallergenic and nickel-free.

Buy the same gold leaf earrings that I love here, with Mica’s full shop here.

GLDNxLAYEREDANDLONG

Several readers nominated this Etsy shop, and it’s the only one on this list that I haven’t also purchased myself. But when my readers are happy, I’m happy, and I wanted to share what brought them such joy in gift giving.

Chrissy’s shop features personalized, delicate jewelry for those who want to memorialize their care with initials or names. The image below is for the necklace that several readers bought, but her shop is full of other options, including rings, earrings, and pendants.

Personalized initial necklace here. Full shop here.

BEBANGLES

I’ve saved one of the best for last.

My friend Chantelle started Be., a company that sells bangles – but also much more than simply bangles. Chantelle is one of the most open-hearted, vivacious people I’ve ever met, and thankfully I’ve had the pleasure of meeting her in person years ago. Her company’s bangles work well in conjunction with the lightness and curse words of Effin Birds, two small business enterprises that use curse words to make a valid point. In Chantelle’s case, Be. takes a stand against societal norms. Her work aims to support women and girls in a society that often expects airbrushed perfection.

I received a few Be. bangles as a wonderful 40th birthday gift from Chantelle, and my two faves – that came with me to Florida are:

“I’m mostly peace, love, light, and a little go fuck yourself” – product here, and

“I stopped waiting for the light at the end of the tunnel, and lit that bitch up myself” – product here.

I am someone who uses curse words as a form of punctuation, so those two bracelets are perfect. For those with less swear-y tendencies, lots of beautiful options like:

“Be you. The world will adjust.” (here), and

“Speak. Even if your voice shakes.” (here.)

All of Be.’s products here.

That’s it for 2019! A big thanks to my friend Reine who helped pull many of the images and upload them for me, so that I could do this guide more easily. It would have been a 2020 gift guide without her. Hopefully there’s something fun in here for someone in your family.

Happy holidays, and thank you as always for all the incredible support.

-Jodi

The post The Legal Nomads 2019 Gift Guide:<br /> Art and Jewelry appeared first on Legal Nomads.

The Legal Nomads 2019 Gift Guide: Art and Jewelry published first on https://takebreaktravel.tumblr.com/

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authenticaussie · 7 years

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10 marcosabo??

10. “Teach me how to play?”

Commissions! || Ko-fi!

It starts when Sabo’s angrily dragged his violin out of storage and is basically attacking the strings with his bow, muscle memory coming back to him awkwardly at dawn

Playing music’s never helped him calm down and right now he wants that, wants to feel angry, wants to hold onto the tenuous grip he has on his rage because if he doesn’t he’s sure that he’ll collapse on the floor and not move for the next few hours, paralyzed by the thought of what the hell he’s supposed to do next, “let go” from a job he hadn’t even liked but he’d needed, quite obviously at the pressuring from his parents to force him to come back home, and playing the violin isn’t helping because all he can remember is playing until his hands were cramped and his fingertips were bruised and his mother still sighed in disappointment as he tried to do everything his teacher had taught him

(Imagine how disappointed they’d be in you now, whispers part of him that has never been able to let go of the fact they’re his parents, and he tells it angrily to shut up because they have no say on what he gets to do with his life).

He doesn’t even care what he’s playing - is surprised and bitter about how much he remembers - until he literally can’t play anymore, hands shaking and his body exhausted, and that’s when he notices that there’s a FUCKING PERSON??? OUTSIDE HIS WINDOW??? HE LIVES ON THE FIFTH FLOOR???

He basically screams. In his defence, he’d been very, very out of it, and a kid’s head hanging through his window UPSIDE DOWN is not something that comes out of a romantic comedy.

“this is how i die….heart attack via creepy child.”

The kid winces at his yelling, and kind of starts whining at him for screaming, and Sabo’s still panicking, and then he hears yelling from his upstairs neighbour that sounds super angry and the kid flushes and then pulls themselves out of the window and vanishes

Sabo quickly goes to the window and looks up and the kid catches him and waves cheekily and Sabo catches sight of his neighbor, Marco.

