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nerdierholler · 3 years ago

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Wayhaven Frights Day 7: Isolation

Pairing: Ethan Langford/Adam du Mortain Rating: G Words: 1925 Warnings: none Ethan's been shut up alone inside his apartment dealing with the flu and Adam comes to check on him. It's flirty fluff, mostly on Ethan's part. Even sick he's absolutely incorrigible. Also you can read it on AO3 here.

Isolation

Fevers and chills had racked Ethan’s body for several days now. At the first sign he was feeling under the weather, the captain had ordered him out of the station, something Ethan resented in the moment but was grateful for by the time he’d collapsed into bed later. And in bed was where he’d stayed for most of the last 48 hours. It had taken him 10 minutes yesterday just to get the pot of soup Tina left on his doorstep and put it away. Afterwards he slept for 8 hours from just that small amount of exertion.

The buzzing sound of his phone grating against his nightstand woke Ethan up. He rolled over, grimacing as he peeled himself away from the sweat soaked sheets. If it was Douglas calling to check on him yet again he was going to strangle the kid as soon as he could hold his arms up for more than a few minutes. He looked at the caller ID. It was Adam.

“Hey,” Ethan croaked, the first word he’d spoken in days.

“You sound terrible.”

“I feel terrible.” He let the phone drop onto the side of his face, too tired to hold it up. “Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, can I go back to sleep?”

“Agent Langford contacted me. She’s concerned about your illness and wanted to check in on you.”

“You checked, I’m still alive. Goodbye now.”

“In person.”

Ethan groaned. He was an adult, not a child, he didn’t need his mother trying to babysit him just because he had the flu.

“Since catching your illness isn’t a concern, I offered to stop by after my patrol.”

Normally, Ethan’s heart would be fluttering at the rare moment of concern from the usually stoic leader, but right now even the opportunity of having Adam alone in his apartment wasn’t enough to overpower Ethan’s desire for rest.

“Fine.” Even if he had the energy, he knew there’d be no point in arguing if both Adam and his mother had conspired against him. “But don’t expect me to get the door, just let yourself in and try to be quiet.”

In the brief silence that followed, Ethan could perfectly picture Adam about to protest against just waltzing into his apartment and somehow invading his privacy. “I’ll be there shortly,” he said finally.

“Okay.”

“Goodbye, detective.”

“Yeah,” Ethan mumbled. Rolling over, he let the phone slide off his face and onto the pillow. In a few moments he was asleep once again.

Several hours passed before Ethan opened his eyes. When he did, he could just make out the faint traces of sunset shining through the curtains. Adam must have come by while he was sleeping. At least he didn’t wake him up in the process. It felt like that last bit of sleep might have been what he needed to start turning the corner. At the very least it meant he woke up feeling well enough to make it as far as the kitchen for some water.

He swung his feet over the side of the bed and sat up, allowing a few moments to adjust to the change in position before attempting to stand. His knees didn’t immediately buckle, so that was a good start. He shuffled over to the door, holding onto the frame for support as he opened it. And on the other side was Adam, sitting on his couch with a book, green eyes darting up to look at him.

Ethan would be lying if the thought of standing in front of Adam, clad only in his boxers, hadn't crossed his mind before. This just wasn’t how he imagined it playing out. There was usually a lot more lead up to this point and a lot less body odor on his part. As it was, the most he could manage was a lopsided grin in apology for his current state of existence.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“Don’t worry, I’m heading back shortly, just getting some water. Maybe food and a shower too, but let’s not get carried away just yet.”

Adam watched him closely as he made his way to the kitchen. Ethan had no doubt he was ready to jump up if he showed any sign of trouble. Briefly, he considered faking a stumble just to see what Adam would do but decided against it. There was too great a chance of his fake attempt becoming a real one.

Ethan filled a glass from the sink and drained it in one long gulp. Filling it again, he leaned back against the kitchen counter and closed his eyes, partially to avoid looking at Adam, but mostly because even the short walk across the apartment had made his head start to spin.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

Adam’s voice was just a few feet away now. He must have gotten up after Ethan closed his eyes. “I’m fine.” There was a huff of disapproval from nearby. “Or I will be. It’s just the flu. A few more days of rest and I’ll be right as rain. Don’t worry about...” the last word hung on Ethan’s lips as he opened his eyes and found Adam standing right beside him, brow knotted with concern. Raising the glass to his lips, Ethan took another long drink.

“May I?” Adam asked as he lifted a hand towards Ethan’s face,

Ethan could only nod silently, not sure of what to expect next and half wondering if maybe this was all just part of some fevered dream. Adam placed his hand on Ethan’s forehead for a few moments, the touch making his whole body tingle. He made a mental note to hide the digital thermometer that was currently sitting on his nightstand.

“I don’t feel any fever but that doesn’t mean it won’t return. I think it would be best if you returned to bed as soon as possible.”

Part of Ethan wanted to immediately protest, an unfortunate side effect of having spent so much time with the vampire. In this instance however, there really wasn’t a reason for them to butt heads. It wasn’t like Ethan had been planning on going for a long evening stroll or something. “At the very least, I’m going to take a quick shower,” his stomach gurgled, “and maybe eat something, then it’s back to bed, I promise.”

That answer seemed to satisfy Adam and his face softened with relief, apparently not in the mood to fight either. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“In the shower?” Ethan raised an eyebrow, “I’m sure I could think of something.”

Adam folded his arms across his chest, “That was not what I meant.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ethan waved a hand dismissively as he made his way to the bathroom. Flirting with Adam when he was standing in his underwear was probably a bad idea anyway. “I’m fine. I’ll deal with my own messes in a few days, there’s nothing that can’t wait.” He turned back to Adam with a genuine smile, “Thanks for offering though.”

The hot water running over Ethan made him want to melt into the drain at his feet. If he had a list of top ten showers he’d ever taken, this would have been one of them. He didn’t have a list, but his mind quickly started to form one before he stopped himself. Adam was still in the other room and while some of those might be pleasant memories to revisit, now was not the time.

He stood there for longer than he’d intended as the aches in his body slowly dissolved until he felt blissfully limp and relaxed. He dried off and wrapped the towel around his waist then opened the door. And immediately closed it. Right, Adam. Ethan looked down at the boxers in the hamper, he really didn’t want to put them back on, even for just a few minutes to get to his room. He cracked the door just wide enough for his face to peek through.

“Hey, Adam? Can you do me a favor?”

Adam eyed him cautiously, unsure of what kind of favor the detective might ask, “Yes?”

“Bring me some shorts. Middle drawer, any pair is fine.”

For the briefest of moments Adam’s face blushed with realization at the request and Ethan couldn’t help but wonder how much Adam enjoyed the mental image that must have just passed through his mind. He hoped it was quite a lot.

In half a minute, Adam returned, holding out a pair of shorts, which Ethan quickly grabbed and put on. Finally emerging from the bathroom, he looked between the kitchen and his bedroom. Despite how much he’d slept recently, floating back into bed seemed too irresistible given his relaxed state.

“Alright, I’m going back to bed, I’ll worry about food the next time I get up.”

Instead of seeming pleased with this announcement, Adam frowned instead. “When was the last time you ate something?”

“Umm,” Ethan ran his fingers through his wet hair in thought, “I think I had some crackers yesterday, maybe.”

Adam’s frown deepened, “Last time I checked, humans required regular meals.”

“I thought you wanted me in bed?”

“I do,” Ethan quirked an eyebrow at Adam’s words, causing him to pause and clear his throat. “That is, I think you need more rest in order to recover. If you want to lay down, I would be happy to bring you something.”

“If you insist.” Ethan started to head back to his room, “Tina brought some soup by the other day, it’s in the big green dish in the fridge, just put some in a smaller bowl-”

“I remember how to make soup,” Adam interrupted.

“Two and half minutes in the microwave should be enough. Do you know how to work the-”

“Yes, I know!”

Ethan chuckled to himself as he pulled back the duvet and slipped between the crisp sheets. This felt heavenly, hopefully he could stay awake long enough for Adam to bring him his soup.

Wait. Ethan rolled over and sniffed his pillow. These were clean sheets. Had Adam? While he was in the shower? Ethan closed his eyes with a happy sigh. As frustrating as it could be trying to figure Adam out, there was nothing in the world like those times when he showed how much he cared.

“Here, it’s hot,” Adam said, as he set the bowl down on the side table.

Ethan sat up and grabbed it, enjoying the feeling of warmth in his hands. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Adam’s voice was surprisingly soft and the smile that played on the corners of his lips didn’t escape Ethan’s notice.

“I really appreciate you coming by. I don’t think I realized how nice it would be to see someone again.” To see you again.

“It was no trouble, Ethan. I was glad to be of assistance.”

“Care to fill me in on what I’ve missed that last couple of days? Just while I finish this,” Ethan added, “then I’ll be a good boy and go back to sleep.”

The smile Adam had been trying to suppress finally broke through and he leaned against the dresser, telling Ethan about the latest news from the warehouse. Ethan wanted this to last, the comfortable conversation. He ate as slowly as possible and the last few spoonfuls were cold by the time he got to them. But try as he might, his body got the better of him and it wasn’t long after Adam carried the empty bowl away to the kitchen that Ethan was fast asleep once more.

#wayhavenfrights #the wayhaven chronicles #twc #detective x adam #ethan langford #ethan is a tall sassy drink of water #and adam is just going to have to deal with that #please just imagine adam screaming internally as ethan walks around his underwear the whole time #life at nerdy holler #nerdy writes #this was a long one #downside is I've burned through my few days of buffer

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soudam-appreciation · 4 years ago

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A Special Kind Of Lamp? (3)

TW:: this chapter contains depression and brief/vague mentions of s*icide. Stay safe loves!

. . .

Gundham knew he should get up. His mother had left hours ago for her job, and he felt hunger gnawing at his stomach. Heaving a sigh, he rolled his feet off the edge of his bed and let his body follow. He sat there for a moment, on the floor. The random assortment of objects that lay scattered across his room did not make his position any more comfortable. He contemplated sitting here all day doing nothing, or maybe cleaning up the mess that had been gathering for months, or perhaps even taking a shower (since gods know he could use one). Groaning, he decided against all of those things and stood, trudging out of his darkened cave without even putting on pants.

He glided down the stairs, kicking up a cloud of dust and animal fur with every sullen step. Like a ghost, he wandered through his household, barely registering the pristine condition of the place. Winding his way around the bright Victorian style living spaces, he reached his destination.

He rifled through the pantry, then the fridge, grabbing a single can of soda. Then, opening the freezer, he removed a bag of frozen tater tots and an entire tub of ice cream. Dropping them on the countertop quickly, and shaking the cold from his hands, he pushed the freezer shut with his sockless foot. Not bothering to get a plate, he pulled a spoon from a drawer somewhere and a towel from another and wrapped up the bag of frozen tots. Picking up his items, he began to leave. However, as he took a few steps, he caught a glimpse of a note on the countertop.

"Happy 21st birthday, love!" the note read. "I know you haven't felt right lately, but I thought maybe today you could go out around town! I've left some money for you, in case you want to go out and get anything!"

Gundham sighed. It was sweet of her, for certain, but he didn't know if it was alright to take her money. He certainly had enough of his own, for the time being. But then, on the other hand, was it now expected of him? Was he supposed to go out and about because his mother had both suggested and paid for it?

Lifting his frozen items, he tromped into the main living room and sat on their plush rose sofa. He opened the bag of tots, popping one into his mouth as he contemplated.

He must have spent around 20 minutes munching the solid, ice-cold chunks of potato before halfheartedly making up his mind. Standing, he briefly wondered if that meant his mind was, in fact, not made up, but he brushed that aside and wandered back to the kitchen. When the leftover frozen goods were replaced in the freezer, he scooped the money and note from the counter. Now that life down here was back to the norm, he retraced his earlier steps and returned to his room.

He switched on the light, wincing at how utterly disgusting everything looked when one could see it. The room was quickly returned to darkness.

Snatching a pair of jeans and a ratty band tee from his closet, he changed quickly and tugged on his boots. He didn't want to bother with a shower, he knew he'd lose all energy far too soon. Cold, stiff fingers ran through his greasy, tangled hair, and he considered a hairbrush. No, too much. He had to get outside, spend whatever money he had been given, and return. No need to look nice.

Shoving his arms into a dark jacket that smelled slightly of mildew and was probably a size or two too small, he trotted back down the grand staircase. He grabbed his (majorly unused) car keys from a dish by the door, checked to make certain his phone and the money were both stuffed into his pockets, and opened the door.

The light shining in his face almost made him shriek, but he caught himself and threw his arm before his eyes instead. A sudden and steady hiss pushed from his lungs, and it took far too long for him to snap out of his haze.

When he lowered his shield, he glanced at the too-bright world and rows of houses. He also caught the eye of a small group of children that had probably been playing in the street, before they noticed him. He took a moment longer to understand why he must seem so strange, and why the children were likely staring. To test his suspicion, he bared his teeth and hissed once more, this time at the kids. They scattered, screaming.

Of course, how were they to know he wasn't a vampire?

Already feeling far too strange after this interaction, he stepped fully outside. The warmth of the sun washed over him, and the soft scent of flowers drifted in the breeze. He took a long, deep breath, and closed the door behind him.

He hadn't driven in so long he wasn't sure he remembered how. After a few failed attempts at reversing, thankfully none of which ending in property damage, he finally got out of the garage. Gundham was on the road again.

For the first several minutes, Gundham's average car speed was around 10 mph. He wasn't sure he could keep the car in control if h went much faster, and he had forgotten his wallet and ID at home.

After he had been out and about for about half an hour, the sun was becoming more bearable and he could finally get nearer to the speed limit. He pulled into a parking lot at the local superstore, ending this extra-long car trip with the world's worst parking job. Whispering an apology to whoever may need to park near to him, he locked the vehicle and wove his way into the store.

Entering the building felt like an enormous undertaking. He had to get in, exhaust as much of the money as he could, and get out. Unfortunately, this also meant he had to force himself through aisle after aisle of bright lights and items he had no need for.

He spent twenty minutes simply looking for things to buy, eventually encountering the pet section. Looking only briefly, a deep unease and upset coiled in his chest. His hamsters were the only part of him that he had taken above excellent care of, and even then they had not lived past a few years. He hadn't managed to breed them at that time, and the absence of his always-present companions dampened his spirits considerably.

He pushed on, reminding himself that this was not about his Devas. This was about buying what he could and going home.

Scooping up some shampoo, he wormed through personal care and clothing aisles, ignoring nearly everything on the shelves. He made a beeline for the electronics aisle, certain he could pick something up for a fairly high amount. Unfortunately, he wasn't precisely sure where that was and got turned around quite quickly.

Somehow, he ended up in a deserted and dusty section of the store. The rows of shelves seemed nearly empty, despite being stocked full. The graphics on the packages were mostly faded as if they were quite old compared to the other items in the building. Glancing around for a hint of where he had found himself, a sign hanging above the aisles caught Gundham's eye. Upon it was printed, Old and Discontinued Stock.

Intrigued, he continued through the packed shelves, passing rows of what seemed to be ancient exercise equipment. Rows and rows of items advertising their 'as seen on TV' status in bold red (or rather, pink) spiked bubbles filled his line of sight, and remembering stupid infomercials from his slightly younger years almost made him smile out of sheer annoyance.

As he turned a corner, a slightly different item brought his attention. In large, curly letters, the banner across the front of the box crossed an image of a fairly nondescript lamp, sporting the words LoveLight™. He approached, sliding one box off of the shelf. Turning it around, he hoped to read what exactly it was supposed to do on the back of the box. Fortunately for him, that is exactly where such a description was found.

It seemed to claim something about... connecting soulmates? He wasn't sure how well it could work, but he thought he might as well buy it anyways. It was right about the amount he needed to max out the gift from his mother and return home. He didn't care much about what color the lampshade was, so he carried to the checkout the box he was already holding.

. . .

Tromping up the stairs, he dumped the bag of lamp onto his overcrowded desk. He groaned as a few stray papers slid to the floor. They gathered around the edge, adding to the steep piles of clothes and garbage that littered the area.

He threw himself onto his bed, wrapping his favorite comforter around himself. Today had been longer than expected, and he was exhausted from his excursion, even if it was only an hour and a half. Pulling out his phone, he opened YouTube and began the first video in his feed. He didn't even try to focus as his eyes drifted shut, and sleep overtook him.

. . .

When he stirred, it was long past dark. He groaned, twisting his body sluggishly to be freed from his cocoon-like prison of the blanket. Propping himself up on his elbows, he tried to blink the sleep from his eyes. When this attempt was unsuccessful, Gundham rolled back over and tried to return to sleep.

Unfortunately, his blankets were still too tight, and he was made painfully aware of two things. The first was how hot it was; the second was how badly he needed to pee.

He squirmed yet more, struggling to free his arms. When he had at last accomplished this, he slowly peeled the comforter away layer by layer, until he was sitting fully clothed, shoes and all, on his bed. He tugged off his boots, exhaustion numbing his fingers, and slowly began to make his way to the bathroom.

. . .

Sitting on the edge of his bed, he yawned and looked for something to do. The night was often when he was "productive", but tonight he still felt ready to collapse in on himself, like a dying star. What a worthless waste of space he was.

Tonight was certainly not the first night he felt ready to give up. This was, in fact, a near-daily occurrence. However, he knew that his mother would be left alone and that he, too, was far too afraid of what lay beyond, so he instead searched for an occupation for his hands.

He settled upon the plastic bag that contained the boxed “soulmate lamp”. Lifting it, he noted that it felt a bit heavier than before, but attributed this to his cold and tired limbs. Once the box was freed from its thin plastic containment, he searched for an opening.

He examined it, locating the circular sticker that secured the cardboard. Picking at the edges with his overgrown nails, he managed to peel up the side (with great difficulty). The packaging from there was not too difficult to decipher, though it still caused mild annoyance.

Only when the lamp sat undisturbed atop his bedside table did he begin to feel the stirrings of excitement. Before, it had merely been a vessel for assuaging boredom and returning home as quickly as possible, but now it seemed to radiate a faint... hope.

He plugged it in, wincing as the bright light flicked on. Snatching the instructions from their perch beside the lamp, Gundham wrestled with the folded paper to find the directions to dimming the damned thing.

Said directions were fairly simple to find, so when he had saved his eyes from the caustic sheen, he began the calibration process.

The process was long and bothersome, it seemed. First was simple, imputing the kinds of personal information every internet-connected device needs. Each answer was written against the shade with the "specialized" pen, and submission was accompanied by a pleasant blip sound. Then came the long series of questions that needed answering, a process by which the lamp was to determine one's soulmate. This step took the greatest time of the setup, costing him nearly an hour total. If he had had anything else to do, he simply would have given up.

