#yeah this game becomes an even bigger farm the longer you look at it

[kaiserouo]

warframe ramble because yeah i do that.

Anyway, when i was doing arbitration survival, i saw someone with... this gun

looks like it doesn't need ammo, is an AoE weapon, and apparently is doing waaaaaay more damage and kills than me constantly shooting shedu.

i have done a bit mastery farming but still i've never seen any gun that looks and shoots like that. They changed the name of the gun so I can't really tell what is it. Communication failed because they only speak mandarin and in english version warframe anything non-ascii is just a bunch of astrisks (seriously DE? in 2024?)

Looking through their profile for their most used weapon and saw tombfinger. And... yeah, whatever that thing is the wiki says it shoots AoE. Looking through the wiki and

"Oooooooooh. Kitguns are a thing. Yeah. Fuck that sounds troublesome"

After building tombfinger (and sporelacer) and yeah it's just a SP viable shedu. I guess if I know this gun exists I wouldn't even buy shedu.

The other person is constantly shooting shedu btw. I also tried to do netracell with this and yup, it can definitely kill stuff.

Got a riven for it because there's just not much kitgun types out there and i got tombfinger after opening like 2 rivens.

Also why is there 2 kinds of values for my riven wtf DE

[justjessame]

The Deal Chapter 60

I was walking with Daryl when the call came through about a longer run to DC. Arat, the Savior who had killed Olivia and another named Justin were trying to use a walker as a scarecrow. I sighed, thinking that being well meaning and yet stuck in the past were both going to get these people killed by one of the men I loved. Sure enough, Daryl put it down, and warned them, again that this wasn’t how things would run from now on.

Laura, another Savior, yet a far more malleable one, had warned us and that’s what brought us outside to the crops. Eugene and Rosita were working inside on something very science oriented, and I hoped that Daryl understood more of their ramblings than I did, because science was not my strong suit. As we’re making our way around the perimeter, enjoying a moment to ourselves, quiet and without a demand on either of us, he lets me know that a run’s planned.

“We gotta head to DC.” I nodded, this run had been mentioned before. Seeds, farming equipment, things that were necessary for survival in this harsher new world. “You comin’ or-”

Ah, he wanted to know if I was going with or would I stay behind here? “Someone has to keep Eugene in line.” I smiled, knowing that Eugene could get ahead of himself if no one was here to temper his more rash impulses. “Unless you want me to go?” Maybe he’d prefer I head out with him.

He huffed a big breath and a sliver of fear ran through me. “I thought if ya wanted to, ya could go to Alexandria and stay with Judith.” Oh, wait, what?

“Alone?” I asked, confused. Daryl hadn’t let me go out on my own since I came back to him. Aside from the few times I had bow practice in Hilltop, he found time to go with me, or keep me by his side. Being with him at the Sanctuary was disturbingly similar to my time here with Negan.

“Gotta meet them at the midway point, figured ya go ride with me there, then ya could head on to Alexandria while we go on.” I nodded, yeah, it sounded simple, but this wasn’t what I had learned to expect from Daryl Dixon since I’d returned. “I trust ya, Jessi, I know it don’t seem like I do-”

I smiled up at him. “I know you do, Daryl.” I wrapped my hands around his neck and pulled him down to my level. Brushing my lips against his, I felt him relax. He was so tense. “You’re just really really protective.”

He chuckled against my mouth and then dipped in for a more passionate kiss. Our inspection had taken us to one of the more private outdoor spots, and no one was around, which is why I didn’t mind when his hands ran down my back and started pulling up my shirt. Tossing it onto the ground next to us, I had his unbuttoned and added on top of mine in no time with his vest tangled in the mess. My hands fell to his belt as he went to the button of my jeans. Suddenly it was an urgency of need. The need for his skin on mine, the need for my mouth on his chest.

He pressed me against the building we were standing next to, and then he was inside of me and our mouths were locked together tasting one another like we couldn’t get enough. Since I’d come back, since I’d chosen him, love making between the two of us had become more frenzied at times, and we didn’t pull away anymore when Daryl was about to finish. We’d found it, I supposed, as he rocked into me, pulling his mouth from mine to bury his head in my neck to nip and suckle at my skin. We found the safety and security we’d wanted before trying to start our family.