They’ve only had a few interactions before this, but Marco’s been pretty nice, and bought him dinner one time when Sabo accidentally locked himself out of his apartment. Marco’s super busy all the time, and almost always has people over at his place, though, so they don’t talk much.

Marco flushes as soon as he meets Sabo’s gaze and is like “i am so sorry, I didn’t mean to overhear your playing, and I didn’t mean for Becky to do that to you, I’m so sorry-”

“YOU SHOULD TEACH ME HOW TO PLAY!!!” screams the child

God No is Sabo’s first thought because alskhdgf he’s Not a Child Fan (it doesn’t help that the kid had uTTERLY TERRIFIED HIM at first meeting, either.)

Marco flushes even more and groans and buries his face in his hands and starts telling her off and she just starts po u t i n g and she looks so much like Luffy that Sabo has to stifle a laugh, for the first time since yesterday feeling marginally better.

“I’ve never taught anyone before,” he finds himself saying, and Becky grins back at him and says

“Well I’ve never learnt anyone before so we’re even!!”

“Learnt from,” Marco corrects tiredly, then looks down at Sabo, a bit confused, “You really don’t have to, she’ll forget about this soon enough, I understand that you work a lot-”

Sabo finds himself biting out a bitter laugh, reminded again of his situation and Marco’s expression softens imperceptibly with pity. “If you need, I could use someone to keep an eye on her…? You could teach her then, too.”

and Sabo sighs but coincides that even if it’s a skill he hates it’s one he can profit from while he works his ass off to try and find a new job, and it’ll slow down the steady drain on his savings, even if only by a little. “It’s not easy,” he finds himself warning her, regardless, but she only scoffs and flips her hair.

“Neither were cartwheels, and now I’m great at them.”

Sabo gives up Tuesday and Thursday afternoons to babysit her and teach violin for at least an hour of that time. At first, the lessons drag on. Sabo isn’t sure what he’s doing, and Becky’s awkward and stiff and too energetic to brace herself, and he gets frustrated and tired easily. He finds a temporary job, writing for online communities and blogs and taking whatever spare work around the neighbor he can while he works on getting another better paying job, but there’s almost nothing open and while his old employment said they’d give him references, he’d called and emailed and they only very badly reply.

His parents call him every day for two weeks, and Sabo contemplates throwing out his phone altogether.

Becky - who’d been staying at Marco’s for a week-long sleepover, apparently, delighting in stories of how awesome Marco is and eagerly spreading as many tales as she knows about him, to Sabo’s eternal amusement - still shows up for violin lessons after she leaves Marco's, and stays over for an extra hour or two, watching tv or sitting on his couch and reading and one day she drags her homework out of her bag and sits there and solves math questions and spelling tests while he works on his commission work.

Becky keeps sighing pointedly and chewing on her pencil and fidgeting as she does her homework, and Sabo sighs and drags himself next her and is like “what’s the problem” and she just points at it and Sabo starts helping her with her homework every week

They fall into a routine; they’ll work on Becky’s homework for an hour and half to two hours, depending on how long she’s staying, and then she’ll throw her books into her bag. Before she plays she carefully checks the tuning against an app Sabo put on his phone and stretches her hands, and then very seriously stands there with a slightly too-big violin looking awkward against her skinny body as she waits for Sabo’s instructions.