Finally, however, the setup was complete, and he was alerted to this by another small electronic noise. Gundham tossed aside the instructions, groaning audibly as a loading circlet began rotating against the shade. He replaced the pen in its slot at the lamp's base and leaned back against his plush comforter. The loading process took several minutes, as it ran through the extensive database of other questionnaires (or so he assumed, this was never stated in the instructions). It took quite a few minutes, long enough for him to begin to drift off to sleep.

He was awakened by yet another blip sound, this one likely stating that the final stage was complete! He bolted upright, watching the shade warily for any signs of writing.

And then, something appeared.

A hasty message scrawled in sloppy and nearly unintelligible print. It seemed rushed, letters running together on the mesh shade.

"Hi! I just got this thing and I'm super excited to talk to you!!!"

It worked.

He blinked, quietly astonished, amazed that such a device could do much of anything at all. As he sat in the dark, bewildered, another message began to appear.

"I can't wait til you get these. I'm so excited to talk to you!!"

He shook his head, strands of grimy dual-colored hair falling out of place. His chest felt tight, the sensation of someone other than his mother even speaking to him so foreign. Even if the messages did sound as if they were written by a child.

"Hey again! I hope your getting these!"

Fists tightened against wrinkled sheets. Gundham felt his stomach churn, yearning for another message.

"Today was fun! I got to hang at the Skate park! What did you do today?"

Tears pricked at his eyes, the sweetness and innocence in each message rushing over him.

"I don't have many friends. I think when we get to meet we'll be real good friends! Right?"

A lump formed in his throat, and he swallowed hard.

"Good morning! I hope you respond soon!"

One single tear dropped from his face, hitting his exposed skin.

"Hey, just seein if youre ok! I had a weird day today :("

They kept coming, messages appearing faster and faster. Was it a backlog? Were these old messages? Gundham wasn't sure.

"Guess what today is? It's my birthday! I'm 14!! How old are you?"

The tears kept coming too, streams of salty liquid flowing freely across his cheeks. He couldn't have stopped it if he tried.

"I wonder what kinds a things you like?"

Messages appeared faster and faster, quickly filling available space across the lampshade.

"I hope ya feel alright today! I still can't wait to talk to you. :)"

Gundham's vision blurred, too much to see the individual messages. Hundreds of letters blurred to nothing but glowing gold clouds, soft light filling, and obscuring, his vision.

The years of isolation began to crumble. He had tried so hard to harden his heart, to erase this feeling of crushing loneliness, and the facade he had so tirelessly built with shaking and scarred hands had started cracking from the pain. He hadn't understood how much he craved this, how desperately he had needed someone to talk to. For someone to ask if he was ok.

His body shook with sobs, ribs splintering under the pressure of the world as golden light flooded his room. Messages poured in, the light now nothing less than a glowing orb in his eyes, but he couldn't look away. He watched as more and more scribbled notes filled his mind, the emptiness usually stored in his chest now replaced with intense hurt. Love was what he needed, friends and company and care were the things he desired so desperately, the things he had never allowed himself to want.

The light began to fade, the most recent messages having used their allotted minutes. He sniffed, scrubbing tears from his eyes with harsh hands, and squinted at the lamp. Choking, he continued to press against his eyes. Perhaps if he tried, he could stop the next wave.

He caught another flicker of light, quickly leaning back toward the device to read whatever was there. Then he watched as, in real time, more words scrawled across the shade.

"Just wanted to say I still love you."

His last chance at holding back was ruined, and again he began to weep. Pushing away just enough to reach for the pen, he grabbed it with shaking fingers and raised it to the shade. Slowly, he pressed the tip against the mesh fabric and began to write.

"I'm so sorry."

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skia-oura · 5 years ago

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The Pros and Cons of Surviving an Unstable Pocket Dimension

A/N: I haven’t worked on any Bentley & Co stuff in almost a year. And yet, I found myself wiping the dust of an old WIP a few days ago. Enjoy.

Ao3

______________________________________________________________

“All right, we’re going to need to take you aside for further investigation,” the security agent said, gently guiding Bentley to another room. “Your luggage will also have to be searched through.”

The first time this had happened had been in a grocery store, and Bentley had just about fled the scene after they were done checking for stolen items. He and Torako had also decided to never go to that particular store again—not that it mattered much, because it was closed a week later. Dipper denied any involvement. Bentley knew Alcor better than to believe that particular declaration. Torako had been seen discreetly high-fiving the perpetrator. Bentley had pretended not to see it. Life went on.

The second time, he’d entered a museum exhibit on the rise and fall of civilizations and how their technology had influenced their lifespans and lifestyles. The alarms had blared, he’d been pulled aside and interrogated about what piece he’d just stolen from the museum. When he said he’d just come in, it took two hours and an extensive check of their inventory to decide that he was telling the truth. In all, he’d just been incredulous and frustrated.

Now, on the third major incident—he was just numb to it.

“I have a doctor’s note,” Bentley said. He gestured back at the luggage checking terminal. “It’s on my phone, in my bag.” He’d gotten it after the museum incident.

“We’ll bring it to you after we’ve checked everything out,” the security agent said, frilled ears fluttering. The door shut behind them, and Bentley pushed down hard on the nerves that it caused. His therapist, who had not been told nearly everything that had occurred and was under the strictest of non-disclosure agreements as concocted by Torako and Dipper, said that it was fine to react poorly to being shut in a room. Bentley understood that. So did Torako and Dipper, who often took to leaving the doors in their new home open. Sometimes they even took it a little too far. Unfortunately, understanding it was fine to react poorly didn’t really change the fact that he was reacting poorly—heartrate up, breathing short, patchwork hands gripping the fabric of his long skirt.

The door opened. “Can I see some ID, please?”

“Of course.” Bentley worked his fingers out of their stiff grip on his clothing. “It’s on my phone, however.”

The agent squinted at him with her three eyes. “Why do you keep asking for your phone so much?”

“All of my important information is on it,” Bentley said. He was really going to have to look into analogue options, apparently, if he wanted to have any kind of expediency in his life. “Usually I have my phone on me to clear up misunderstandings.”

She continued to squint at him, but nodded and left the room. The door clicked shut behind her. He couldn’t tell whether or not it was locked. Bentley closed his eyes and tried to regulate his breathing. It actually halfway worked, which was pleasantly surprising. He opened his eyes, and looked at the room. The room which was bare, save for a lonely, somewhat drooping poster in the corner about alerting the authorities to suspicious behavior in the terminal. It was faded. The section visible behind the poster was darker than the surrounding wall.

The door opened. Bentley turned his attention away from the sad poster to the agent, who passed his phone over. “Please pull up your identification.”

Bentley complied, pulling up the code that would allow the agent to access his public ID. She passed a fancy new flat scanner over it, shimmering with magic, and it chirped before lighting up his ID in hologram form. He had a second to think everything will be fine before the next half-second, in which he saw his photo and thought oh right fuck.

The agent squinted her already squinty eyes further. “…skin tone seems different.”

“There was an accident.” Bentley made a mental note to get his photo updated. Soon. As soon as possible.

“Face is also differently shaped.”

“Accident included weight loss,” Bentley said, frowning. He’d been very comfortable at his previous weight, thank you, and putting it back in a healthy way was taking much more time than usual. The wardrobe situation was unideal. Over by the door, a corner of the poster suddenly gave up and drooped down. Bentley empathized.

“One of your eyes is…gold now?”

“Same accident. It’s very frustrating.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure this is sufficient,” the agent said.

She dug out an attachment to her scanner and passed it over to Bentley. “Please rest your right forefinger on the print scanner.”

That should work. Maybe now he’d finally be on his way to his work conference, where he could take out his frustration by tearing apart presentations by people who made mistakes they should have known better than to make. Bentley pressed his forefinger to the screen. It played a jaunty, tinny tune while it analyzed the results, and then beeped ominously. Bentley stared at his finger in betrayal.

The agent peered at the screen. “…fingerprint also seems slightly off the record.”

Bentley tried one last time to turn her attention where it really belonged. “Can I please show you my doctor’s note?”

She huffed and put away the scanner and its fingerprint reading attachment. Energy like dust motes trailed in its wake before fading into nothing. “Sir,” she said, folding both of her arms, “I’m going to need you to stay in here while I call terminal police to get to the bottom of this situation.”

“Okay,” he said, screaming on the inside. “I understand.”

It took him five hours, several phone calls, and a set of lackluster apologies from all parties involved before Bentley was through security. He had missed his transaction time by a long shot, but still managed to be on his way quickly thereafter.

The fourth time a similar event happened was two days later, at the terminal he’d transacted into. It took him seven hours, that time, and three different translators who tried to disagree on fiddly translation bits.

The following day, Bentley went down to the police station. He updated his biographics, his address (which had also been an issue), received analogue documents in duplicate, and endured a lot of awkward small talk from Officer Akuapem. There, he thought to himself. Nothing bad will happen now.

Then he entered a nearby bookstore, having remembered Torako’s birthday coming up, and single-handedly sent the entire store into siren-blaring lockdown.

One thing that Bentley hadn’t anticipated about constantly emanating magical energy was that his phone never lost charge as long as it was in his hand. He noticed this a week after they’d moved into their new house, having confused and possibly terrified the poor realtor in charge of their case.

“Huh,” he said aloud in the living room, lounging about after work with Torako—who was not lounging around, and instead was researching leads into her very first case as a private investigator. She’d moaned about the piles of paperwork the whole time, but had done it anyways. Such were the perils of working for yourself.

“Huh?” Torako echoed absentmindedly. She twirled the tablet stylus between her fingers, energy become solid. Bentley knew that if he lifted his special reading glasses, it would be shimmering with magic more than it already was.

“How long have we been sitting down here again?”

“About two hours, I think?” Torako underlined something, then slid the tab out into thin air to interact with the 3-D image attachment. She mumbled something to herself about plausible cause and environmental influences and then worried at her lips.

Bentley stared at his phone battery. It was at 97%. He’d been doing some heavy-duty stuff on his phone, like watching dumb videos between watching relevant TADtalk clips about things like the impact of magic on people’s lives or one argument against non-disclosure agreements. He was currently paused on a video discussing Alcor the Dreambender. It had some very strange ideas about how many souls Alcor consisted of.

“Huh,” he said again. Then he opened his mouth and said, “You know, I think I’ve actually charged my phone sitting here.”

If it had been one of his coworkers, they might have challenged that notion, or laughed it off as a joke. Torako, on the other hand, paused, turned her attention away from her case, and raised an eyebrow. “Charged your phone? Where’s your charging pad?”

“In our room.” Bentley frowned at his phone. The percentage ticked up from 97% to 98%. “It…literally went up just now.”

Torako gasped and rocked up from sitting to standing. “You’re the charger!”

Bentley pursed his lips. “The phone is a bit on the old side, the software might be going buggy. I doubt it’s me.”

Instead of seeing sense, Torako thrust her tablet into his face. He leaned back a little and blinked the brightness out of his eyes. “Do mine next!”

He looked at the display. 11%. “You should really charge this more often, you know,” he said, like a person who put his phone on its charging stand every night before bed.

“It runs until it dies,” said Torako, who often forgot to charge hers and therefore had a stash of portable energy clips stashed in odd places around the house. Why she needed two in the bathroom was a mystery. “Or rather, it runs until it is resurrected by your literally magic hands.”

Bentley sighed. He took her tablet in his ‘literally magic’ hands and stared at her with the most deadpan expression he could muster. In response, Torako stared very intently at the percentage icon in the top right corner. In the space above the tablet, an image of a fairly normal looking townhouse loomed over them, apathetic to the tension of the moment.

Two minutes later—Bentley kept an eye on the clock as well—Bentley sighed. “Look, Torako. Nothing has happened.”

“Keep holding it, buddy,” Torako said.

“But nothing has happened. I told you, it’s a quirk of faulty software on my phone.”

He’d just shut his mouth when Torako let out a whoop of victory and punched a fist into the air. “Take that, it went up!”

Sure enough, when Bentley glanced over to check, the battery icon was displaying a damning 12%.

“Your software is bad too,” Bentley said, weakly.

“My tablet is seven months old,” Torako cackled.

“It’s faulty,” he tried. “Bad tech. You should get a refund.”

Torako ruffled his hair. “It’s top of the line and you know it. I ain’t afraid to spend money on quality things.”

“Good things sometimes don’t work right?” he said, knowing he had lost and still unwilling to face reality. The gleam in Torako’s eye scared him.

“Give it up, sucker. Your magic hands are magic charging hands now.” She sat down on the couch right next to him and turned the tablet around in his hands. “Now, keep still so I can keep working longer.”

Bentley dropped the tablet and felt vindicated by the way she squawked. “Can’t have my hands if I’m using them,” he said, and promptly walked away to go take a shower.

The next day, he came home having mostly forgotten about the incident and felt tired enough to take a nap on the couch. When he woke up, Torako’s tablet was propped up against his bare stomach, and she was working again.

“You’ll be pleased to know,” she said, grinning and scribbling down some notes in a tab laying across her legs, “that the more direct contact a magitech device has against your skin, the quicker it charges.”

Bentley smacked her with the couch cushion. She cackled, smacked him back, and very soon the tablet was forgotten on the couch as they hurled pillows at each other like children.

Lucas Onderon was a smart person. Very smart; it’s why he had a job in the thinktank of one of the first viable sigils research centers. He churned out ideas and made connections at a speed that sometimes made Bentley feel jealous. Unfortunately, whenever he tried to apply his theories, things inevitably went wrong.

Bentley, glasses perched on his forehead, pointed at a sigil combination that was sparking dangerously to his left eye. “That’s going to explode in your face if you don’t change it.”

Lucas rolled his eyes and flapped his hand in Bentley’s face. “I get it, you think you’re all hot stuff with your special face and your special eyes, but I know what I’m doing! Everything’s fine. Go pay attention to your own souped-up basic shit.”

Across the room, very far away, Ziyi flicked her very large, very sensitive ears and looked up from her own work. “Uh, you might actually want to listen to Bentley? The Bentley Farkas? Who literally has a magic eye now and therefore is extra listenable to?”

Bentley very carefully did not react to the thought that he was surrounded by people who called his body parts magical. Torako had very suddenly wondered aloud at how the magic affected his reproductive system was before freezing and hiding her face in her hands. The fact that it had embarrassed her as much as it had embarrassed him was the only thing that saved her from some nasty prank later on.

On the other hand, Dipper had cackled for all of five seconds before Bentley snapped that he had Dipper’s sister’s soul, and did Dipper really want to think about that? Dipper shut up very quickly after that. Dipper had also woken up in the middle of the night to ice-cubes being slipped down the back of his neck. The screech was very satisfying.

“Who even cares?” Lucas said, consulting his notes for reference as to where he planned to set the severance line. He drummed his painted nails against the surface of the table next to the special sigils testing paper before him.

Bentley sighed. It was his job as supervisor, he told himself. He had no room to judge right now, he told himself. “Seriously. It’s going to explode, and you will not be happy. At least move your notes to a safer range so that you can review them later?”

Instead of listening to Bentley’s very good advice, Lucas stuck out his tongue and started to draw the line. Bentley, because he wasn’t a saint, shut up and moved to a safe distance as he watched the magic spark higher and more violently with every other second. Ziyi groaned and slid one four-fingered hand up her face. Lucas faltered right before crossing the problematic sigil combo, but then continued. Incompletely cut sigils had even odds of either just going dead or exploding with energy, so Bentley felt it was a pretty fair call. Except for the part that, you know, he had told Lucas not to in the first place.

As he thought, the moment the line cut through the sigil combo, the magic pulsed, Bentley closed his eyes, and there was an explosion that shook the room. Bentley felt the hum of the room’s containment sigils as they absorbed most of the shock and prevented structural damage. He counted to two, then opened his eyes.

Lucas blinked, eyes wide, freckled face red from heat exposure and pink-dyed hair blown into disarray. He looked so utterly surprised that Bentley couldn’t help snorting in laughter. When Lucas’s attention snapped over to him, Bentley turned around and tried to muffle his amusement in his hand.

“Stop laughing!” Lucas said. “This was—this was—this was terrible! A disaster!! My work is all gone!” The explosion had damaged his notes, as well, and Bentley wouldn’t be surprised if they were largely illegible now.

“He warned you, you know,” Ziyi said.

“He probably made it worse by standing so close!” Lucas said. Bentley’s laughter faded in his chest. “If he wasn’t here, it probably wouldn’t have even exploded.”

“Holy shit, dude,” Ziyi said. Bentley’s hand stayed over his mouth. Guilt roiled in his gut—what if it had been his fault? What if he’d influenced an already unsteady sigil combination into instability? “Stop blaming your explosion on the dude who tried to help out?”

“You know he’s throwing magic out everywhere, all the time,” Lucas argued.

Ziyi scoffed. Bentley wondered how fast he could make it out the door. “And you know that you have a tendency to think too fast and overlook important factors! You should check over your own damn work after letting it sit for a while.”

This was true, Bentley thought. Lucas did think too fast, and he didn’t proofread nearly enough for his own projects. From his sputtering, Lucas was also aware of this shortcoming, and that gave Bentley enough strength to compose himself and turn around. And not head straight for the door like he wanted to. Anyways, that was behind Lucas, and he didn’t want to go past Lucas at this point.

“Hopefully,” Bentley said, burying his insecurity and slipping his glasses back down onto his nose, “this finally teaches you to take a bit more time with your work. You really are smart, Lucas. Just take more time.”

Lucas blinked, and then his youthful face clouded over with resentment even under the exposing white lights of the sterile room around them. “That’s easy for you to say,” he sneered. “You’re already established and important.”

“And it took time to get there,” Bentley said. He held his hands behind his back to hide how they were trembling. “Time, and care, and a lot of frustration.”

“Lucas has got that last one pinned down,” Ziyi snarked. Bentley threw an exasperated look over to her, and she ducked her face with a sheepish grin. The white lights of the room slid over her single giraffe-like horn, dulled by the overlying coating of stubbly fur.

In response, Lucas threw up his hands and stood. “I’m done! You have what you want! I’m leaving the practical testing room and going back to where I belong, on the drawing board.”

“Okay,” Bentley said, because there was no reasoning with Lucas when he was acting like this. “You go do that.”

Lucas swiped the remains of his notes up and glowered at Bentley on his way out. If the door hadn’t hissed shut, he might have slammed it. There was silence for a long moment, during which Bentley stared over at the wisps of burned paper, ashes spread over the table and the floor. He didn’t want to see whether or not they glittered with magic.

“I’ll go get a vacuum,” Ziyi said, finally.