My nails were biting into the skin of his shoulders as my climax roared through me, and his moan as his own rushed out of him made my skin tingle where his mouth was attached to my collarbone. He held me tight, feeling my legs shaking and knowing me well enough to know I wouldn’t be steady enough on my own. I felt as he grew limp within me, slowly leaving my body. My head fell back against the bricks of the building behind me and my hands brushed his flopping hair away from his face. I leaned forward and kissed him slow and sweet. I loved Daryl Dixon. If only, if only I didn’t love Negan too.

We dressed not long after, and Daryl’s hand met mine and our fingers linked automatically. Walking back into the building, I wondered what had brought on this newfound respect for my independence. I didn’t ask. I was just happy he understood that I could and would take care of myself and that I was WITH HIM.

The plan for the run was simple enough. Seeds, farm plow to use as a prototype for Hilltop’s blacksmiths, and whatever else could seemingly come in handy for our continued survival. I could sense that Hilltop’s relationship with the other communities, or at least with the Sanctuary was growing strained. Our fuel production wasn’t as high as our need for food supplies seemed to be. Add in the fact that Maggie and Glenn wanted Negan dead and buried, and well, there was some strain.

I hopped on the back of Daryl’s bike, knowing that Dad would bring me a horse to get to Alexandria from the meeting point. Leaning into Daryl’s body, smelling the leather of his vest, feeling the hard muscles of his stomach under my fingers made me remember leaving the CDC. Before our first time together, before Sofia, before the Greene Farm. Before.

“Remember,” Daryl started, and I smiled against his back. “No ticklin’.” I giggled. He took one of my hands from his stomach and drew it to his mouth for a kiss on my knuckles. “Love ya, Jessi Grimes.”

“Love you, Daryl Dixon,” I yelled over the roar of the engine as he kicked it alive. And we were off.

I didn’t have a long parting with Dad, Daryl, and the others. I wanted to get to Alexandria and Judith. So kissing Daryl soundly, and promising to be safe while getting his own back to me, I hugged Dad and Michonne and got on the horse they’d brought for me.

“I’ll come pick ya up,” Daryl started, and I smiled down at him. “Don’t wanna steal one of Rick’s horses, would ya?”

“Wouldn’t be the first horse either of us stole, Daryl.” Which made Maggie chuckle, and I smiled down at her in return. “Y’all be careful!” And then I turned and headed back the way Dad and Michonne had come.

I made good time, the horse being far quieter than the bike meant that I didn’t get sidetracked by many walkers. And the ones that came too close for comfort were easily taken down by an arrow from my seat. I enjoyed the peace of riding alone into Alexandria. The guard at the gate barely sniffed in my direction, so I supposed I could count that as a win. I made way to Dad’s house, not the same house we’d lived in together as a family, since it wasn’t there anymore. The horse was left with the people that Dad had put in charge of them, and I walked alone through the streets of Alexandria.

In eighteen months time, they’d rebuilt the community. When I first visited after they started to build it back up, I was shocked by the damage. Houses burnt, or fire damaged. The gazebo that Carl had hidden himself away at, torched and charred in places. So much destruction, and for what? To prove who was a bigger man? To be king of a mountain that no longer existed?

I’m sure Dad, and Daryl, not to mention the rest of our people, would have thought that seeing the carnage that Negan and the Saviors had inflicted would turn my heart from him. It hadn’t. Not even slightly. There were no rights or wrongs to this ‘war’. It was two groups of people led by two men who kept hitting and hitting. It was bound to go this way. I should have seen it in the clearing. I should have known somehow that me offering my life wasn’t going to be enough. I hadn’t, and that was something that I couldn’t take back. Nor would I.

I climbed the steps up the porch of Dad’s house, smiling at the easel that Michonne had set up in the corner for her and Judith to paint on. A painting still attached that had Judith, Carl, and me in her tiny scrawl. I took a moment to smile over it before I opened the door and walked inside.

“Hey!” I called out and my grin grew as I heard her tiny feet beating down the hallway to launch herself into my arms. Judith, my little sister, a tiny blonde angelic dynamo. The woman they left her in the care of smiled at the two of us on the floor, and I nodded as she said goodbye. “Now, baby Jude, what are we gonna do today?”