Marco picks her up every day, and she’ll cheerfully tell him about whatever they learnt and how Sabo helped with her homework and what she’d done at school and did Marco know that she was going to ask for a proper violin from Whitebeard for her birthday because she wants her own so she can practice at home, and Marco always lets her go on with an indulgent smile on his face that Sabo finds himself loving the sight of, something warm and fond in his chest whenever they leave

Sabo’s still rusty, of course, and finds himself throwing lessons together for the first two weeks, but when she keeps coming back he finds himself looking up tutorials on youtube and reading articles and re-acquainting himself with sheet music and cautiously placing his bow against the strings, drawing out soft, quiet music, the kind his parents had never wanted to hear him play because it was easy

He can’t play his violin without thinking of them, but it gets easier to shut them out of his mind and shut them up with memories of the girl frowning in concentration, trying to get a particular section of music, and the low dusk light filtering into his apartment as he slowly practices songs to teach her in the future.

One night, just as Sabo’s drawing out the last few wavering notes from his violin he hears a quiet request from the window, “Can you keep going?”

He blinks, because Marco’s never really been one to communicate through windowsills, and finds himself drawn to the window, replacing his bow on the strings and continuing to play whatever chords struck his fancy, taking bits and pieces from the music he knew and stringing them together.

He hears almost the quietest sigh above the sound of his violin, and keeps playing until no amount of curiosity at Marco’s request can make him continue, and leans out the window to see Marco with his face buried in his hands

“Thank you,” he says, lifting up his head and giving Sabo a small, sad smile, and then goes back into his apartment

They don’t speak of it, but when Sabo plays for the next week, all he can think about is Marco in the room above him, listening to his music

Finds himself thinking about Marco whenever he plays, plays terrifyingly fast, hummingbird heart fast, fingertips flying fast, and thinks about Marco

Wonders if Marco knows that he has songs dedicated to the thought of him, now.

Sabo finds himself surviving - almost thriving, really - on commission work and music lessons and Marco asks if he wants more students and recommends him to some people when Sabo says yes. Does babysitting work for Marco and some of Marco’s friends and learns that a lot of Marco’s “siblings” / the kids that he knows are from an orphanage ran by the same man that adopted Marco. Agrees to host some kids a few times, at the promise of Marco’s assistance, and finds himself sleeping over at Marco’s apartment during the week because he’d been too scared to take care of the kid by himself for more than an hour or two

(”You take care of Becky for six hours a week!”

“She’s different, all she wants to do is play my violin!”)

He and Marco end up getting closer and Becky still delightedly shares stories about Marco and Sabo finds himself more and more enraptured, undeniable fondness invading his laughter and his smile whenever Marco talks to him or Becky tells him a new story and it is Way To Late for him when he realises what the warm n’ fuzzy in his chest is

In the middle of playing his violin in Marco’s lounge room with Becky listening and humming along as she does homework he imagines Marco leaning over to kiss him and tHE MOST DISCORDANT SOUND COMES FROM HIS VIOLIN AS HE MESSES UP SO OO O BADLY AND LITERALLY EVERYONE IN HOUSE JUST TURNS TO LOOK AT HIM BUT HE’S TOO BUSY INTERNALLY FREAKING OUT AND MARCO’S LOOKING ALL WORRIED AND IS LIKE SABO ARE YOU OKAY???? AND SABO JUST LOOKS AT HIM WITH WIDE EYES AND GOES

“FUCK”

Becky gasps as though she hasn’t heard worse from the Whitebeard fam, and hasn’t gotten as equally creative with her own vocabulary, and Sabo turns bright red, and 200000x more embarrassed at Marco’s startled look

“sh I T IM SORRY SHIT- I MEAN- FUCK- NO- FU DGE E ????”

(Becky looks about two seconds away from almost crying in laughter, but also Vaguely Concerned, because Sabo doesn’t a c t like this and she’s super confused and worried)

“Are you okay??” Marco asks again and Sabo looks at him and kind of uselessly nods and then shakes his head and then nods again and buries his face in his hands with a groan

Suffice to say, this does Not Help their concern.

MARCO PUTS HIS HAND ON SABO’S SHOULDER AND TILTS HIS CHIN UP AND SABO’S STOMACH ERUPTS IN BUTTERFLIES AND HIS FACE IS B U R N I N G HE’S GOING TO D I E

“I THINK I REALLY LIKE YOU,” he blurts out, and then for REALS LITERALLY WANTS TO DIE. OR TAPE HIS MOUTH SHUT. EITHER OR.