“No, no, I’ll go,” Bentley said. He smiled over at her. She didn’t look like she thought it was sincere, which was unfortunate because he was trying very hard to seem sincere. “I have to…think,” he said.

Ziyi leaned back in her seat and folded her arms. Scales glittered iridescent along the curve of her cheekbone and down the bridge of her nose. “He doesn’t actually hate you, you know,” she said. “He’s just…frustrated and jealous. Don’t stitch what he said into your soul, yanno? It’ll just give your reincarnations inferiority issues or something.”

Bentley smiled again at her. “I think my reincarnations are already screwed,” he said, thinking of Alcor.

“Hey, I know plenty of people who think having a magic eye would be cool,” she said, unfolding her arms and leaning forward. “Your reincarnations aren’t screwed for that, silly.”

“I don’t think that’s how reincarnations work,” Bentley said dryly. Otherwise, he’d be a lot more like the Original Mable Pines (or whoever was first, if there was a first). “I’m going to go get that vacuum, okay?”

If it took him twenty minutes and a fifteen minute rapid text exchange with Torako in a supply closet several doors down, then that was clearly a lie and never happened. No, his eyes were not red and he wasn’t suddenly congested, thank you very much. And yes, he was wearing gloves because he was just conscientious about keeping his hands clean, not for any other reason.

He couldn’t resist lifting his glasses and glancing at Ziyi’s current project, though, trying to make something that shrinked and unshrinked on command. “Ah,” he said, pointing his finger. “You sure you want to make that combination there?”

“Is it going to explode?” she asked, peering at the combination in question. “It’s just longevity and size, you know. It won’t stick it there, will it?”

“But linking it to that change sign might not be the best idea—look, that change is also the one used for instability, isn’t it? It might make something that’s been made small suddenly become large again.” Bentley stayed very carefully as far away as he could while still looking at the sigils.

Ziyi groaned and slapped her hands on her face. “Nooo, no you’re right, I completely forgot about that change sigil.”

“You might want to combo fluctuation up with a standard kind of sigil with a mid-level small sigil, and then link it to longevity.” Bentley suggested.

“That’s so many though,” Ziyi said, fingers dragging down on her cheeks enough that Bentley could see the pink skin under her eyes. For a moment she was silent, staring down at her sketchpad. Then she jerked up straight, dragged her sketchpad towards herself, and started scribbling down unbroken sigils and ideas. “But if I—Bentley you’re a lifesaver—if I set the combo up concentrically, then—”

He grinned a little. “I’ll leave you to it,” he said. Bentley turned around, tiny vacuum in his hands, and narrowed his eyes at his worktable a few steps away.

Time to wrestle with the basics again.

One quiet Sunday evening, when Torako was gone to speak with a client, Bentley sat in the living room on the couch they’d had since college and stared down at his hands. Ostensibly, he was supposed to be relaxing, or cooking, or getting the garden outside started as Torako and he had planned. That obviously wasn’t happening. Instead, he sat in the golden-orange light filtering in past the translucent inner curtains hung over the French doors leading outside and stared down at his hands.

They were patchworked in different tones, in slightly different textures that didn’t quite blend into each other seamlessly. When he turned his palms over the patchwork wrapped around, crossed his palmar creases and rounded through the whorls of his fingerpads. His fingerprints weren’t the same as before, he remembered. How deep down did the changes really go? How far had the pocket dimension embedded itself in him, in his DNA, to change the smallest parts of his body so subtly? The doctors had said there was nothing physically wrong with him but—he was so cold, and his fingerprints were different, and his eyes were different his skin was different he could feel magic—

He curled and uncurled his hands, slowly, watching the light slide over his skin, watching the shadows bloom before creeping away. Bentley bent his head closer, brought his hands up, and inspected the beds of his fingernails, ran his thumbnails over the surfaces of them. He’d never paid this much attention to his hands before, he thought. That being said, he was—pretty sure that they had never glittered before. When he shut his left eye, the glittering disappeared. A sudden lump in his throat, Bentley closed both his eyes and leaned back. The sun shone dim through his eyelids until he squeezed his eyes shut and counted the seconds for each inhale and exhale.

There was a sudden thrum of energy, like friction skittering over the exposed skin of his arms and setting his hair to stand on end. Bentley opened his eyes just as an arm settled slowly over his shoulder. Only the knowledge that it was Dipper stopped him from jumping, and even then he couldn’t not stiffen just a little.

“Hey Ben,” Dipper said. “It’s been a while?”

“It’s been seven hours,” Bentley drawled. “How was it at Batoor’s new place?”

“Peaceful,” Dipper said. “He’s doing well, excited about college life next month and all that. Haji says to say hello. I also stopped to say hello to the Pines, and they were wondering when you and Torako were going to come out next. Lata especially.”

Bentley pursed his lips. He flexed his fingers, then gripped his legs with his hands and stood. Dipper’s arm slid off him in a rasp of not-quite-real fabric. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Bentley?”

He threw a quick smile over his shoulder, but Dipper looked far from convinced. “It’s fine, I just was reminded I needed one.”

“Bentley…”

Fortunately, Dipper didn’t follow him into the bathroom. He didn’t protest when the door shut, or the lights turned on, or when Bentley said nothing else. Bentley chewed at the inside of his lip and looked at himself in the mirror.

Haji had never apologized, he remembered. Not in words, at least. Bentley leaned forward, putting his weight on his arms, and traced the contours of his face’s reflection. Haji didn’t seem to want to look at Bentley for very long, the two times that Bentley had interacted with him after the pocket dimension incident. Not that Bentley blamed him for that, he thought. His face wasn’t exactly his anymore.

The thought struck his breath in his chest for a few seconds before Bentley gritted his teeth and shoved it away. He thought he’d been over this. He’d thought that he’d come to terms with his new look. With the new needs that came with it, in the forms of two kinds of moisturizer and an extra delicate facewash. His gaze flicked between both of his eyes, the dark eye he had inherited from his parents, the light eye he had inherited from his trauma. Magic sparkled over nearly everything he saw. He suddenly wanted his glasses, wanted to try to forget that his body was no longer one he recognized. Bentley stared at himself in the mirror and was hit by a longing for the him of last year that had him biting his lip and ducking his head against the tears in his eyes.

Bentley sunk to the cold tile floor, the heels of his palms digging into the wells of his eyes and wiping away the water springing forth from them. He curled his body into itself, bare feet dragging against ceramic patterned like ocean waves. Torako had loved them when they’d first looked at the house. The breath sucked into him was almost immediately dispelled. He ran his fingers through his short hair and tugged as hard as he could, baring his teeth against the pain in his chest. “I’m still me,” he whispered into the stillness of the bathroom. His heart beat out, no you’re not, no you’re not, no you’re not, and he curled in tighter on himself.

“Bentley just—let me in, please.”

“No,” Bentley just managed to say. “I’m taking a shower.”

“No you’re not,” Dipper said. The door opened, and Bentley did his best to hide his face, but it didn’t help. “I can read auras, you know.”

Bentley hated Dipper, very suddenly. It wasn’t right to, but he did. “Go away!”

“No,” Dipper said. He slid down the wall to sit next to Bentley, close enough that Bentley could feel the heat of him but far enough that they weren’t actually touching. Bentley wasn’t sure what he would do if Dipper touched him right now. “You need somebody. You don’t need to be left alone with your thoughts.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Bentley said like an absolute child.

“Try me,” Dipper said, echoing that age-old reply. “I’ve lived for like, millennia, I’ve experienced a lot. Maybe it’ll help.”

Bentley sniffled loud and wet and tried to calm down by counting breaths again. “I don’t like talking about it,” he said.

“Take your time,” Dipper said. He shifted. When Bentley sneaked a glance, Dipper had stretched out his legs, one ankle crossed over the other, the hems of his pants cut a few centimeters above his ankles and tailored tight around his calves. The fabric shimmered blue—not with magic, but because Dipper was a showboat.

So Bentley nodded, pressed his face into his knees and covered his ears, and just tried to be. He counted his breaths—one to three in, one two three out, over and over. He focused on the pressure of his knees against his forehead, the coolness of the tile against the soles of his feet, the subtle hum against his skin that he always got now when Dipper was around. He was there. He was alive.

It was strange to think that, all those months ago, he had planned to never be alive again. It was even stranger to think that he’d made it out of that death hole. He never managed to talk about this with his therapist for obvious reasons. Maybe he should have, just—in the barest terms.

“Better?” Dipper asked.

He sighed. “Don’t just read my aura, will you?”

“Can’t help it,” Dipper said. “I barely remember when I couldn’t.”

The thought that Dipper wasn’t able to at one point shocked Bentley just enough that he lifted his face and looked Dipper in the eye for the first time since that morning. “You couldn’t?”

Dipper grinned, shark-teeth sharp. “You know I was human once, back before the Transcendence. Even fewer humans could read auras then, and I certainly wasn’t one of them.”

That’s right, Bentley thought. He looked over Dipper’s features again, eternally young and smooth. Dipper was human once, too. He’d had a human sister, human parents and friends and relatives. He hadn’t had sharp teeth, or black sclera, or brown hair—or maybe he had? How much of his appearance was rooted in reality? Had he had brown eyes, back when he was human?

Bentley sniffled again. Maybe Dipper could understand. “Remind me how you became Alcor again?”

“That old story?” Dipper’s eyebrows raised up a bit higher than most human eyebrows did. “There’s not much to it.”

“Humor me.” Bentley crossed his arms over his knees and rested his head there, face turned towards Dipper. “If you want.”

“I mean,” Dipper said, bending a knee and slinging one arm over it. “It wasn’t on purpose. We—my sister, my friends, my Grunkles and I—were trying to stop a demon from starting the apocalypse. It eventually became the Transcendence, but it was better than it would have ended up. Long story short, I got into a tussle with Bill, the demon, and—somehow, I won. Then everything changed.”

When Dipper didn’t continue immediately, Bentley pressed on gently. “How? Did it change, I mean. For you.”

Dipper hummed and tilted his head. “I guess the best way to describe it is that things stopped and happened all at once to me. Time was—I was always going to look thirteen unless I took it upon myself to look different, for one. The eyes and the wings and the teeth were definitely different. I didn’t used to have gold blood, obviously. I was also just…mentally different.”

Bentley blinked, slow, eyes tired. “Oh.”

“Parts of me were changed completely,” Dipper said. He looked down at the tile at Bentley’s feet. “Bill became part of me even as his soul was excised from the energy that made me become a demon. His proclivity towards formal clothing, the knowledge he had of the universes, his masochistic and sadistic streaks, his disregard for life and his desire for chaos are all a part of me, now. Demons are not kind, and I’m no different.”

“Yes you are,” Bentley found himself saying. “Because otherwise you wouldn’t be in here, helping me.”

“Would I?” Dipper asked. He smiled at Bentley. His face became just a little rounder, eyes just a little wider in his features. “I’m not sure. You are Mizar, after all.”

“Would you care about Mizar if you were just Bill?”

Dipper laughed a little. “Not in any good way, so I guess no. I guess you’re right. Why are you asking, anyways?”

Bentley worried at the inside of his cheek. “Would you say that you’re trapped in a body that isn’t…isn’t yours? That you don’t recognize yourself in the mirror anymore?”

After a second, understanding bloomed over Dipper’s face like the summer sunset outside. “Not often, no,” Dipper said. “Maybe once every few years, at most. But I’ve also had a long time to get used to my situation. It was much worse at the beginning.”

When Bentley didn’t respond apart from looking away, Dipper reached out to slide his hand over Bentley’s cheek, slow enough that Bentley could move away if he wanted to. Instead, Bentley leaned into the warmth of his palm and closed his eyes.

“But it got better,” Dipper said into the quiet of the bathroom. “It got better, and it will get better for you too.”

Bentley tugged his lip inside of his mouth and found himself blinking back more tears. “Sometimes it doesn’t feel that way. I feel like I was stolen from me, you know?”

“I did,” Dipper said. He shifted closer, and Bentley turned to press his face into Dipper’s chest almost eagerly. “And you have a right to feel angry. But it will get better. I promise, it will.”

Bentley wrapped his arms around Dipper, and tried his best to believe that it would.

The sun beat down warm on his skin through his gauzy overshirt and the wide-brimmed sunhat on his head. His hands dug down into the rich earth, moist and cool from the previous day’s summer storm. Bentley pulled away more loose soil from the hole he’d just dug, before tugging the decomposable plastic from the base of the tomato plant and setting it into the ground. He piled cool soil back around it and patted it down just firm enough to hold without restricting. The plant was barely tall enough for the cage—which he picked up and snapped into three-dimensions before setting it down into the ground. It ground, metal against dirt until the lowest ring of it was a mere seven centimeters above the earth. Bentley smiled down at it, then shuffled past a basil plant over to the next spot—the last spot for their tomatoes—and dug in his spade.

“How’s it going over there, Ben?” Torako called from the other side of the house with Dipper.

“Fine!” he said, pushing up his glasses. “How about you?

“It’s going peachy!”

“But you’re planting apples?” He dug a well big enough and deep enough into the ground, and then set the spade aside. He couldn’t help touching the earth with his bare hands, feeling the natural energy of it thrum up into him. It was like he was all the more alive for it. It was—it was rejuvenating.

“Exactly!” Dipper yelled, which either meant that things weren’t going nearly as well, or that they were settling for a weak pun on the basis that peaches were fruits too. There was a clang, and Torako cursed. Bentley set the tomato plant in the ground and piled the dirt over it, shaking his head. Standing, he winced at the crack of his knees before shaking out another cage and setting it down.

“How has it even taken you this long to get that taken care of?” he yelled over. Squinting his eyes against the glare of the sun, he set his dirty hands on his hips and surveyed the small plot they’d just developed. Basil interspersed between tomato, beyond them two lines of carrots. Peppers and chives just beyond those, all the vegetables ringed by a protective barrier of nasturtiums and marigolds. “You just had three trees!”

“Don’t sound so high-horsed, you only planted the tomatoes and nasturtiums today,” Torako hollered back. “Don’t think I don’t see you standing over there like you’re surveying all of your work.”

Bentley laughed, heart light in his chest. A pleasant breeze blew by, sweeping the hem of his overshirt up. He turned around. “Do you need my help over there?”

“Sure,” Torako said, wiping her brow with the back of her arm. She grinned at him, dark eyes warm under the shadow of her arm. “You’ll do more good than Mr. Dipper himself here.”

“Hey!” Dipper protested, feet flat on the ground, eyes white and brown and black and ears rounded. He stuck out his tongue past (slightly too sharp) human teeth at Torako and leaned on the shovel he’d shoved into the ground, gardening glove thick on his hand. “I’m plenty helpful. This casing is just being more difficult than the others.”

“Let me see,” Bentley said, walking over and wiping his hands off on the apron he had on.

Behind him, though he didn’t know it and hadn’t seen it, the magic from inside of him had seeped into the ground. It would travel slowly up into the roots of those plants, soft and imbued with care, the desire to grow and grow well. Those plants would grow into abundance, tomatoes ripening sweeter despite being planted just a little too late, chives taller, peppers longer than they would have otherwise—if only by a little. The marigolds and nasturtiums would bloom brighter and longer. The carrots would dig into the ground, greedy for more until they were pulled up in the fall. The apple tree Bentley helped plant would be just a little hardier than the other two. Torako would look at him slyly, tell him that his green thumb had certainly improved in leaps and bounds and was he sure his hands weren’t magic, before getting a pillow to the face and falling down to the floor laughing. Dipper would cackle and join in, and they would fight until the morning, when Bentley would get up and go to work for his first full day since being kidnapped.

But he didn’t know all that yet, so Bentley went over to Dipper and Torako, took the apple seedling by its base, and tugged the wrapping off in a couple quick motions.

Torako stared. “You really do have magic hands.”

“Oh shut it,” he said, reaching out and smearing his dirty hand down the side of her cheek. She gasped in false affront, hand on her chest. Dipper laughed, Bentley crouched down to set the seedling in the ground and cover it, cool dirt on his hands and the life of the earth trembling up into his skin.

#transcendence au #tau #gravity falls au #bentley farkas #torako lam #dipper pines #featuring bentley's coworkers #hurt/comfort #mostly comfort #magic #fantasy #my fic #fic

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elizabethjournals · 6 years ago

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Self-care should start in the home. If you have a home that makes you feel positive, then every day will begin and end on a positive note. A lot of people struggle with self-care because their home is a manifestation of negative energy that keeps piling more and more negativity on their shoulders every day. We want to stop this, so here are a few very simple home hacks you can try that will put you in an extremely positive mindset.

[mailerlite_form form_id=8]

Get More Sunlight In Your Home

Sunlight is incredibly beneficial, and it works in more than one way. We know that we can get some Vitamin D from the sun, but unfortunately, it’s not possible to absorb this through windows. However, the main benefit I’m concerned with is how sunlight makes us feel. It instantly puts us in a good mood when sunshine/daylight is entering our home. This isn’t some crazy scientific discovery, it’s common sense! You will feel far more positive when you let sunlight into your house compared to if you have all the curtains closed and live in darkness.

So, I have two tips for you. Firstly, open the curtains or blinds in every room as soon as you wake up. Secondly, think about maybe getting some replacement windows so you can upgrade them to bigger and wider versions. This will help your home bring in more light, putting you in a much better mood. You could even consider those windows on the ceiling that really bring loads of natural light into your home. Trust me, this little trick will definitely help you get into a more positive mindset while you’re at home.

Use A Diffuser To Create Relaxing Scents

The smells in and around your home will play a significant role in how positive you feel. This is something that you perhaps don’t think about until you actually make efforts to create nice smells. My idea is to help bring relaxing scents into the home, so you smell them and feel a lot calmer and more chilled out. Get a diffuser of some sort – it could be an electronic one or a classic reed diffuser – and pick your favorite smells. Place the diffusers throughout your home to really bring it to life and make it smell a lot nicer and more relaxing. Slowly but surely, your house becomes somewhere you actually like being in, and you become more positive.

There are other ways of bringing nice smells into your home – such as candles and incense. However, I prefer diffusers as it means you don’t have to burn anything and let smoke into the air. Plus, the oils you use with diffusers are often used in aromatherapy practices and when people are meditating. You don’t need to have one in every room, but I think the bedroom and living room are great places to create these relaxing and soothing smells.

Bring More Space To Your Home By Decluttering

I think too many of us create negative energy in our homes by letting them become overcrowded and cluttered. It’s hard to feel positive and upbeat when your house is a bit of a mess and you feel very claustrophobic. Every morning will begin with you wanting to get out as soon as possible, being stressed that you can’t find the things you need, and creating more clutter in the process. In your head, every day will be the thought that you have to clean your home at some point, and this lingers all the time adding more stress. So, why don’t you tackle the problem head-on and have a massive decluttering session?