Marco just b l i n k s at him again, so so startled and so confused and then this slow red starts creeping across his cheeks and Becky has lost all composure and is laughing to death in the corner and it’s not helping Sabo but also what can he do but stare at the blush painting Marco’s cheeks and the fact that Marco hasn’t moved away from him and

oh my god is he staring??? he’s t OT ALLY STARING AT MY LIPS thinks Sabo, mortified and so happy that it isn’t funny and he carefully puts his violin to the side and leans forwards just as Marco does and their noses bump and Sabo kisses Marco and Oh God this is a lot faster than he expected but it’s so nice and he didn’t even realise he??? wanted this??? until it was happening??? and Marco’s fingers are gently tangling in his hair and oh yep, this is when he truly dies, his heart will explode from affection and adoration and the warmth building in his chest and

“I’m going to die,” he says, in all seriousness, and Marco looks like he’s about to freak out so Sabo quickly adds, “Of happies.”

and Becky FALLS OFF THE COUCH, WHEEZING IN LAUGHTER, “OF H APP I ES” she cries, and Marco turns to glare at her in the annoyed sibling way when they’re being a pest and throws a pillow at her and she just la u g h s even harder and Sabo can’t help the muffled sounds coming from him now either and he bursts into laughter and Marco’s looking at him and then he starts grinning and covers his eyes and part of his steadily growing smile with his hand and THEY’RE ALL JUST STANDING IN MARCO’S LOUNGE ROOM, LAUGHING THEIR HEADS OFF AND SO SO HAPPY

#marcosabo #opfanfic #marsab #nari is writing #lollesss #ask aussie #barbequeue #16/02/2017 #this is pure fluff oh man it;s a good time ;u;

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tendingthearchive · 5 years

Text

Having opinions in digital preservation

A talk for Australasia Preserves, the digital preservation community-of-practice.

Thank you for the invite to talk to you today.

My 9 year old asked me as we hiked down the far south coast last weekend, what is digital preservation. I said to him it’s about keeping digital stuff like things on the internet forever. I don’t think it had ever occurred to him that what’s on the internet might be temporary.

So what’s difficult about keeping digital stuff forever then?

For me there are two factors:

1) that the digital needs an ecology. My background is archives both in the professional sense and in the humanities-metaphorical sense. When people ask me what is an archivist-they rarely do, most people have an opinion about what an archivist is. But my answer is that we are experts at putting information in context.

2) that boundaries in the digital are not clear cut and decisions must be made. Here I mean how deep do you go into the website, how much of that digital ecology do you need to keep to keep it alive.

And my solutions in short are:

1) we must get used to having, showing and justifying our opinions about the decisions we make in digital preservation.

2) we need both people and things if we want to keep such fragile things as digital resources alive. we need to charge people with caring for them so that all the knowledge that must go with them stays alive. We still need the traditional things of preservation but we and we need to keep them circulating.

So that foreshadows my points for you.

Now I must give you my credentials before I flesh out why I can make these quite massive claims.

Today I am talking to you from my desk in PhD study room in the arts faculty at the Uni of CBR. I am a member of the Centre for Creative and Cultural Research.

I worked from 2002 until just a month ago at National Archives, initially in film preservation, then in information management, most recently Australian government information policy.

I broke up my time at the Archives with a stint at the Maritime Museum as a records manager.

My life in archives began in local government in Sydney.

My creative life in audiovisual media began back in 1990 in New Zealand and has continued throughout.

And now I am going to turn to the data set that has pointed me to to these massive claims.