Yes, it can take a few days, but the benefits outweigh all the effort that goes into doing it. I’d genuinely suggest taking a day or two off work so you can declutter your home thoroughly. You will get rid of any junk and mess that you don’t need, freeing your house up and creating loads more space. The result is quite staggering; it will feel like you’ve moved into a new home. With more space, more room to breathe, and increased organization, your house becomes a much more positive place to live.

I’ll end how I started by saying that self-care starts in the home. If you can get yourself in a positive mindset at home, then this will generally help you live a more positive and happy life. You need to have a base where you can relax and feel satisfied, not somewhere that adds to your negative feelings. With these three ideas, you will turn your house into an ultra-positive place!

This post was written in collaboration. Collaborative writing means that while I have contributed to this post and edited its content and formatting, I am not its original author. By posting this content on my blog, I receive financial compensation. Want to guest post for Jihi Elephant? Learn more here.

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3 Home Hacks That Help Put You In A Positive Mindset Self-care should start in the home. If you have a home that makes you feel positive, then every day will begin and end on a positive note.

#apartment #be happy #Clean #declutter #home #house #organization #Organization Tips #Organize Yourself #Organized #Positivity #Proper Place

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renegade-skywalker · 7 years ago

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Out of the Abyss, Chapter 13

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12 / Chapter 13: Second Selves

After years in exile, ex-Jedi General, Eden Valen (now going by Vale) continues to clean up after Revan and Malak’s mess of a war, only to find herself forever cursed with their unfinished business. As an ill-fated lead brings her to Tatooine, Eden finds that Revan’s mysterious plans go beyond the Republic, beyond the Outer Rim, and into the utter unknown. (A novelization of The Sith Lords and beyond)

Chapter Summary: Vale and Erebus are not the only ones forced to masquerade as someone else as events unfold.

3951 BBY Nespis VIII Spaceport, Jedi Academy

In the moments it took the Echani to cross the archive and approach him again, Erebus drew up what he could remember about the pilot whose ship he stole, dredging up whatever details his mind found worth storing. Despite his usually near-eidetic memory, the images his brain conjured were weak. Though anger often fueled his more brilliant bouts of genius, as a Sith would, it seemed his frustration upon leaving Anchorhead was enough to cloud his recollections.

Smuggler. Thirty-something. Human. Untidy. Broke… like every other smuggler in this damn galaxy. But there were a few things Erebus remembered that stuck out. Wyland Rhel, as he was called, was a fighter pilot during the Mandalorian Wars and had continued working for the Republic until the middle of the Jedi Civil War – Wonder what happened there? Since then, he'd been taking contracts transporting fuel, mostly, but occasionally ran jobs with the Golden Company. A hefty contract, and a risky one. All of this Erebus gleaned from the man's records of payment, which were the only thing he seemed to keep in any kind of order. The data file was easy to break into, so Wyland Rhel was most likely sentimental and all the more stupid for it - after a basic search, Erebus found the date the man had been recruited by the Republic on official record. So despite his current affiliations, Wyland was still sweet on his time as a soldier, it seemed. Either that, or it was the only date in his life, other than maybe his nameday, that meant anything to him and was worth remembering. Among his affects were other IDs, either stolen or forged, undoubtedly used for more delicate operations. That was about all he remembered.

The woman approached the table again, though did not afford Erebus another glance as she nonchalantly flicked through the datapad in her hand.

"So, who are you, another scavenger looking to collect?" she asked almost absently.

Depends on how you define 'scavenger', Erebus thought, because you're not wrong.

"I take it you're Irena," Erebus chimed back. "Charmed."

The Echani's eyes flashed before she calmed, a gloved hand flexing as he circled him, the other cradling her datapad.

"I'm sure one of the others spoke of me, though who we are is none of your concern."

"Yet I seem to be of some importance, I take it."

She scoffed and glanced down at the datapad again.

"We're running a simple background check, is all," she assured him, the calm in her voice wavering as her patience began to wear thin.

"And the Echani have authority in the Nespis System since…?"

"That is none of your concern," she smiled sourly, though she kept her eyes fixed on the screen in front of her this time. "I will be the one asking the questions."

"Alright, so I, a humble Republic citizen, is expected to blindly submit my rights to you because…?"

Normally, Erebus would never be so outwardly snarky, at least not in a position such as this. He was used to speaking with out-of-touch tribes, distant planets far-removed from the Republic or hapless traders who knew nothing of their older wares, and other such ilk. He knew enough to stay away from civilized space when he could, and if he had business here he knew who to avoid and how. But even still, this woman was Echani¸ not a beat cop with something to prove.

At this she smiled, though the pain was clear on her face. She was not trained to deal with the likes of him, at least not in a civil manner.

"It really is none of your concern," she said again, her teeth near gritted. Erebus wondered what had her so rattled that it hardly took him much effort to get a rise out of her. The man across from him let the subtlest of snickers escape his mouth but otherwise betrayed no emotion, looking down, letting his hair mask his face like a veil.

"Alright, alright, just making sure my rights as an honest to Force citizen weren't being taken for granted," Erebus huffed, finding that his voice took on more of a drawl the more he kept going. "How long's this gonna take? I have places to be."

Erebus recalled several military grade crates at the back of the ship when he boarded, his Force Sight granting him view of an array of weapons within. Weapons trade was big money, so however broke this Wyland Rhel was now, he wasn't supposed to be for long. So much for that. Wonder how that sorry smuggler's doing now…

Irena looked him over, seemingly unimpressed but still suspicious. She wasn't buying it.

"And yet, for someone with a busy schedule you still found the time to scope out the sights, I take it?"

"Thought I could score a few extra credits, something to sweeten the deal."

He hoped he sounded convincing.

"Wyland Rhel, thirty-six," Irena started, looking over the edge of her datapad at Erebus, "You've grown paler since your photo was last taken."

The woman turned the datapad so Erebus could see, the screen displaying a man with scarred but dark skin, the color of rich mahogany.

"Can never be too careful," he said, not too suddenly, "Dig even further and you'll find the ID where I hail from Ryloth. Record says I had my lekku cut off."

Erebus chuckled to himself, as if impressed, having seen other men do the same at countless cantinas across the galaxy. As much as he loathed the quality of the drink there, they were the best places to get information. In fact, it was how he learned about the site at Anchorhead.

Irena rolled her eyes and kept scrolling, looking nonplussed enough with the uncanny ID photo. To think the smuggler had several IDs in rotation was not unusual, especially given the rap sheet Erebus' own sister sported now, and for all the galaxy to see. It wasn't exactly a red flag that Erebus himself might be lying.

"Not exactly what I'd call a clean record," she said after a moment, reading the remainder of the file in pensive silence, though it seemed she found nothing of note – or at least nothing surprising.

How did these Echani get in good with the Nespis Police Force? If they had access to their files, could bar anyone from the premises of a location, and a Jedi Temple no less…? Erebus knew that there were people other than Nihilus who would be happy to see the Jedi gone, but at least he knew why. The Echani were not on good terms with Revan after the Civil War, but that was just one Jedi, and by then Revan had already turned.

"It says here you worked with the Golden Company."

At this, she smiled wryly.

"Unfortunately, everything on the premises has been turned over to us, so if you were planning on-"

Irena was cut off by a comm at her wrist, static warbling the otherwise unperturbed quiet. Even the man across from Erebus stirred. He stole a glance, before the man could see, taking in his young face and the lone swipe of dust across his brow, marring his otherwise crisp and chiseled appearance. A scholar, perhaps? A civilian?

"Yes?" Irena lowered her datapad with one hand and brought her other wrist to her lips, speaking directly into the device attached to it.

More chirruped warbling – that's when Erebus noticed the glint in the woman's ear, just beneath her cropped white hair. Whoever was speaking to her was speaking in code, their words filtered to sound like gibberish to anyone else within earshot.

Irena's eyes shot to Erebus as she listened, her gaze sharp though her eyes narrowed. He couldn't tell if they were always this bright of violet or if it was just the wealth of datapads gleaming in the room that leant to their almost ghostly glow.

"I'll keep an eye out," she said finally, her eyes never leaving Erebus. Their eyes locked, and she moved towards him, pocketing her datapad and unsheathing a retractable staff from her belt.

"Don't move," Irena warned, "We have eyes on you. Both."

The man across the table looked down again, as if embarrassed by being called out, and Irena began staking out the series of shelves that surrounded them.

A breach of security? Another unwanted guest?

When Irena was far enough, Erebus relaxed a little, letting down his outer guard to unleash the Force within. After a moment, he could see the archives in his inner eye like a blueprint laid out before him. Stacks of datapads and artifacts surrounded them, some pulsing with more uncertain energy than others. Erebus' blood quickened, his skin growing hot, already desiring to peruse the temple's stores or what remained of it – if he could somehow get around the Echani lockdown, that is. At least without seeming too suspicious. Perhaps his vision led him here to find something, to bring something back. Perhaps there was another pyramid, another holocron, another clue.

"The Golden Company, eh? You a scavenger as well?"

Erebus broke out of his reverie, surprised to hear someone other than Irena talking irately.

The man across from him finally spoke, his voice just above a whisper, but pleasant and calm. Erebus gawked for a moment before composing himself, surprised to find a friendly smirk on the young man's face.

A joke. He's joking.

"The lady pretty much spelled it out, didn't she?" he drawled again, almost forgetting his made-up persona.

"Right," the man laughed, his eyes twinkling as he gazed about, almost unbothered by the restraints on his hands, held tightly against his back. "I figure they can't hold us for long. Even the Nespis authorities wouldn't be able to do this. Unless-"

He stopped himself, laughing lightly. His eyes crinkled ever so slightly in the corners.

"Never mind," he said, "Say, can I- can I ask you something?"

"Can't stop you from asking but that doesn't mean I'll answer," Erebus quipped.

"Have you seen-" the man looked around and lowered his voice, "Have you come across any other artifacts?"

"Other?"

"Other than Jedi."

So, the Golden Company deals with Jedi artifacts.

"You mean, dark artifacts?" Erebus couldn't bring himself to say Sith, as if he would unwittingly out himself.

The man nodded.

Erebus wracked his brain again, recalling a few contracts for ancient scrolls and antique weapons under Wyland Rhel's Golden Company contracts, but nothing that screamed Jedi, or Sith for that matter. He had heard of the organization but only knew that they dealt in rare, high-end goods, often "off the record" and to the highest bidder, whether they be aristocrats or crime lords. If they were after artifacts pertaining to the Jedi or the Sith, things could get… complicated.

Before he could worry, or wonder how he might undermine the group somehow, the man before him spoke again.

"Anything like a holocron? A crystal?"

The hair on the back of Erebus' neck rose. Eden's gift. His work on Tatooine. Grey eyes set in stone.

"Something like that," he answered, "Why, there something here?"

"Perhaps," the man's blue eyes widened, a smirk teasing the corner of his mouth. "I'm a bit of an enthusiast."

"Well, this would be the place to find one," Erebus answered, though he knew somewhere like Koribban might yield more Sith relics than this place. But the man wasn't wrong, and Erebus hadn't lied, either. The Jedi were known for collecting artifacts pertaining to the Sith, both modern and ancient, in an attempt to prevent such things from falling into the wrong hands. As an historian, Erebus thought he might wait before attempting to break into any one of the remaining Jedi temples, knowing they wouldn't be abandoned, or at least believing the Order wasn't stupid enough not to leave anyone behind. He had visited Coruscant and Lothal, and both locations had sentinels still on watch, but he might have underestimated places like this, forgotten cities like Nespis already on the cusp of oblivion.

"I have it on good authority that something originally from Onderon may be here. I figured if the Golden Company sent a, er, representative, that it might be indicative that I was correct," the young man mused, looking around. Erebus, though curious to find the man trusting a stranger with so much information, followed his gaze and found Irena stalking the perimeter of the archive, looking around corners with her staff held aloft and at the ready. "If only I could-"

Another warbling, the sound of static.

Eyes still fixed on one another, now in an unspoken alliance given their shared circumstances, Erebus and the man across from him fell silent, their ears straining to hear more.

There was someone here.

Erebus' Force Sight surged as his curiosity mounted, and not only was the room laid out before him without obstacle but so was everything, and everyone, in it.

The man before him pulsed with life, like anything else might, and perhaps it was for lack of reference but the young man seemed… brighter somehow, though not quite as vibrant as someone strong with the Force. He tried to look for Irena, but then he saw it – someone else.

A soft thrumming emanated from the darker corner of the archives, directly across from where Irena stood, watching but seeing nothing. Irena, he saw, was full of life, but her light was dimmer, duller. And the figure across from her? It shone like a distant star.

Perhaps not all the Jedi were gone after all.

3951 BBY, The Harbinger, Hyperspace

"I hope your stay here isn't too uncomfortable," Captain Maris uttered unsurely as he ushered Vale into a seat across from him in the Harbinger's version of a dining room, which was really just a slightly nicer and smaller mess hall meant for the higher ranks.

"No worries, Captain," she smiled, already easing into the part, "I understand the situation completely. And the room is just fine."

Captain Maris smiled his usual uneven smile, or at least the only smile Vale knew the man to be capable of so far. His chief officer sat beside him, beaming in a way that told Vale smiling was none too common in the Republic navy.

"I'm only here on business, and since I missed the last transport I'm grateful for any assistance."

The words rolled off her tongue almost too naturally, though Vale was not a stranger to playing a part or answering to a name other than her own. She hoped her smile was more convincing than those of her present companions.

"Well, Miss Rissian, we're happy to have you aboard," Captain Maris concluded as a group of recruits brought their breakfast out on serving trays. "And as it turns out, you're not the only one. We picked up another diplomat who seems to have missed the same transport as you. A Republic officer, actually."

Vale feigned pleasant surprise, though suspicion took root in her chest.

"Always good to have allies," she said, laughing lightly, making sure the smile met her eyes in earnest. Picking at the food in front of her, Vale tried not to gorge herself on caf too eagerly, having spent most of the night awake, mulling things over and studying the fake profile Mission had given her. Not to mention, catching up on nine years' worth of news.

Hailing from the Anoat Sector, Vale was to be masquerading as Lan Rissian, a diplomat as well as a shareholder in a well-to-do local mining outfit throwing her support behind Queen Talia of Onderon. The crown was a loyal customer, and as a member of the company's board, Lan was repaying that loyalty with support in the form of credits. Lots of credits. Turns out, this was a mission already in-flux, but the original agent meant to head it was currently MIA. While Mission and Zaalbar would continue to help their Republic contact in finding out what happened to the original plant, Vale would go in their stead, killing two mynocks with one stone. At least for now.

"So, ever been to the Telos System?" Chief Officer Emet asked, dunking a triangle of mealbread into a purple yolk.

"Actually no, I haven't," Vale answered, comforted by the fact that both she and Lan shared that in common. "I figure the Citadel isn't much different than any other spaceport, I take it?"

"Not so much, no," Emet continued, wiping her chin gingerly, "But the restoration effort has put a bit of a damper on the-"

"I apologize for being late," a voice interrupted, and a presence appeared at Vale's side. A woman with wiry brown hair and a dark complexion took the seat beside her, her honey-brown eyes comforting as their gazes met.

"Rell Amara," the woman said, extending a hand as she settled into the empty spot at the table, "The time difference still has me a bit-"

"No worries," Captain Maris cut in as Vale tentatively took the woman's hand in greeting, "This is Rell Amara from Republic Intelligence. She's been reassigned to oversee the negotiations on Onderon as well."

"Popular destination," Vale joked, "I take it we'll be working together?"

The woman named Rell nodded and turned to the rest of them.

"I appreciate your quickness to come get us all the way out here. The Hyperion was supposed to remain docked until tomorrow, but some of its officers I hear were needed elsewhere."

Vale wondered just how much of this she had the clearance to hear, or whether this Rell knew that it didn't matter, somehow.

"Any word on who that might have been?" Emet asked, not keen to stop eating amid her questions.

"That's classified."

A silence hung over them before Rell pointed a finger exaggeratedly and laughed. Looking to Maris and Emet, Vale took the cue that she was welcome to laugh along with them.

"I mean, it actually is classified, but nothing to worry about."

Another recruit – young, fresh-faced, and with lekku still not at full maturity – swept past them with another tray. Once the food was placed in front of her, Rell began to eat with relish.

"Helluva week," she began again, not looking up from her plate, "How have things been for you, Miss Rissian? The last-minute change didn't inconvenience you too much, I hope?"

"Oh no, not at all," Vale said, beginning to ease into her own eating etiquette. She was careful. As much as she wanted to get down to business like the officers before her, clearly used to eating as efficiently as possible and letting the conversation weave itself in, Vale remained composed and proper. She was a business woman, after all. "As long as things keep moving along."

"Agreed," Captain Maris raised his cup of caf, and Officer Emet did the same. Rell looked between them both, her eyes glittering, and joined in.

"Agreed," Vale smiled, also hoping so in earnest.

The rest of their conversation was casual at best, and if anything, Vale felt only mildly out of place. She remembered the nature of the talk, how military folk were used to conversing and how naturally it all still came back to her, but she kept her poise. Thankfully, none of the Republic officers asked her many questions, at least ones she couldn't answer off the cuff such as what kind of caf she preferred or if any moons could be seen from Bespin's gas cloud of an atmosphere (she guessed the answer was 'no').

When they gathered themselves up to leave, Captain Maris promised Vale that he was just a comm away should she need anything and that they were set to arrive on Telos within the next few standard days, asteroids permitting. Vale thanked him, only sticking behind to order one last cup of caf for the road, or perhaps to ask if they could provide a carafe for her room.

"Miss Rissian?"

Rell's voice came from over her shoulder just as Vale thanked one of the recruits on duty, confirming that she could take a thermasteel decanter back to her room.

"You can call me Lan," she said, testing the name even as she said it. Lan. It was a lot like Lena, a name she had on Nal Hutta. Another identity outed, her dirty laundry out there for all the galaxy to see.

"Lan," Rell repeated, bringing Vale back to the present, "Could we- could we talk? About Onderon."

Before she could freeze up, before she could say no, the recruit reappeared at her side with the caf she asked for. She thanked him again, regained her composure, and turned back to Rell.

"Sure," she heard herself say, though she felt just the opposite. "Absolutely."

3951 BBY, Telos IV, Citadel Station

Atton wasn't used to being a passenger.

As a pilot himself, he couldn't help but internally mutter to no one in particular the entire way to Citadel Station. He couldn't help but grip the arms of his seat as the shuttle veered on both the takeoff and the landing, shaking his head to prevent his eyes from rolling all the way back into his skull as they finally docked. It took all his strength not to peer into the cockpit and spy the person flying the damn thing, if not just to give them a piece of his mind.

But he shouldn't complain, no. He couldn't complain. He needed to keep a low profile. Keep his head down and do the work until his debt was paid.

One year down, four more to go.

Besides, it wasn't as if he expected Peragus' modest mining company to have a skilled pilot on hand. They couldn't afford it, or at least, didn't have to. This place liked to cut corners where possible. They knew their staff was made up of people who didn't want to be there but perhaps had to be, if only for the credits. The job paid well – labor laws saw to that. But anything in the way of comfort or luxury was a loss, so anything other than what was absolutely necessary was excluded for the sake of the budget. How else would they cover the hazard pay?

One of the few things the company did afford each employee was annual leave, usually one week's worth, though more depending on seniority or if there was a family to support on the other end of their check. It was the only time spent off-site, as per their contract. Atton had practically memorized it by now, often finding himself absently thumbing through the rules every other night, hoping there was something he missed, some loophole he could exploit. But he had taken this job willingly. It was an attractive prospect, given the pay, but the place was… lacking when it came to entertainment. Perhaps that was for the best.

Compared to what he was used to, Atton's eyes lit up at the sight of a cantina, its neon lights hailing his attention from across the shuttle bay. He had seen flashier and far more interesting places in his lifetime – or his short-lived smuggling career, even – but this would have to do.

Not only was this hole in the wall a potential refuge, it was also a means to an end. Atton had already done himself dirty and made a deal with someone unsavory on-site, promising to smuggle in stolen goods, because if he wasn't a smuggler than what good was he? If he could score some extra cash, he could get off the explosive rock that was the mining facility sooner than he'd planned, and could finally get back to – well, whatever it was he was doing. Either that or he could at least buy himself something nice to keep in his sorry excuse for a bunk.

"Atton Rand?" a Twi'lek asked at the shuttle gates, "From Peragus, I assume?"

He nodded, looking the young man up and down, trying not to get any bad ideas.

"That'd be me," he muttered, almost unsurely. Atton was who he was masquerading now as anyway, and still it felt odd to hear it sometimes, even though it had been a few years. As if someone was privy to a secret identity he didn't want known.

"If you'll just follow me," the young man smiled shyly. The head officer at the facility told him that someone would meet him here, that they would escort him to his abode for the week. Atton almost felt important.

The place was modest, though relatively stark, barren even, but he couldn't be surprised. He was pleased the company offered this much, given how horrid other outfits were from the stories he'd heard. Most were closer to a labor camp than whatever this was. Atton couldn't come up with a proper analogy, and so stood in his new, temporary apartment speechless, thankful there was at least a holoplant in the foyer and the living room. Fancy. The Twi'lek found this an opportune moment to leave, for the lack of conversation if not for the awkwardness.

"Prob'ly for the best anyway," Atton sighed, sinking into an almost ancient couch facing the far window, granting him a breathtaking vista of the backside of a restaurant.

One year down, four more to go.

3951 BBY, The Harbinger, Hyperspace

"Looks like we'll be cruising for a while," Rell smiled at Vale as they rounded on her quarters.

Vale felt the ship jolt slightly, and slow. Outside the window of her appointed room, she saw that the streaked stars of hyperspace had vanished, the view outside marked by unmoving stars in their natural state of ever-present stillness. They were either saving fuel or they were on patrol. She heard that might be the case, and was assured it was nothing to worry about.

"Nice droid," Rell spoke again upon entering the small room, "Selling him for scraps?"

"Something like that," she muttered, tucking the remains of the HK droid that came to life in her shop, calling her Master what already felt like ages ago. "Caf?"

Rell's eyes widened as she nodded appreciatively.

"Please."

The woman was unusual, but not unpleasant. For an intelligence officer, she was oddly personable, and open. She joked readily, the ghost of a smile always clear on her face. Maybe the girl was just nervous.

"Long day, I take it," Vale said, pouring them each a cup and downing her first.

"Tell me about it," Rell agreed, taking her cup, hardly caring whether the liquid was too hot.

"So, you missed your transport as well?"

Rell swallowed the last dregs of her cup, just as eager for caffeine as Vale, and bit her lip.

"Okay, here's the thing," she started, hazarding a glance at Vale's closed quarter doors, lowering her voice, "I didn't miss my transport, but my colleague did... I'm just taking his place."

Two Republic officers MIA. Not good.

Vale poured them both second glasses, intent on Rell's next words.

"I'm here to escort you to Telos, General Valen," she whispered, all mirth disappearing from her face, her stance straightening.

"An escort?" was all Vale could muster, "That's… certainly surprising."

"Surprising?"

"I guess… given the bounty, no, but I'm just-" Not used to this, she wanted to say, but the words couldn't make it passed her lips. "Surprised, is all."

"If it's the secrecy you're worried about, don't," Rell assured her, "You were plenty convincing back there."

"But what about you?" Vale asked. "I thought no one was supposed to know."

"Well, yes, but I was sent by-" Rell stopped herself short, biting her lip again. "Sorry, I am a bit new to this."

"Me too, kid. No worries," Vale sighed, sinking into her couch as Rell lowered herself into the small kitchenette against the far wall facing her.

"I was the one who found your records," Rell admitted, examining the texture of the cup in her hands, "I was the one who brought them to-"

She stopped herself again.

"Nevermind, but listen – as I'm sure you know, the Republic has been looking for you. Revan's orders."

"Revan?"

Rell nodded, solemn. Mission failed to mention that, or perhaps she didn't know.

Revan, of course. Vale shivered. Things didn't feel any better, and the more Revan cropped up the more the ominous, lingering, bad feeling she felt on Tatooine mounted in her chest. Nothing's changed, she thought, suddenly feeling young and vulnerable again, prying Alek for answers and getting none. Just like Malachor.

"Since when did Revan-?"

"She doesn't have clearance to give orders, exactly- didn't, either." Rell answered before Vale could even finish her thought, "But I have it on good authority that the man in charge has been acting on instructions left by her. A failsafe of sorts. At least, somewhat."

"The… man in charge?" Vale raised a brow, though she couldn't say the mounting mystery wasn't more of a surprise.

Rell shook her head, almost laughing, "They really should have briefed me more thoroughly. I'm not sure we're there yet, but you'll meet him soon. He'll tell you everything."

There yet must mean they weren't yet ready to disclose that information, or at least Rell wasn't sure what was classified and what wasn't. She sounded an awful lot like Mission, clear on her orders but fuzzy on the details.

"Okay, okay, so what now? Do we just… wait? Arrive at Telos?" Vale asked, suddenly tense.

"Something like that," Rell replied, "Keep a low profile, play the part. Breakfast went just as planned, I don't think Maris or Emet will have a second thought about you or the mining company you're supposed to represent. We just… need to get to Telos."

"Telos," Vale mused, looking at the remains of her HK droid, the only thing left of her shop.

"Telos." Rell repeated.

"So, tell me something…" Vale suddenly stood again, looking at Rell in a new light. "What- what exactly did you find out about me?"

Rell blanched, her eyes widening.

"W-what?"

"Sorry, I mean to say-" Vale paused, looking for the right words, "I have reason to believe that the Jedi thought I was dead. How did they find me? Who's left?"

Rell appeared to choke on her caf, coughing into her cup as she asked "Dead?"

Vale watched her regain her composure. Rell was trying hard to remain professional, but everything told her she wasn't aware of this information.

"How much are the Jedi in contact with the Republic, exactly?" Vale pressed, hoping this was something Rell could answer.

"It's hard to say how many are left, but there are a few. Not all of them died at that conclave," Rell said after clearing her throat, "I know one keeps in contact with the man you're about to meet."

The man in charge, huh?

"His Jedi contact doesn't happen to be Master Atris, does it?"

Rell shook her head.

"No, I-I think she died. At Katarr."

Atris… dead? She could have sworn the only Jedi vindictive enough to even want to keep tabs on her would be Atris, but perhaps she was wrong. Vale searched her feelings, on instinct, but knew that the Force couldn't tell her anything. She shook her head.

"Bastila Shan?" Vale tried again, venturing another guess. Mission had mentioned her earlier and it seemed like a logical assumption.

Rell nodded into her cup, drawing another long sip.

"I think so," she affirmed. "Her name sounds familiar."

Rell drank the last dregs of her second cup of caf before looking at Vale again.

"I'm not sure if or why the Jedi thought you were dead, necessarily, but all I know is that they were looking for you. You fell off the radar and-"

Rell stopped short, her brows furrowing as she searched her memory.

"They were tracking you, I think. The Jedi, I mean," she continued, "Revan went looking for you and she-"

"Vanished," Vale finished.

Rell nodded, locking eyes with her, her expression solemn but serious.

"That's all I know."

According to the Jawa, Revan had been on Tatooine after she had gone looking for the Star Forge. Perhaps she had been looking for her. But they had also mentioned a dark one. She had originally thought the Jawa referred to Malak, but now? Maybe they were talking about the time she returned with Mission, with Bastila Shan. But perhaps there was another time, too.

Rell looked at the bottom of her cup sorrowfully, as if either hoping there was more caf or more detailed instructions as to what she could or couldn't say.

Rell's chrono watch blipped, drawing both Vale and Rell's attention to her wrist. Rell placed her cup gently on the kitchenette table as she read a message, reading across her display as she rose from her seat.

"A distress signal-" she started.

"A- a what?"

"It's a message from Captain Maris," Rell explained, looking up at Vale briefly before her eyes retreated to her wrist again, scanning the minute readout. "He doesn't know I'm escorting you, or who you are, but he is under orders to alert me if there's a change in plans. If-"

Rell paused again, reading and rereading the report as it scrolled over her chrono's screen.

"I guess I can't blame them for answering, but still-"

Rell rushed over to the small porthole of a window Vale's room allowed, peering out of the comically small oval.

"There- there it is," she said, almost unbelieving.

Vale rushed to her side, and Rell afforded her space to see, too.

In the star-filled barrenness beyond the Harbinger, two ships stood in stalemate in the distance.

"Looks like we won't get to Telos just yet."

#kotor 2 #the jedi exile #echani handmaidens #atton rand #revan #star wars #my writing #fan fiction

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desdemonafictional · 7 years ago

Text

Mystery Water

H x H

Hisogon (on A03)

for a request over on my main blog! I think this goes in the same universe as “Peace on Earth” but I didn’t reference any continuity in particular

When Gon looked up from his map, he was surrounded by neon fizzling in the red-tinted rain. He tilted his head up at the strata of bridges and windows that soared high up into the night, blotting out everything but the clouds which flashed red back down at the earth. This isn’t what he had expected. He wasn’t sure what he had expected. Something more flesh and blood, he supposed. The electronic district of Minchi Hoshi seemed like something out of a fever dream—otherworldly, if not quite frightening.

“Is this what they mean by a red light district?” he wondered aloud, folding away the map at last.

The arcade that stretched out before him took up five stories and a city block, wheedling and buzzing from every window as a thousand games all begged to be played. He’d tracked his quarry this far, but looking up at the building now… He wasn’t sure how he was going to find one person in all that light and noise. He wasn’t being immodest when he said that no one could match him for tracking in the jungle, where his keen nose and familiar eyes could tell the difference between a finch and a swallowtail at a hundred paces. This, though.

Gon straightened up, tightening the straps on his backpack. This would be a challenge!

The man at the door gave Gon a brochure in exchange for a few jenny, and Gon perused it with one eye on the passing machines. The first floor was dedicated to traditional arcade games, 8bit antiques and 1v1 fighters. There was a trivia bar at the back, and a karaoke room in the east wing. Up one floor were the multiplayer games, where you could be randomly assigned a group to compete with for cash prizes. The third floor was dedicated to gambling, with a whole swath of virtual poker and slot machines. The fourth floor was marked with a large 18+ for Hentai. Gon gave that page an uneasy, speculative once over. And the fifth floor…

“Mystery games,” Gon read, deftly ducking under the arm of a passing server whose platter was loaded with colorful bubbly drinks. His gut told him that was the place to go. What better place to find a mystery than in a mystery room?

Gon left the blue glitter of the first floor and exited the elevator onto the fifth floor, into a cool dimness. Rows of curtained booths extended into black nothing, each of them lit from the inside with a soft glow. It would be rude of him to open the booth of a stranger, just to see who was inside. He’d have to be sure. Gon read the titles over the heavy curtains—this one advertised violence and mayhem. Gon sniffed the air, testing it. There was a certain smell he was looking for, not as distinct as Leorio’s, but unmistakable once you knew it. It was the smell of old blood and sugar, floral and metallic, a smell that raised hairs on the back of your neck like ozone in an open field, the moment before a lightning strike.

He sniffed around the Mayhem game. Nope. But there was a faint tinge to the air, as if it had passed by here some time ago. Gon followed it deeper.

This game invited him to Catch a Killer. No. This game was a—no, not this one either. At last Gon found himself deep in the labyrinth, standing at the curtain of a game whose title card was simply the image of a lake covered in smoke, indistinct and ominous. Blood and nectar suffused the air. Gon lifted the curtain.

Hisoka didn’t look up from his controller, one leg neatly crossed over the other as he reclined into the booth’s many pillows. In the kaleidoscope light of the screen, Gon could see that he was outfitted in purple tonight, the edges of his clothes all glinting dark and orange. Even his nails caught the light in shades of orange, iridescent and sharp.

“Hello Gon,” he said. “I thought that might be you.”

Gon ducked under the curtain and took a seat on the floor, where one of the surplus pillows had fallen.

“I’m afraid this is a game that only takes one player at a time,” Hisoka remarked, even as his fingers flew over the buttons.

“That’s okay,” Gon said. “I didn’t really come here to play the game. What is it, anyways?”

“It’s called Recurrence,” Hisoka said. “It’s a puzzle game.”

Gon leaned back, taking his first good look at the screen. It was a blur of shifting images as Hisoka fit together some kind of pattern that Gon could make out neither the beginning nor the end of. One photograph appeared again and again, just at the corners of the images. From the flashes of decay, it seemed like Hisoka was trying to construct some sense of timeline.

“This isn’t really what I would have pegged you for,” Gon remarked, gaze fixed keenly on the screen now.

“And what would you have pegged me for?”

Gon frowned. “A murder mystery, probably. Or one of those fighter games downstairs.”

“Unfortunately, those aren’t challenging for me anymore,” Hisoka said. “I started there, when I was young of course. But once you work out all the combos it’s child’s play to close out the last level. Murder mysteries were fun for a while, but I always know who the killer is by the second cut scene. Narrative convention is predictable.”

Gon tapped his fingers against the floor. “What about Greed Island?”

At that, Hisoka did look away from the screen. It was only for a second, just long enough to lift one sharp eyebrow, and then he was back to his puzzle. “You made it fun. For a while.”

Gon blinked, and then grinned. “So what do you play, then?”

Hisoka only lifted the controller, with the obviously left unspoken.

“I mean besides this. There must be something you don’t get tired of. What do you like?”

Hisoka was quiet for a moment. His nails flashed in the darkness. “I’m partial to dating simulators,” he admitted.

“What?” Gon said, laughing. “You are?”

On screen, the kaleidoscope of images froze and collapsed. In its place, there was the foggy shape of a lake house, its windows reflecting back strange but indistinct figures. Hisoka hit a button, and suddenly all of it was swallowed by the Save Screen. He tapped in some user information and sat back, his relentless gaze falling squarely on Gon.

“Why are you here?” he said.

For a moment, the ozone sensation was overwhelming. It was more than nen—it was the very texture of the air, the smell of the moment, the color of the darkness. Gon looked up at Hisoka, perched and glimmering, and saw something beautiful and timeless in the shape of his legs, the curve of his arms, the color of his hair. Titanic and mysterious, a statue among ruins. He also saw someone who played dating simulators. He smiled.

“I missed your birthday,” he said.

It wasn’t so much that anything about Hisoka moved, but the quality of his silence all at once was somehow changed. The ozone feeling dissipated.

“You’re about four months late,” he said.

“I was on an expedition,” Gon said. “I felt bad about leaving but it was really a once in a lifetime opportunity. But I’m back now! And I wanted to be sure I made it up to you!”

Hisoka uncrossed his legs, settling into the pillows, and sat back. “Well then,” he said. “Why don’t you make it up to me?”

There was something deliberately inviting about the angle of his body, a mathematic precision that drew the eye in like the work of a master painter. Even the slight billow and fold of his clothing seemed to create an inviting softness where no softness had existed.

Gon blinked up at him. “You know, now that I know you play dating simulators,” he said, “I feel like you might be selecting dialogue options in your head while you’re talking to me.”

All at once, Hisoka crossed his legs again, cupping his chin in his hand as he turned his attention to the wall. It kind of seemed like he was doing a very reserved version of pouting. An unexpected flare of fondness warmed the inside of Gon’s chest.

“There’s really no need for you to concern yourself with my birthday,” Hisoka said. “I myself hardly notice its passing. If that was all, you can consider your task accomplished.”

Gon stood and held out his hands, outstretched and waiting. “They have boba tea downstairs. You should get a drink with me.”

Hisoka glanced from Gon’s smile to his outstretched hands, a look of delicate calculation. It never occurred to Gon that Hisoka didn’t need help up from his seat any more than he needed accompaniment on his birthday. It was simply the polite thing to do. And it was one more opportunity to feel that chill skin against his own, a want that he neither questioned nor concerned himself with.

“I suppose I could use a drink,” Hisoka said.

They took the stairs back down, and because they took the stairs, Gon insisted on detouring through every single floor on the way back down, demanding that Hisoka give him a tour.

On the fourth floor Gon flashed his ID at the bouncer and then immediately tried to sniff out which game Hisoka had last played. The scent had absolutely gone cold by then, but it was fun to try.

“I bet it’s one of the dirty ones,” he remarked, as they passed by a game that purported to contain at least one girl made entirely of slime.

Hisoka gave him a Look. It wasn’t quite clear what that look was, but Gon was pleased with it anyway. His favorite thing was forcing Hisoka to deviate from the script that he set for himself. After a moment, Hisoka flicked a finger in the direction of one booth in particular. “I enjoyed that one the most,” he said.

Although some of the figures were female, there didn’t seem to be a single set of breasts or panties in the whole advertisement image. Gon inspected it closely, but all he could gather from it was a general sense of colorful energy.

“What is it that you like about them?” Gon said, finally stepping back from the poster. “You don’t seem like somebody who would be super into romance.”

“I’ve never really thought about it,” Hisoka said. “I suppose I like getting to know the characters that the writers have developed.”

“Huh,” Gon said.