My PhD uses a case study of a perfect storm of ephemeral media–a film performance from 1976 that involves super 8 film. Some of you may know it, so I will name it ‘Man With Mirror’ by British artist Guy Sherwin. My field work consisted of testing a ‘manual’ for the artwork that my colleague and I made some years earlier. I focused my research on testing the manual to try to understand if instructions/‘the archive’ are enough to keep live things like Man With Mirror alive. I commissioned an artist to work with me and the manual coproducer to try out the instructions. As a control experiment, I commissioned some artists to work on their own with only the manual.

In my sentence ‘understand if the instructions are enough to keep live things alive’, we can substitute language more familiar in digital preservation: ‘I wanted to understand if instructions can keep performance-dependent things alive’.

I want to make that link to digital preservation explicit. My work on Man With Mirror usefully flushes out some of the problems and issues that beset digital preservation.

Why? Because Man With Mirror is old school analogue made on super 8, it involves performance, and it’s quite old, made in 1976.

Here is footage of Guy performing. It’s quite hard to understand what’s going on in this video–that’s part of my point, a recording of it doesn’t do it justice.

Let me decode it for you–Guy filmed himself in a London park in 1976 performing a fairly fixed choreography with a mirror. He repeats that performance live with the film projected onto himself and the mirror. The performance becomes this surprisingly disconcerting experience–even though you can clearly see that it’s an interplay between ‘film Guy’ and ‘live Guy’ because you can see the projector, there are no tricks, nothing’s hidden. It creates a poetic and satisfying confusion where you can’t quite tell film Guy from real Guy.

So it’s like an early kind of VR or immersive media experience, the mirror image gets projected out around the audience, there is this uncanny doubling going on. Guy has performed this work a lot since 2000.

So here are the problems Man With Mirror shares with digital preservation:

1) it has to perform, both the technology and its content just like the Word document itself and the Word program or equivalent.

2) If it’s shelved on its own without any context or metadata, it will be completely unintelligible.

3) And because of its particular content, it can’t just be straight copied, that will lose one of its main ‘reasons for being’. It’s DNA has to be ‘kept alive’.

Part of my creative audiovisual media practice looks at underground film history. About a decade ago, an artist friend and I started ‘re-enacting’ some of the live or expanded cinema from the underground. Some of you may know our work–we are Teaching and Learning Cinema. We learnt from our early re-enactments and for Man With Mirror, we recorded our experience of the process in a ‘manual’ as a set of instructions. Our reasons included encouraging others to try staging Man With Mirror themselves and also preserving Man With Mirror.

So to return to my two key points:

1) we must get used to having, showing and justifying our opinions about the decisions we make in digital preservation.

- the manual is a ‘tale of experience’. It includes background info about Guy and Expanded Cinema but its call to future attention is that its subjective.

Sub points:

made as part of our art practice

a creative practice

no manual by Guy

not just that we made it up or riffed on it, we also wanted to attend to the rules and rigours, our creative contribution was to try to ascertain what was irrefutably different because we did it instead of Guy and the next person’s experience would be different.

instructions as creative product have a history - Fluxus is one of them - Maclow spirit of collab. tact etc.

2) we need both people and things if we want to keep such fragile things as digital resources alive. Sometimes we need to charge people with caring for them so that all the knowledge that must go with them stays alive. We still need the traditional things of preservation but/and we need to keep them circulating.

Let’s work through each of these points with my data from Man With Mirror.

We need people and things:

I commissioned Laura to work with Lucas and I to test the user’s manual. She surfaced that the embodied knowledge involved in the work wasn’t captured in the manual. She wasn’t quite sure where to put her hands. TLC had never specifically discussed this nor identified it as essential information until we worked with Laura. We did know the answer but we didn’t know it was important, it never occurred to us to pass that info on. And yet it’s really important for Laura.

There are two things to note here connected to why we need people and things:

TACIT Knowledge can be buried – it’s very difficult to record all the important information. Tacit knowledge can be hidden and it’s not until you experience it that you find things that need to be made explicit.