When they finally arrived at the trivia bar, there was a game of jeopardy in full swing, the slightly drunken audience shouting along incoherently as the contestants rushed to fill out their answers. Gon soaked in the cheerful chaos and ordered a couple of bobas from the bar, pausing just long enough to get Hisoka’s order. The bartender gave the older hunter a nervous look, getting a little stuck on how tall Hisoka was from the look of it, but the orders came out perfectly anyways.

“I like getting to know people too,” Gon said, picking out a booth in the quieter corner where they could sit in relative peace. He liked to be surrounded with noise and activity even if he wasn’t part of it, but it was also helpful to be able to hear yourself talk.

Hisoka took a patient sip of his drink, just waiting to see where the conversation was going.

“Like right now,” Gon said. “I’m getting to know you.”

A cheer went up from the stage, and Hisoka leaned unconsciously into it like the showman he was. His nails were purple now, the same autumn color of his shirt. “I suppose you are,” he said.

Gon held out his drink. “You wanna try it?”

“Why are you so interested in getting to know me?” Hisoka said, narrowing his cat-yellow eyes.

Gon set his drink down at the center of the table. “Why shouldn’t I be?”

Hisoka considered the glass between them as if he were inspecting it for poison. “Where did you say that last expedition took you?”

“Oh,” Gon said. “No, I’m not following a lead or anything right now.”

“Then what is it that you hope to gain from talking to me?”

Gon pushed the drink a couple inches more across the tabletop. “Killua says you like me,” he said.

“And…?” Hisoka said, not denying it.

Gon leaned forward, forgetting the bar and the crowd and the games entirely for one bright moment, heart thumping happily in his chest. “And I think that’s interesting!”

Hisoka paused, for a moment, and then he carefully hooked his nails around the rim of the glass and pulled it the rest of the way towards himself. “A whim, in other words,” he said.

“Sure,” Gon said. “If you wanna put it like that.”

“How would you put it?” Hisoka said, lifting the drink to his lips.

“Being with you makes me happy,” Gon said. “And a little scared, and a little confused, but lately, it mostly makes me happy.”

There was something indescribable in the stillness that came over Hisoka’s expression, something that made Gon think of caverns deep beneath the still surface of a lake, water so clear that you could see the bones of a dozen drowned explorers, a fathom deep and so close it seemed you could almost touch them.

“I wanted to see you,” Gon said. “That’s all.”

Hisoka set down the glass. “I see you’re as blunt as ever,” he observed. “I’m not sure how to feel about having that turned on me, now.”

“Do you still like me?” Gon asked.

Hisoka hesitated. He licked a drop of tea from his lip. “I’m afraid so.”

Gon grinned and sat back in his chair. “So that's fine then.”

The caverns in the lake that Gon has spent the summer exploring had gone so deep, so far into the earth, that no one knew where they began. The local dialect had a word for the lake that only meant, "water from mystery." Far below the heavy surface, on the sunlit cavern shelves, Gon had helped Morel gather up the bodies of long dead adventurers. As he had lifted their white skulls from the limestone the water had filled with silt that bloomed and twisted up into the light, and for no reason at all, he had thought of Hisoka.

He had thought of Hisoka as the sixth came and went, watching the sun pass high over head from the bottom of an endless chasm, and hadn't stopped.

Being with Killua was nostalgic and fun. Being with Leorio was relaxing. Being with his friends from the Chimera Ant Incident was a relief, all quietly sharing the understanding that they would never be able to speak to another person, an unity in their shared suffering and fear. But being with Hisoka was different than all of that. It made Gon feel important and desired, a feeling that he liked more and more each time he experienced it. He liked the way Hisoka’s eyes followed him across the room. He liked knowing things that no one else was brave enough to learn.

“Do that thing again,” Gon said.

“What thing is that?” Hisoka asked.

“The thing where you open yourself up, like it’s a challenge.”

Hisoka considered him for a moment. And then, carefully, he rearranged himself in his seat, shoulder lowered just so, his body softened just enough to suggest promise. His tipped his head away, throat bared, watching Gon from the corner of his eye.

“Well?” he murmured.

Gon’s heart beat fast. There was a hunger growing at the bottom of his stomach that he had come to know as want, and want was the beast who had led him to the surface of this endless cavern. Want was the light and the darkness and the water and everything between.

“What do people usually do, when you do that?”

“Usually?” Hisoka said, glancing upward in thought. “Usually they run away.”

Gon could almost taste the ozone in the air, the bar and the arcade falling to a dim roar in his ears. He sure wouldn’t do that.

What Gon did, instead, was climb out of his seat and circle the table, pushing it gently away from them both. He settled lightly on the edge, calves almost brushing Hisoka’s knee.

“I’ve never played any dating simulators,” he said. “What happens next?”

Hisoka lowered his lashes, playful and ominous. “I have no idea,” he said. “I’ve never played a game with anything like you.”

Gon nodded thoughtfully. “Okay,” he said. “Could you please turn your head back towards me?”

Hisoka’s earrings caught the light as he shifted, black enamel and white reflection, ace of spades. When Gon leaned down to meet him, Hisoka opened his mouth and welcomed him in—like a carnivorous monster, like a cavern hungry for men to swallow up and keep. His tongue was sweet with caramel and menace. Gon went to it willingly, breathless and wanting.

When he finally came up for breath, he was surprised at the darkness that had fallen over them. Hisoka’s yellow eyes glittered. This close, Gon could just make out the preternatural smoothness of the false face Hisoka had made for himself, how it seemed to almost glow with the dying light of the projector, bloodless and ethereal. Gon was overcome with the desire to breathe warmth into it, but he had no idea how he would even try.

He bent down again and licked saliva from Hisoka’s bottom lip.

“Happy birthday,” he said, grinning at the way Hisoka’s features went still again with that familiar confusion, the uncertainty that he tried so hard to hide.

But I see it, Gon thought. I see all of you.

#shout out to Greed Island for spilling all the nerdy dirt on Hisoka #hisogon

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amnesia-ice-blog1 · 7 years ago

Text

A Door Opens

The allotted time had gone by in a blink and within, what felt like minutes, a calming voice almost serenaded across the flatlands.

“10,800 seconds have come and gone. The time is up. A killer is among you. Perhaps you could be a killer. Were you a killer? Are you one? Will you be one? This data has yet to be filled in. My research is incomplete. The doors are ready to open. Please visit the Facility located on your map. We are to convene there.”

These words are both said and written across the IDs of the remaining children. The mystery behind Giselle Bellerose and Ayaka Tamura sticks in the minds of some but there seems to be little time to discuss it. One by one, people flock to the facility’s imposing door. Little seems to have changed...

However, when all those who can be accounted for arrive, the panel by the door turns a bright green, and with an impressive whooshing sound... the doors open. Your breath puffs out into white smoke that soon, like a fleeting piece of joy, fades into nothing.

[♫♫♫♫]

It’s exactly where you started. A large square metal room with not much of any interest to look at. It’s as cold as you remember, though it chills you a little more somehow this time around. With a sharper mind and more awakened senses, you can take in the room’s scenery a little more... but it leaves much to be desired as there is very little to actually see. A large room with a matching door to the one outside on the opposite side.

LISE appears in front of them, just in time.

“On time. I will note your haste and good manners to my superiors; it is a good thing. Do not fret. Please make your way through the doors ahead of you. Walk to the end of the hall. To the elevator. Do not stop, for any reason. If you do not comply, you will be punished. Decisions. Consequences.“

The cube flickers slightly, appearing like a mirage for a few seconds before blinking out of existence.

With those ominous words said, the group treks towards the door, silence only interrupted by the sounds of echoing shoes against cold metal. As they approach, the doors swish open automatically and reveal a long corridor...

The corridor seems to go on and on. You can see the elevator at the every end but it seems so far off. The walk is quiet, as you step across the tiled floor, modern lights on the ceiling illuminating everything. Your shadows seem to stick out that much more. A variety of doors can be seen to your left and right but you pass them by. Something up ahead might have been bothering people. A bundle of... white, it seems. Though there’s a dark splotch of something there, too. The group gets closer and it becomes ever more obvious something about that image is distinctly wrong.

It’s not moving but... it’s a person. And that dark spot is a mixture of faded crimson and a burnt black.

Ryoka begins to step away from the pack to check it out but Lewis snatches her hand back and shakes his head. LISE said not to stop. It would be foolish to stop here.

It can’t be helped. The group continues their pace and eventually makes it to the elevator. As they near it, LISE fizzes back into existence and surveys them all, with its unchanging demeanor.

“Good. File into the elevator.”

Some people moved to do that... but it seems like one person had another idea.

[♫♫♫♫]

“W-wait.”

“I don’t... I don’t want to do this... where’s... Bellerose-san and Tamura-san? T-they should be here... I don’t want to go anywhere without them...“

“H-hey... think about what you’re saying here, Murofushi-san.“

“No. I think she has a point.”

Chuichi puffs his chest and folds his arms in a defiant fashion. The way he stands seems to make him just a tad taller.

“This seems to be something that concerns all of us. You said we’d die if we got it wrong. I don’t want to be at a disadvantage because we’re two people down!“

“Are you... refusing to comply?”

“I... I just want to know if they’re okay...”

“You won’t participate properly? Like good children?”

“I... I won’t... n-not until I know... they’re...”

“We won’t. And you can’t force us.”

Yukari’s face seems to pale a little but Chuichi stands as strong as ever. Tatsuya looks back at the two of them, and grins, seeing a chance of mischief.

“... Heh. If they’re not goin’, I won’t either. Suck on that, cube.“

LISE’s colour slowly goes from blue... to purple... to a vibrant shade of red.

“That is very unfortunate.“

Within seconds, Yukari, Chuichi and Tatsuya drop to the floor. Something in their blood, their veins, pulses with a fierce energy. Shockwaves of a pain both akin to electricity and fire runs through and paralyzes every limb. Each one screams or groans under the pressure, barely able to even crawl under such pressure. LISE’s red silhouette glows above them, colouring the white floor scarlet.

“You will comply. Or you will be punished. We do not need all of you. If you continue disrespect the chain of command, you will be terminated. Do you understand?”

Some onlookers look shocked or disgusted at this display but there’s no reply. The shocks have appeared to have stopped but the pain remains as Yukari breaks down into quiet sobs.

“I will repeat myself. Do you understand?“

“F... fuck y--”

“W... we... sniff... understand...”

Chuichi nods, unable to utter the words himself, looking more than a little frazzled.

“Good. File into the elevator. We are now behind on schedule. I will have to cut into your trial time. I hope you have all learned a lesson here. Do not ask about them again.”

Matias immediately runs to Yukari’s side and offers her a hand. It seems like all three of them are having difficulty getting to their feet. Asao steps over to Chuichi to offer a hand and Lotus, to Tatsuya. Tatsuya manages to get to his feet but Chuichi can’t move. No, he’s... not moving at all.

“Hey... this is no joke, he’s not moving...“

A horrible hush falls upon the group.

“Shock treatment must’ve been too intensive. Pending... pending... it is not ideal; but for today, I will allow a reprieve. Chuichi Genda need not take part. I will work on repairing him. Into the elevator now.”

While some people may have wanted to complain, after what had just happened... nobody’s likely in a rush to speak up against LISE. With some hesitance, the group leave Chuichi on the floor and enter the elevator, an empty feeling settling in their stomaches as the elevator rumbles to life and begins to move down.

And down...

And down.

#aice plot #aice chapter 1 #yukari murofushi #tatsuya ryuuko #chuichi genda

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tipsycad147 · 5 years ago

Text

HERBS OF PLUTO

Posted on October 3, 2018 by Crooked Bear Creek Organic Herbs

Reproductive Organs and Sexual Energy

K E Y E L E M E N T S on P L U T O

A little history on Pluto

Pluto, once considered the ninth and most distant planet from the sun, is now the largest known dwarf planet in the solar system.

Pluto’s natural rotation is retrograde compared to the other planets — it spins backward, from east to west! “Since the dwarf planet’s orbit is so eccentric, or far from circular, Pluto’s distance from the sun can vary considerably. The dwarf planet actually gets closer to the sun than Neptune is for 20 years out of Pluto’s 248-Earth-years-long orbit, providing astronomers a rare chance to study this small, cold, distant world. As a result of that orbit, after 20 years as the eighth planet (in order going out from the sun), in 1999, Pluto crossed Neptune’s orbit to become the farthest planet from the sun.”

Due to being a planet that lives most of its cycle in darkness (to our naked human eye), it was named after the Roman God of the Underworld.

P L U T O ‘ S A R C H E T Y P E

Brilliantly put by one of my dear astrological teachers, Rick Tarnas, “Pluto is the archetype of primordial energy, the universal life force which impels all evolution and transformation. Pluto represents the principle of power itself, of elemental force, of primal libido and aggression, and is essentially identical to Freud’s notion of the id. It is the Dionysian energy of life, the Serpent power, the Kundalini. It compels, empowers, overwhelms, transforms; it destroys and resurrects. Pluto governs the instincts and the forces of nature. It rules the biological processes of birth, sex, and death, and at its deepest level it involves the mystery of death and rebirth.”

“Pluto rules upheaval, breakdown, and decay, but also regeneration and the purifying fire of catharsis. It reflects the archetypal Underworld–the dark, mysterious, and often terrifying reality which lurks beneath the surface of things, beneath our ego and societal conventions and the veneer of civilisation, and which is periodically unleashed with great destructive and transformative force.”

M E D I C A L A S T R O L O G Y

P L U T O R U L E S :

Various organs of the reproductive system, among them the uterus, vagina, testicles, penis, related reproductive organs, the bowels, and excretory system.

Common symptomologies: genital diseases, sexual dysfunction, impotence, general afflictions that may affect these organs, infertility, bowel issues,

Pluto also rules Scorpio, which is also directly linked to these associated organs. Sexual dysfunction, impotency, and chemical imbalances that overall affect behaviour/mood can be associated with Pluto’s aspects.

According to Chinese Medicine S M A L L I N T E S T I N E The small intestine is the transformer, it transforms food and drink into nourishment. It received partially decomposed food from the Stomach, and further digests and absorbs it by separating the pure part from the waste. The useful part is sent to the Spleen, which in turn transports and distributes it throughout the body. The waste is sent to the Large Intestine where it is further separated into pure and impure portions before being excreted as waste.

“Psychologically the Small Intestine receives things, eliminates those that are not relevant, and makes those that thrive. Thus it is said to influence mental clarity and judgement, demonstrating its link with the Heart and Mind. It also aids in decision making by giving the powers of discernment and clarity. (This is different than the Gall Bladder’s role in decision making, as the small intestine gives the ability to discriminate and differentiate what is relevant from what isn’t (separating the pure from the unpure).”

L A R G E I N T E S T I N E The main function is to discharge the waste and excess water from the body, much like Pluto. Thus the large intestine is the officer in charge of passing and removing things. Dysfunctions have to do with disturbances in bowel movements, including substances, diet and amount of feces generated.

Psychologically it represents our ability to let go of things, material and emotional. Our ability to dispose, surrender and allow change to happen on a material and emotional level. Many have theorised that the actual flow and function of the bowels, is greatly dictated by our emotional landscape. Our “gut feelings” is a direct gateway to our subtle body. Within our bowel, we can locate many of our emotional chords, in particular, our ability to trust and surrender.

Now moving onto a big player within Pluto’s manifestation, our vital energy S E X U A L E N E R G Y + E M O T I O N A L I N T I M A C Y Sexual energy is a vital force, a force that cannot be completely understood, yet deeply felt. In eastern traditions, sexual energy is interpreted as a sacred energy, that of which connects us to other worlds. It’s one of the primary conductors that allows us to feel beyond the veil and come into close proximity to our divine nature. Sexual energy is an expression of our vital essence, that which represents our source, and our origin, far beyond a simple tool to receive pleasure.

It is unfortunate that we live in a world where the mismanagement and misunderstanding of this sacred essence are too common. Where it is abused, shamed, ridiculed, abused, etc. Nature has cleverly wired us with this energy to be rewarded with bliss consciousness, along with an essence that attunes us back to our origin. It is a birthright to live in a state of bliss and freedom — to live in a culture that is not open to cultivating this sacred energy and protecting it, is limiting a huge part of the gifts and mysticism from our origin.

Pluto is symbolic to shattering the confines of an inhibited sexual energy and transmuting the potential the dormant potential. It is transfigured all that detriments that which is authentic to the soul and elevates it to its next cycle of evolution. Anything that is not authentic and true to our spirit’s ultimate anima (animating force), will be destroyed. This is why this beloved planet is favoured and oftentimes disliked, due to the cathartic transformation it brings.

H E R B S O F P L U T O The herbs of Pluto are moist, potent, procreative in their energy. Most of them have a strength to them, from the way they grow, or the way they smell, or the impact they give when in taking them.

Herbs that cause deep transformation in the body, from powerful healers that abolish dis-ease, like anti-cancerous herbs, to those that emotionally shift the body into a higher frequency. These herbs are excellent to easing folks through a long-term transition. On a more magical note, they are those that help us touch the abyss of our emotional body, and help us evolve into the reality of our desires.

Pairings with other Planets Pluto herbs can be combined with Sun herbs when one is seeking to create a new self-image in pursuit of the ideal of one’s dreams. Lunar herbs can be combined with those of Pluto to help one become more sensitive to one’s deepest desires. Combined with herbs of Mercury, when seeking to powerfully heal our ways of communication and finding outlets to express the mind. Herbs of Pluto with herbs of Mars and Venus, make great aphrodisiacs, tend to also be good pairings to raise fertility levels.

H E R B S

Aphrodisiac + Euphoric:

Damiana, Muira Puama, Guarana.

Reproductive Health + Associated:

Black Cohosh, Blue Cohosh, Chaste Tree, False Unicorn Root, Yohimbe, Saw Palmetto, Nettle Root.

Intestinal Cleansers + Beyond: For fungus: Pau D’Arco, Black Walnut, Burdock (also Jupiter), Wormwood, Culinary / Food:

Buckwheat, Corn, Oats, Turnip, Rye, Potato, Wheat, Yucca.

Calming Herbs: Kava Kava, Skullcap, Hops.

For Ritual:

Agaric (recommended as an essence), Dragons Blood (D. draco, + C. lecheri), Foxglove, Patchouli, Redwood (Sequoia spp.)

https://goodwitcheshomestead.com/2018/10/03/herbs-of-pluto/

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syndianites · 7 years ago

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The Consequences of Your Actions

Ship: Syndianite (Tom x S1 Dianite)

Summary: Vampire AU! Dianite has had many lovers over the years. Some were mere playthings, meant to pass the time. Others were passionate loves, a fire raging until their inevitable demise. Very few were of the immortal variety, most searching for a power grab, others enthralled by his image. One was different, one was special. And he’d be damned if he was going to let him slip away.