–the second one is that testing your collection and its records is critical. Most of us know this. Certainly in the archives world, the first rule of description as I learnt it was that you must test how you describe things to see if it actually takes the user where you want them to go and where they need and want to go. So with our user’s manual, the testing came after the manual but the manual will end up with an insert in the form of Laura’s tale of use.

I am taking this idea a step further at the moment in my current project with Guy’s partner Lynn to make instructions for a 16mm performance work of hers. We will make and test the instructions in five cycles of testing with different users. We are doing this in an exhibition in CBR called The Stand in Project.

UNDERSTANDING WHERE THE EMPHASIS SHOULD GO CAN BE DIFFICULT

Recently, after Laura’s use some students tried out using the manual unaided to set up for TLC. They had trouble working out the relative importance of things. Did the puffer brush to clean the film projector play a major part? They really couldn’t work it out and of course, the puffer brush is a completely incidental tool. This is much like TLC’s early experience in staging other people’s artworks. We showed a seminal experimental film experience Line Describing a Cone. It involves haze. Our room was so dense with haze you couldn’t see from one side to the other. after discussion with the film maker, we realised the haze was a stand in for the cigarette smoke that would have been in the room in 1969 when it was first made, far less than we created. And we were deeply worried by the film print. Did the imperfections in the print ruin the idea? Over time we learnt that these considerations which had seemed so important were minor and the real ‘site’ of the work was robust, little we could do to derail the wonderful 3D sculpture that Line Describing a Cone creates.

Laura describes this in her ‘tale of use’ that she added to the WWM user’s manual.

In the Stand in Project, I have asked Lynn to write a letter of ‘invitation’ to a future user to tell them in her own words what’s important to her about it, to try to impart some of her wisdom to that user.

So these are problems of emphasis. Or they are knowing what’s essential about the work. Or they are identifying the DNA.

Sometimes we need to charge people with caring for them

Some of you will have heard me talk before about Rebecca Schneider. She is a scholar of performance studies, the field that blossomed in the 70s drawing together ideas from anthropology and progressive theatre. Schneider wrote a book on re-enactment so she has been mandatory reading for me. One of her ideas that’s a useful challenge to heritage keepers is that a performance can be a record. Our usual thinking is that the problem with performance is that records of it are never the same as being there. There’s a whole line of scholarship that digs into this. But Schneider’s idea that a performance can be a record then puts our emphasis on keeping the structure that produces that record alive. Her example is the religious liturgy. Each performance is actually evidence that cultural knowledge persists. Keeping the individual liturgy has less urgency for those that value it than ensuring that the performance of the algorithm of the liturgy can continue. This is similar to our ideas in producing a manual for Man With Mirror. We wanted to keep the experience of Guy’s work alive. And as you can see from my description, just keeping Guy’s film components won’t allow an experience of the work when Guy’s not around because essential to the work is a relationship between the performer and the person in the film.

And Lucas and I as TLC explored this idea of getting users partly because we wanted to see if we could establish a ‘mini ritual’ around Man With Mirror. And this goes to the idea I talked about in my iPres 2016 offering, that in this model of ‘preservation as/of doing’, a small community of ‘carers’ is brought into existence. We have no evidence yet that the small community will persist over time but that concept, of forming a ‘circle of support’ for variable media objects that we really care about seems promising.

Some other points if they come up: my idea about a circle of support for media is a massive claim. Can we scale it across things like the National Archives? If we want the records of the Wheat Exports Board, if we want to actually understand those emails are we going to be able to do that. My ambitions for the National Archives are more modest - we want to include tales of use - when people use these records, their use fleshes them out in a particular way.

Man With Mirror is in the collection of the EYE Film museum in Amsterdam, but what’s in the collection is limited to the film components. A film archives scholar proposed using choreographic notation to record the movements that are carried out in Man With Mirror. My conservator husband suggested you would in the future cast a ‘look alike’ to perform the work.

What kind of use or ‘contact’ might a future visitor/user want from the variable object.

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