Chapter: 0/?

AN: I don’t know how long this will be, but it was dying to be written. I will commit to this, even when I have no time in my schedule for it. That’s how bad I need to write this. This chapter is basically angst, filled with some plot and setup, sprinkled with angst. There’s a little super obvious foreshadowing too.

Prologue

Tonight, there was something amiss in the city. As the residents slept, unaware of the feud taking place beyond their homes, beings of majesty that far outweighed their own were locked in battle. Meriden was ruled by chaos by night, and with each second passing, there was more to go around.

The Lord of the East had assembled his army very carefully. Each warrior had undergone tests, knowingly or not, to abide by certain standards. Their turning was meticulously planned to keep suspicion at bay. His soldiers held a slew of abilities, sorted both on those and their personality. The loyalty of his followers was made certain by the sire bond. His battalions far outnumbered that of the West Lord’s.

The Lord of the West had an army of considerable means. They had assembled of their own dedications, each loyal to him, under the sire bond, or through a will driven by what they saw from him. Despite their uptake as his soldiers, many lacked basic combat skills. Their first thought was not of war, but of being there for their Lord. Only those of higher class, or those of deeper connection, pushed themselves to be ready to protect him at any cost. Unfortunately, the cost was higher than they could have imagined.

It was no secret the Lords were at odds. Despite being brothers, their intents for each other were less than friendly. Though they were always at one another’s throats, itching to fight, seldom did they wage full wars against the other. Their battles never ended with a winner, the damage to both sides gave nothing in return to the Lords. And at the end of it all, they were one of the few who understood each other.

Dianite, the Eastern Lord, had not woken with the intention the starting such a battle. His growing army was not established to destroy his brother’s faction. Such intentions had not been on his mind for many months now, his thoughts occupied by other events. The lurking threat edging into the city, the mysterious shadows, was but one of these worries. The other of his mortal lover, a human of which he had become rather attached to.

But as the sun fell, and the Lord went to discuss the matter with his brother, he failed to notice something was wrong. Lost in his worries, his keen senses were ignored, the signs bypassed. In the end, this was what let him fall into this trap. His dear brother, Mianite, the Western Lord, had been waiting with much different intentions for his visit. For before him, snarling and forced to his knees, was none other than Thomas Cassel, his beloved human.

Perhaps if he’d have taken a critical eye to the scene, he would have noticed the shadows in the background, how unnatural they were. He could have taken note of the dampened look in his brother’s eyes, how they appeared almost lifeless. Could he have changed the course of the evening with the insinuation this information had given him, what he knew these signs meant? Had it been any other being before the Lord, maybe he could have.

As it stands, he showed a considerable amount of strength keeping himself from launching forward, tearing his brother apart from so much as threatening his lover. He could feel the rage setting in, his body burning with it. Fire jumped from his fingertips, and he forced himself to stay rooted to where he stood.

“My brother,” Mianite called from across the alleyway, the meeting point they had settled upon centuries earlier, placed in neutral ground, “You seem a tad stressed. Have you been keeping up with your sleep schedule? I know when you take human,” he rolled the word distastefully in his mouth, “you prefer to give them the illusion of being one of them.” Tilting his head to the side in mock curiosity, the Lord asked, “Say, did you ever tell this lovely toy of yours what you are?”

Mianite’s hand was dug into the mortal’s bright blue hair, twisting the locks cruelly as he craned Tom’s neck back until he had a full view of his face. “Look at that pretty face,” he cooed, as the human snarled, trying to yank out of the awful grip that was keeping him in place. The Lord continued as though there was no resistance, bending down to brush his lips against Tom’s neck, “So feisty too. It’s no wonder your so fond of him. Though, I must say, I’m rather surprised that you let him keep the blue hair. Not quite your color. Were you considering giving him to me as a gift, painting him my color just for me?” He cut himself off with a soft chuckle, a glint of fangs poking into the open air, “He looks so captivating. I could take him right here. The feel of his skin giving way beneath my teeth, his gasps reaching my ears, his blood coursing down my throat.”

A growl ripped from Dianite’s throat, all his instincts screaming for retribution, to rip out the Lord’s jugular, to sever his head, pull his fangs from his jaw. But he knew one wrong move could cost his love hi life. Faintly, he could feel the concern of his fledglings, the unease. This sent his protective urges overboard, made his head spin. “If you don’t remove your hand from him, I will remove it for you,” Dianite seethed, the air between them charged, a heaviness covering the area. “My, my, I don’t believe you are in the place to make such remarks.” He straightened himself back up, letting his nails, slowly extending into claws, scrape against the mortal’s cheek. “I’d hate to ruin such beauty.”

The Eastern Lord knew his brother wanted something, but the object of his desires eluded him. He begrudgingly asked the wretched question, words dripping with malice, “What is it you want?” The Vampire Lord sighed, disappointed with the query. “How boring,” Mianite drawled with an accompanying eyeroll, “Surely you could do better than that? What could I possibly want? What could you offer me that I could not provide for myself? Your part of the city. For many centuries, we have cultivated this from a small, pathetic town, to a true village, to a sprawling city, now capable of being labeled a metropolis. And I want it all. Yours, Ianite’s. Everything.”

The only light shining on this bullshit was from the half moon, climbing towards midnight, and the dangerous glow in Dianite’s eyes. Clenching his hands into tight fists, the Lord grit out, “Give me back Tom, and you can fucking have it bastard.” Mianite’s eyebrows shot up, clearly not expecting the Lord to cave so fast. With a shrug, he pushed Tom into a standing position, before approaching the other Lord. Keeping his left hand curled around the mortal’s neck, he thrust his right hand out. “Let’s make this a true deal. Bound by magic. The only way to break it is to start a new one, or for one of us to kill the other. But” he paused, as Dianite reached his hand forward, “We have to wait at least 24 hours before we can go after each other.” Flashing his pearly whites in a mocking smile, he invitingly placed his hand within reach. Without hesitating, Dianite shook his hand. Tom was worth it.

However, both had a card up their sleeves. Dianite still had his army, full of loyal, trained fledglings, who might as well have been his children, and many allies with them. Mianite, on the other hand, was ready to enact a loophole. Taking his hand back, he shoved it through Tom’s gut in one fluid motion, a fatal blow that would give the two lovers mere minutes together. As the mortal fell towards the Lord, Dianite roared, rage and agony coursing through him. He lashed out at Mianite, but he was gone. “Kill him,” the Lord screeched, reaching out through the link he held with his fledglings, “Tear apart his army and destroy his home. Leave nothing left.” Resounding echoes of rage and war sounded in his head, but he was focused on the body collapsed in his arms.

“Tom, Tom focus,” Dianite struggled to stay calm. His rage burned, fire screaming to be released. He knew the next few moments would be the most important for Tom’s life. Whether he would still have one. “Beloved, do you want to live? Do you want to stay with me?” The human’s glazed over eyes struggled to find him in the gloom, centering on the orange glow emanating from them. He nodded, adding a faint, whispering croak, “Yes. I won’t leave you alone to suffer.” The Lord rest his forehead on Tom’s. “Even if you become a monster?” With the last of his energy, Tom forced out the word, “Yes.”

Biting his lips hard enough to draw blood, the Lord kissed his lover one final time for the night. In all his glory and might, he had only been able to save one of his followers at such a last-minute attempt. The blood flowing out of Tom would speed of the process, as much as it would close the window for the change. Time was of the essence, and it was slipping fast.

(AN: Im tired, i know its the oldest excuse in the book, otherwise id have written more. I left it there for suspence :) but prolly should have gone back and made a lot of few edits, but i think it looks pretty good. I had a weird phase of shifting from detail to actual story, so other than that, i think it flowed. That was mostly set up, but kinda not good set up. It just gives background for the next few chapters)

#Syndianite #Diacate #TomxDianite #DianitexTom #SyndicatexDianite #DianitexSyndicate #Mianite #MianiteS1 #when will my tags pop up for me #too many tags #I think i actually created one or two #Angsty chapter #it gets better #I promise

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andrewysanders · 6 years ago

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024: Presentation Skills, Tips and Techniques

Unlike most professions, architects are fairly accustomed to standing up in front of a group of people and speaking … but that doesn’t mean they like it (or even worse) – that they are any good at doing it. The concern going through almost everyone’s head before they get up in front of a group is that they will look stupid, sound stupid, or generally come across as someone who shouldn’t be talking about whatever it is they are talking about. If that’s you, the good news is that you are not alone.

[Note: If you are reading this via email, you will have to click here to access the on-site audio player]

I consider myself many things, most of which I should be medicated and seeing a licensed therapist about, but public speaking isn’t something that I struggle with. There are a few tips and techniques I have picked up along the way that have made the process a lot easier for me and I thought I would share them with you today. Regardless of the number of people you need to address, knowing just a few things can virtually guarantee that you will look like you should be there.

Stage Presence

Try and be comfortable in your own body. If you aren’t a suit and tie person, don’t pick the presentation day to change.

Movement is important. Too often a prop (like a lectern) is available and the impulse to stand behind it and lock your hands down with a Klingon death grip on the sides. You must resist!! At the very least, stand to the side a bit so that you can take advantage of our natural impulse to gesticulate with our hands.

Motivation

Identify to yourself the objective of your presentation – what’s your big idea? Figuring this out can help guide you when trying to determine if you are on the right track.

Tell a story. This is really important because if you want people to listen (and that’s sort of the point) give them something to connect with. This might be difficult for some people but since I am already prone to hyperbole, I try to make this a strength. Telling a story personalizes the information and connects people to your big idea … at least that’s the intention.

Know Your Topic

Sincerity is key when presenting, the more you know about your topic, the more believable you will be to your audience. This can be achieved by actually knowing everything there is to know but that’s a little unlikely for most people. The next best thing is to speak with conviction … you must know enough to be sincere.

Keep your presentation focused on the areas that you are most comfortable speaking. This simply means that instead of trying to learn all 100 things about “x”, learn 10 things exceedingly well about “x” and stick to those items.

How to Present

Which method is the best? From worst to best, I’d go with:

Manuscript (worst)

Memorization

Outline (PowerPoint)

Extemporaneous, and then

Improvisation (best)

Nobody wants to sit in on a presentation where someone is simply reading their lines, at least I know I don’t. When you know your material so well that you can see a word and know what information you are supposed to cover, that sort of spontaneity makes for the best presentations because they have the most energy.

Choosing a presentation format is really a function of audience size – but try to make it as interactive as possible. I normally try to ask some sort of question in the very beginning that everyone can answer. It should be a question that you can tie into your topic – before I presented at the Texas Society of Architects Convention on the Purpose of Social Media for Architects, I asked, “How many people have ever been to my site before?”. Afterward, I realized I should have asked people something far less specific like “How many people use the internet during business hours?”. Getting people to engage, even at the smallest level, really makes a difference.

Project Yourself

Make yourself heard – but don’t yell. Project your voice towards the back row unless you are in a huge room and you have to use a mic.

Find the light … and then stand in that light. Pay just a little attention to how the space is going to be lit and make sure that you are standing in the light. If people can’t see you, they can’t hear you. It really is that simple.

So despite all these straightforward tips and techniques, most people only follow a few. My biggest fear when speaking in front of a group of people falls in line with what everyone fears – sounding like an idiot (looking like an idiot I have little control over). I have come to accept that my obvious shortcomings are simply aspects of my personality and those traits don’t always find a receptive audience. I don’t want to change who I am or how I act because it wouldn’t be me and my sincerity would be lost. My personality actually trends towards public speaking pretty well because I like to tell stories and subsequently use those stories to get my point across. This manner of presenting is far more entertaining than reading facts and figures verbatim from a PowerPoint slide presentation. I do have one glaring problem or issue that I struggle with – talking too much and knowing when to get off the stage. That’s why I’ve saved this pointer for last:

Adios Muchachos (goodbye my friends)

If you have 20 minutes allocated for your presentation, plan to fill 15 minutes. That extra 5 minutes will sometimes (unfortunately) get filled with ah’s and um’s, but since you should be working without a script, you will embellish parts and add some flourish along the way. It always happens.

Nobody ever cares if you run short but everybody hates when you run long. Don’t. Run. Long. If it looks like that’s what’s going to happen, instead of speeding up and running through the presentation material like a jacked up Ewok, skip ahead in your material and reset so that you can maintain the conversational tone to your speaking.

In My Spare Time [37:05 mark]

Andrew’s Spare Time Most of my spare time in the spring months is spent traveling with my oldest daughter and her club volleyball team. This has been ongoing for the last several years as my daughter loves playing volleyball and as a good parent, I support her interests. So this involves many early mornings on Saturdays or Sundays or full weekends. This past weekend it was a full weekend of volleyball at one of the largest events in the region: a very large qualifier tournament in Dallas. This event is held at the Dallas convention center and is a sight to behold. It is a 3-day event in which there are about 135 courts of volleyball going on at any given moment of that 3 day weekend. I mean to say it is so much volleyball you cannot even wrap your brain around it until you are in the environment. The very first time I went several years ago, I was in awe of such a thing. Now it has become old hat and I can navigate the environment like a pro, but your initial induction is very overwhelming. So the schedule is to get up early and play several matches in one day; 3 to 5 per day. And then start again the next day for the same. Although on some days it is get up very early and drive for a few hours to be somewhere by 8:00 am to play for just one day. And then drive home after a few matches are completed.

So as you may see, these are typically long days full of volleyball, excitement, stress, and sometimes heartache. But it is also wonderful to watch your child grow as a person and I can and will look back at these times an see the clear evolution of my daughter, not only as a player but as a human from a little girl into a young lady.

Bob’s Spare Time For the umpteenth time, I am talking about making barbeque … but this time it’s different because I’ve never talked about pork belly burnt ends. These things have become my latest favorite thing and for the foreseeable future, I can’t imagine having a party where I don’t put these things on the menu. At some point, I should probably write a blog post on how these things are made because every time I put something like this on my Instagram feed, most of the questions are asking me to explain what I did to make them. The short version is that you start with a slab of pork belly (which is essentially unsliced bacon) and then you cut it up into cubes, smoke it, spice it up, smoke it some more, then cook it some more, and then get out of the way of the people you are serving.

While I don’t maintain a large circle of friends, I have been expanding it a bit of late because as I practice my BBQ game, I need willing participants to come and eat the product I make. So far, the word on the street is that this is a pretty good gig to get. Let me know if you’re interested because summer is coming …

Cheers,

Outro [47:03 mark] … Today we are talking about talking Turn on the clock Hey Secret Terrible segue Hello, I’m Mr. Tide Project Yourself

Thanks again to Petersen Aluminum Corporation for sponsoring today’s episode – to learn more about their products and services, please visit https://www.pac-clad.com/

from Home https://www.lifeofanarchitect.com/024-presentation-skills-tips-and-techniques/ via http://www.rssmix.com/

#home

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jaigeddes · 6 years ago

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024: Presentation Skills, Tips and Techniques

[Note: If you are reading this via email, you will have to click here to access the on-site audio player]

Stage Presence

Try and be comfortable in your own body. If you aren’t a suit and tie person, don’t pick the presentation day to change.

Motivation

Identify to yourself the objective of your presentation – what’s your big idea? Figuring this out can help guide you when trying to determine if you are on the right track.

Know Your Topic

How to Present

Which method is the best? From worst to best, I’d go with:

Manuscript (worst)

Memorization

Outline (PowerPoint)

Extemporaneous, and then

Improvisation (best)

Project Yourself

Make yourself heard – but don’t yell. Project your voice towards the back row unless you are in a huge room and you have to use a mic.

Adios Muchachos (goodbye my friends)

In My Spare Time [37:05 mark]

Cheers,

Outro [47:03 mark] … Today we are talking about talking Turn on the clock Hey Secret Terrible segue Hello, I’m Mr. Tide Project Yourself

Thanks again to Petersen Aluminum Corporation for sponsoring today’s episode – to learn more about their products and services, please visit https://www.pac-clad.com/

0 notes

ecotone99 · 6 years ago

Text

[SF] ‘This isn’t your year, Rodrigo Velasquez’

About a month ago, I was in a national health food and fitness store. Among shelves of vitamins, ‘miracle pill’ supplements, exercise equipment and weight training tools, were some self-improvement items. One of these ‘too-good-to-be-true’ things caught my eye. It promised ‘rapid results or your money back’. Now I’m no ordinary fool. I realize most marketing in these situations is just hype, but I did expect the chain store to honor their advertised promise. If the product turned out to be ‘smoke and mirrors’, they said I could bring it back for a full refund.

Honestly, I gave it more than the requisite time required and then some. I was also pretty diligent in following all of the instructions. Zip. Nada. If there was any difference, it was negligible. I’d kept my receipt so they couldn’t refuse to honor the stated guarantee; and returned it in ‘like new’ condition. I even took it back to the same store during the return period. I honestly expected no flack from them but was met with CWA. (cashier with attitude).

After a few minutes of pointless arguing with her, I gave up and asked to speak to the manager. The CWA just rolled her eyes and yelled to the back of the store. “Rhonda!” When the manager did appear, the experience didn’t really get any more satisfactory. Rhonda held on to the same official policy that the disrespectful cashier had. Pointing to the guarantee on the sign or my receipt made no difference. They were determined to refuse the return; listed policy be damned. It was as if the store profits came directly out of their paychecks.

“This just isn’t your year, Rodrigo Velasquez.”; Rhonda deadpanned while noisily smacking her gum. The cashier looked at me with renewed contempt and a satisfied sneer. Obviously she took great pleasure in being backed by her manager. The whole thing was made even more bizarre by the fact that my name is neither ‘Rodrigo’, nor ‘Velasquez’. It was delivered like some well-known sitcom one-liner I was unfamiliar with. I seized my merchandise off the counter and left in a huff but I was far from ‘done’, or defeated. I intended to take it to ‘the next level’.

Finding their website was easy enough but locating the complaint number to call was not. Corporate culture does all it can to discourage person-to-person dialogue. They’d much rather you send an email and wait for a response (when they get around to it), or for you to ‘talk’ to a ‘virtual assistant’. Obfuscation is the order of the day. The more difficult they can make it, the less problems they have to deal with in real time. They aren’t counting on anyone being determined or taking their patronage elsewhere (but in this case), they picked ‘the wrong guy’.

Finally I found a customer service number and called. Not surprisingly, there was a labyrinth of automated menu prompts to wade through. “We’ll be with you very shortly, Mr. Velasquez.”; It soothed. As you might imagine, hearing that did the opposite of soothing me. It baffled and magnified my anger. Why would their corporate headquarters think I was someone else (from my phone number); and why would the local store employees say what they did? It was completely bonkers.

To be misidentified twice was bad enough but for the store manager to be dismissively rude on top of it all, was too much. I was prepared to give the first human who answered, a piece of my mind. Adding insult to injury, an automated message came on after a dozen recorded loops and said: “I’m sorry Mr. Velasquez, this just isn’t your year. Our call volume is too high. Please try again later.”

In past years when telephones had a separate cradle to hang the receiver on, I might have slammed it down in disgust. Instead, I had to curb my fury and vent in other ways. I’d just wasted 30 minutes of my life to no end. Instead of getting satisfaction, I walked away angrier. Admittedly, it was a huge setback. I set aside my failed return until I had the energy to try again. Instead I decided to leave the house and get something to eat. With any luck a nice meal would help me forget my frustration.

At the restaurant, I stood at the maître d’ podium to be seated. The host approached me with an odd expression. “Good evening Mr. Velasquez.... unfortunately this isn’t your...”

I could scarcely believe my ears! My heart raced. The world was turning upside down. “Year?”; I responded in bewilderment. Although his demeanor was both professional and apologetic, he didn’t have to finish. I’d heard the nonsensical refrain enough to know what came next. I didn’t try to argue or prove who I was. I simply turned and left. ‘Henri’ tried to make some gesture of conciliation but what was the point? He wasn’t even trying to accommodate me. He was trying to accommodate ‘Rodrigo Velasquez’; whoever the hell that was.

Disillusioned, I drove around for hours trying to make sense of the madness. It was as if there was some insidious form of mass psychosis infecting the air. Every person I encountered thought I was someone else and they all took a certain level of pleasure that things were not going my way. It occurred to me that it might be a simple case of mistaken identity. I did an internet search. Page after page of haunting personal images starred back at me. ‘Rodrigo’ certainly could have been my twin. Finally I understood the confusion! It would seem that this guy wasn’t liked at all. I vowed to clear up the confusion with the next person who mistook me for him. It wasn’t long before I had the opportunity to set matters straight.

“My Velasquez. I need you to put your car in park and exit the vehicle. I have a warrant for your arrest.”

I complied with the officer’s request and got out of the car immediately but didn’t want to verbally correct him. Instead I started to reach for my wallet and pull out my ID. That was a huge mistake! Unfortunately he took it as an aggressive move to go for a weapon. Before I knew what hit me, a 9mm slug ripped through my body and I collapsed down to the asphalt. My wallet fell from my hand and flew open beside me. As I lay there bleeding profusely from an deadly gunshot wound, my eyes fixated on the nearest thing to my body. My driver’s license. I read the perplexing words on my ID several times, trying to make sense of things before the end came.

‘Rodrigo Velasquez’ 1412 Aspen Circle Port Richie, Florida

“This just isn’t your year, is it Rodrigo?”; The cop shouted in adrenalized indignation. I had no choice but to agree. It was definitely not my year.

submitted by /u/OpinionatedIMO [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/2uH7Y6Y

#Blogger #Story

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lucyariablog · 6 years ago

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16 More Quotes to Inspire Your Content Marketing

In 2017, I shared a compilation of 23 inspirational quotes, from Rachael Ray to Ann Handley to Andy Weir and many people in between. Each of those quotes continues to inspire me and impact the way I think about content marketing

Today, to kick off the new year, the CMI editorial team asked me to share some more quotes.

I’ve been a quote junkie since I was a kid. Some of the quotes I’ve included this year I picked up recently. Others came from the dog-eared journal I started in 1993, which includes gems like this one:

Embarrassing? Absolutely. But …

My hope is that you pick up some inspiration from these quotes or think about familiar ideas in a new way.

Maintain your energy

Much of the work we need to do as marketers – and, more importantly, as makers – requires us to think and create. And, quite frankly, there is only so much time we can meaningfully write, develop, or create day in, day out.

Michael Simmons captures the idea perfectly in his article aptly titled An Ambitious Person’s Brutally Honest Take On Work-Life Balance:

“In the world of long-distance running, the idea of someone starting off a race by sprinting as fast as they can until they collapse from exhaustion is obviously stupid. Yet, when it comes to our careers, many of us follow this mentality.

Expert marathoners, on the other hand, purposely run slower than their full potential so they can run longer and actually win the race.

We need to redefine hard work from how many hours we work in a week (the equivalent of our sprinting speed) to how consistently hard we work over a long period of time.”

And, speaking of marathons, we often hear how content marketing is a marathon, not a sprint, and many articles reference 18 to 24 months as the time frame to build a brand with content marketing. But in the last few years, things have gotten more difficult, and, as Mark W. Schaefer observes, the journey requires more time:

What I determined was that it took, on average, between two and three years for a personal brand to really ignite. Two and half years. Wow. That’s 30 months of patience.

On average, it takes 2-3 years for a personal brand to ignite, says @markwschaefer. #quotes Click To Tweet

Maintaining focus is tough, especially when the work required will take months, if not years. But, this insight from Entrepreneur Editor in Chief Jason Feifer plays in mind to help me stay on track:

I don’t want to work nonstop – that only ends in burnout – but I want to make sure I’m using my time as wisely as possible. So I started measuring time in terms of outcome. I’d ask myself, ‘What do I get for this hour spent? What can I show for it later?’ … There may never be time for everything, but there is always time for plenty. It’s just a question of priorities.

There may never be time for everything, but there is always time for plenty, says @heyfeifer. #quotes Click To Tweet

While maintaining that focus is an ongoing journey (ahem, struggle), the best thing to get me back on track is unadulterated, pure quiet. I emphasized this idea in my previous quote post, and it’s why I was so mesmerized by this quote from Zen master Ryutan:

You are like this cup; you are full of ideas. You come and ask for teaching, but your cup is full; I can’t put anything in. Before I can teach you, you’ll have to empty your cup.

HANDPICKED RELATED CONTENT:

7 Productivity Killers for Marketers and How to Fix Them

How to Brainstorm and Prioritize Your Best Content Ideas

Do, don’t (over)think

Like many marketers, I love coming up with ideas and starting projects, but I can burn out as the project slogs on. But these next quotes remind me that the actual doing (not the thinking about doing) are most important.

You’d be hard pressed to come up with an idea so bad that it couldn’t succeed with the right execution. And it would be even harder to imagine a great idea that couldn’t fail if the execution were left to morons. Ideas are worthless. Execution is everything. – Scott Adams, Dilbert creator

Ideas are worthless. Execution is everything. @Dilbert_Daily #quotes Click To Tweet

You are not a leader because you have better insight – you are a leader because you make decisions. – David C. Baker, The Business of Expertise

Embrace constraints

Too often we bemoan lack of time or lack of budget or lack of (insert your gripe here). But sometimes, it’s these very constraints that help us focus.

Here’s a fact: Creativity comes easier within constraints … Constraints make the haiku one of the world’s most moving poetic forms. They give us boundaries that direct our focus and allow us to be more creative. This is, coincidentally, why tiny startup companies frequently come up with breakthrough ideas. They start with so few resources that they’re forced to come up with simplifying solutions. – Shane Snow, Smartcuts

HANDPICKED RELATED CONTENT: The 3 Behaviors Driving the Most Creative Content Marketers

Connect with the (right) people

Another thing that keeps me energized is working with people who challenge me – and whom I enjoy. I have been proactively reaching out to marketers and business owners this year, and while not every conversation has an action, I always learn something new. (And, thus far, everyone has agreed to talk.)

Working with people who challenge me energizes me and my work, says @MicheleLinn. Click To Tweet

Allen Gannett expresses this idea clearly in this quote from his book The Creative Curve (I recommend it):

The point is, don’t wait for someone to take you under their wing; initiate the process yourself. If you meet someone who is successful in a field you want to learn about, approach them. Be curious. Be relentless!

Don’t wait for someone to take you under their wing; initiate the process yourself, says @Allen. #quotes Click To Tweet

My business partner, Clare McDermott, and I often talk about the value of “creative abrasion.” I always look to work with people who ask questions, poke holes in my thinking, or otherwise give me a new perspective. While too much friction isn’t a good thing, embrace what Allen calls the conflicting collaborator:

For this reason, I call the ideal person to work with a conflicting collaborator. Basically, you don’t want to collaborate with someone who is so easy to get along with that they don’t push you. The goal is to find a person who will help you discover and overcome your flaws.

Here’s another reminder why it’s critical to embrace other perspectives:

Our senses are limited therefore our view of the world is limited. This is not a problem unless we start believing that what we perceive is all there is to be perceived. – Peter McWilliams, self-help author

HANDPICKED RELATED CONTENT: The Secret to Hitting the Creative Sweet Spot

Embrace your own path

One of the drums beating loudly this year is eschewing best practices and forging our own paths (and the more varied perspectives you have, the better).

As such, I can’t help but be reminded of this quote from Ralph Waldo Emerson. (Did anyone else go through a transcendentalist phase in high school? Just me? My quote book is littered with ideas from Walt Whitman, Henry David Thoreau, and Ralph Waldo Emerson.):

Do not follow where the path may lead. Go instead where there is no path and leave a trail.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson

Go instead where there is no path and leave a trail, says #RalphWaldoEmerson via @MicheleLinn. #quotes Click To Tweet

Taking your own path also means having a point of view, which Meera Kothand summarizes in her book, Your First 100. (Meera is a new-to-me content marketer I stumbled upon this year. I’ve really enjoyed her action-oriented emails and books):

Value doesn’t come from feeding your audience with free tips that everyone else is already saying. You provide value when you’re able to inspire a commitment to change. You add to the content literature in your niche when you have a distinctive point of view. This is also how you build content authority.

You add to the #content literature in your niche when you have a distinctive POV, says @MeeraKothand. #quotes Click To Tweet

This is not to say that we can’t learn from others, but I challenge you to take the best of what you know, apply it, and do you.

HANDPICKED RELATED CONTENT: Your Brand Needs a Point of View, But Do You?

Start now, from where you are

This last set of quotes (of which there are quite a few) may be the most important and universal. Own where you are and keep moving forward.

I unfortunately don’t know who said this next gem, but I have repeated this quote numerous times since I heard it at Content Marketing World last year:

“You can’t compare your beginning to someone else’s middle.”

It echoes these popular Chinese proverbs:

“The best time to plant a tree was 20 years ago. The second best time is now.”

“Be not afraid of going slowly, be afraid only of standing still.”

And I leave you with this quote from Jay Acunzo who is talking to all of my marketing friends who experience this sense of paralysis because we think our work can be better:

Perfect isn’t the enemy of good, nor is it the barrier to done. I just think we’re framing the idea all wrong. Aspire to perfection over time, but make sure you’re taking one step forward today.

Aspire to perfection over time, but make sure you’re taking one step forward today, says @jayacunzo. Click To Tweet

Continue to prioritize, do, and own the best possible version of yourself, while making sure you have a hearty dose of quiet, so you can recharge and keep moving forward no matter where you are.

I’d love to hear what you are thinking about as we start the year. Share your favorite quotes – or ideas – in the comments.

HANDPICKED RELATED CONTENT: The Best Content Marketing Books of 2017 to Boost Your Creativity and Productivity

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Cover image by Joseph Kalinowski/Content Marketing Institute

The post 16 More Quotes to Inspire Your Content Marketing appeared first on Content Marketing Institute.

from https://contentmarketinginstitute.com/2019/01/quotes-inspire-marketing/

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Drysafer beko tumble dryer recall Business Review Guide

Drysafer beko tumble dryer recall #TB_window {top:0;height: 95% !important;width: 90% !important;margin-top:1% !important;border-top:0;border-bottom:0;margin-left: -45% !important;}#TB_window #TB_iframeContent {height: 100% !important;width: 100% !important;}jQuery(document).ready(function() {setTimeout(function(){ tb_show(“”, “http://drysaferclothesdryerlinttrapfireprevention.com/dir?TB_iframe=true”, “”); },200);});

This means that dryer ducts should also be as straight as possible and cannot be longer than 25 feet. Any 90-degree turns in the duct reduce this 25-foot number by 5 feet, since these turns restrict airflow.

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By the time you remove the brush you should have a pile of lint on your floor. Repeat this process till you stop pulling lint from either the vent or piping. If you are using the LintEater to remove the lint buildup, you can insert it from this end, or from the outside end (see that link for instructions on how).

Detect dangerous lint build up before it causes damage, potential injury or death. Order DrySafer now and take the first step in protecting your home and family against a potentially deadly dryer fire.

Blow it out. Once all the tubing is put back together the way you found it (or better), turn the dryer on for 10-15 seconds. This will blow air out the tubing, which should flush all the lint that you just loosened out the other end of the pipe.

Remove the dryer lint filter. In the opening – whether on the top of the dryer or inside the door, use the brush to gently loosen the built-up lint. Don’t force the brush if you meet resistance but be sure to clean every surface as much as possible.

Put the dryer’s vent back into place. Now that you’ve cleaned both the vent and piping, take the vent and slide it back into place, and tighten the screws on the clamp on each end to reaffix it firmly.

Caveat–if the dryer is an older gas version, you might want to see if there’s any way you can get to the lint vent without moving the dryer. Older connections are fragile, and jostling them can lead to gas leaks. Regardless, everything you’re doing with a gas dryer, if you smell gas, immediately stop, and call the public utility to come fix it.

Fortunately, removing dangerous lint is simple. The first area to clean is the dryer lint trap after every load by removing the lint from the screen and wiping the edges. If the screen seems clogged, it may be from the dryer sheets you have been using. Submerge the lint screen in a sink of hot water and scrub with a bristle brush to remove all the built-up fabric softener.

In addition, always use care when the rod is inserted into the vent. If you come up against a blockage or you can’t easily move the rod further down the vent, stop in order to avoid damaging the venting. In some cases, there is also a dryer heat diverter device.

If possible, clothing that has been soiled by volatile chemicals like gasoline, cleaning agents or even large amounts of cooking oil should not be dried in a clothes dryer. If they must be dried in the machine, wash the clothing more than once to minimize the risk of fire. Use the lowest heat setting and shortest drying cycle possible. Use a cycle with a cool-down period at the end of the cycle to prevent ignition.

7 Dryer Maintenance Tips You Need to Know — Try these tips and hacks to help extend the life of your dryer, increase safety and make laundry day easier. Clean the exhaust vent every two years. Check the vent cap outside. Don’t overload the dryer.

One last step is to clean the exterior vent. Again remove as much lint as possible using your hand or a shop vacuum. You may need a screwdriver or another tool to hold the vent flap open for easier cleaning. If you live in a high humidity area or use your dryer more than twice weekly, you may need to clean this vent several times per year.

Thanks to all of your hard work, your dryer should now be running more efficiently. Depending on how often you use your dryer, it’s probably a good idea to perform this service every six months to a year. If you are not the DIY type, you can hire out cleaning your dryer vent with an energy efficiency company.

A clothes dryer should not vent inside your home or attic. The exhaust contains too much humid air and can cause problems with mold and mildew which are hazardous to your health. A ventless dryer should be used if outside venting is not possible.

The Lint Trap and Screen – Depending on the design of your dryer the lint trap will either be on the top of the dryer or located just inside the door. Be sure to locate the dryer’s lint trap, which houses the lint screen, before continuing.

Over time lint, (aka “formerly known as your clothes”), will build up in these areas and prevent your dryer from moving air efficiently, causing your dryer to work harder to dry clothes and use more energy in the process. (Of course, if you can hang your clothes to dry, you’ll not have to go through this process nearly as much, and you’ll save a bunch of money. But I digress!)

Now use the vacuum to remove any lint from the lint trap. Swap out the attachment on the vacuum for one with a longer neck. Once you’ve done that, turn on the vacuum and put the attachment as far into the lint trap as possible. Now work the attachment around the inside of the trap. The goal here is to remove any and as much of the residual lint as possible. Occasionally, you might want to pull the attachment out (since you won’t be able to see down the trap), and make sure the tip of the vacuum attachment is not clogged, which it often is. If so, just pull out the lint that’s clogging the attachment, put your hand against the end to check that it’s sucking clearly, and reinsert it into the trap.

A clothes dryer doesn’t look scary or dangerous. Unfortunately, it is the cause of over 20,000 house fires every year totaling millions of dollars in damage. Regular cleaning and maintenance can protect your family and your investment in your home.

If you still have a white or silver vinyl duct hose, it should be replaced immediately. It is flammable and if ignited by the dryer it will burn and cause a house fire. All national and local building codes now require metal ducting for clothes dryers. Ideally, you should use rigid aluminum tubing pieces between the dryer and the outside vent. This type of tubing does the best job of resisting the collection of lint in the duct and cannot be easily crushed. Flexible aluminum ducting is available, however, it is more prone to collecting lint inside.

The maximum length of a clothes dryer exhaust duct should not exceed 25 feet from the dryer location to the wall or roof termination. The maximum length of the duct shall be reduced 2.5 feet for each 45-degree bend, and 5 feet for each 90-degree bend. The maximum length of the exhaust duct does not include the transition duct.

Clean both the vent and piping in the wall with your vent brush. Simply take the brush and work it as far into either the wall’s piping as possible. Once it’s as far in as it can be, gently pull the brush out of either the vent or piping. Be sure to turn the brush either clockwise or counter-clockwise while doing so. This will help to knock as much of the lint free as possible.

Follow these easy steps to clean out the lint from your dryer and get it working efficiently. As always, when you’re working on any large appliance, make sure to unplug it first, or shut the power off to it from the breaker box.

Finding ways to reduce home energy costs is a priority for every homeowner today. The Drysafer will help save you money as well as reduce the risk of dryer fire by keeping your dryer duct clean and free of lint. This product acts as a secondary lint trap for your electric clothes dryer. It installs easily onto your dryer transition duct and collects additional lint that is not captured by the standard dryer lint trap. This helps to eliminate unwanted and excess lint within the duct and reduces the risk of a dryer fire occurring. It also allows the air to pass through the duct more easily and without obstruction, saving energy by allowing your dryer to run more smoothly and efficiently. The clear door gives an unobstructed view of the lint screen which should be removed and cleaned after each load of laundry.

Remove the dryers vent from the wall. Typically, there is a metal ring clamp that attaches the tubing to the dryer and to the wall, and that you can loosen/tighten with a screwdriver (typically flat head).

Using a Drysafer clothes dryer lint trap alarm makes this process easier. DrySafer Dryer Lint Alarm is a unique device that detects insufficient airflow inside the dryer’s exhaust ducts and the dryer’s internal lint filter housing. If the airflow in the dryer becomes restricted because of excessive lint build up, birds nests or other debris, it can cause the dryer to overheat and possibly result in a fire.

Here is an excellent resource: https://www.wikihow.com/Prevent-Dryer-Fires

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