We spent time playing. Painting was something she and Michonne shared, so I played games with her. Finding a deck of cards and playing a version of memory, I laughed at how smart she was, clever. After lunch, she pulled me toward the door and asked to take a walk. Walks with Judith meant that she got story time, and that she got to tell me stories. I listened at her story about the birds who flew up high and smiled when she asked if she could fly too.

“I think, my little Jude, that would be a bad thing for a little girl to try.” She pouted and I giggled. “Want me to give you a piggyback ride?” Her grin returned with a nod and I crouched down and let her climb on. “You’re heavier than you look,” I grunted, standing up and swaying with her.

We walked along the streets, and when we got close to Negan’s jail, she pulled my braid. Ah, she wanted to visit the boogie man. “Go.” She demanded, and I saw her little fist pointing at the building.

I rolled my eyes, but went along with her demands. I planned on visiting him anyway, and she’d come with me plenty of times before. The guard gave me a look, and I sighed, but they didn’t stop me. They couldn’t. I didn’t have a key. I couldn’t have freed him if I wanted to. And Dad had let them all know that I was granted the right to visit. So screw you, asshole, I thought. I knelt down inside the house, letting Judith get on her feet, and take my hand.

When I came into the room where his cell was, the cell that Morgan had built, I had to let my eyes adjust slightly. There was light, but it wasn’t complete. And there he was. Sitting on the mat on the floor with a ball in his hand. My heart lurched. Even down here, looking like the prisoner he was, his power still radiated off of him, his pull still strong.

“Oh my goodness, I’ve been granted the pleasure of seeing TWO princesses today.” He smiled and stood up. I walked to the bars and my free hand reached for his. “Missed you, sweetheart.”

“I know,” I answered, looking down at Judith. “She wanted to come visit. Demanded an audience.”

Judith was smiling up at us. “You did?” He let my hand go so he could kneel in front of her at her level. “Well, I feel very special that you wanted to come see me, Princess Judith.” She giggled and he reached his hand out to touch her silky blonde hair. “You are an angel, aren’t you?”

She sat on the floor and he knew exactly what she wanted. What she wanted every single time she came with me to visit him. They started playing ball through the bars as I sat down with my legs outstretched around her. Saving the need to run after a batted ball.

They played and he talked to me. “You look beautiful, Jessi.” His eyes flicked to mine. “As always.”

“You look tired, Negan.” I said, feeling the worry creep into my voice. “No one has-”

He shook his head. No attempts had come on his life yet. “Floor’s hard as hell, but I’m fine, don’t worry.” I bit my lip. “Give just about anything to be the one doing that to your lip, sweetheart.” I felt my chest flush. Jesus.

“I think Daryl’s going to ask for us to be allowed to leave the Sanctuary.” I knew he was. He hated it there. Hated walking the same path as Negan with me by his side. “Not sure if he’d want to come back here.”

Negan nodded, smiling when Judith caught the ball perfectly. “Good job, princess.” His eyes met mine. “Where do you think he’d want to go?”

I shook my head. “Hilltop, probably.” I cringed. I had no fond memories of Hilltop. “Either spot is further away than-”

“I know.” Further away from him. A longer trip. Longer time between visits. “I know, Jessi.” His eyes were soft and I wanted nothing more than to hold him. To sit on his lap as he was playing with Judith, to take comfort from him and give it right back. I missed it. His casual touches, how it had been getting so natural between us. Until. I sighed.

“I should go,” I said, and Judith looked up at me with a pout. “I promise we’ll come back,” it was a promise to both of them. To two pieces of my heart. I stood and took her hand. Moving closer to the bars, Negan stood and pressed his face into one of the spaces, and our lips met. Not close enough, not nearly enough. “Bye.”

“Bye, sweetheart.” And then, quiet so Judith couldn’t hear, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” I whispered. “Jude, can you say ‘bye’ to Negan?”

“Bye, Uncle-” I stopped her.

“Jude, you know you can’t call him that.” I admonished, pain flashing through me at the thought of it. “Just say ‘bye’.”

“Bye,” she looked confused, and I knew she was. She was a child, but she knew what she saw. Her big sister and this man in a cell had the same thing that she saw her have with Uncle Daryl. Shit.

My eyes met Negan and his smile was sad. He wanted it. To have the title. To have the same standing as Daryl, with me and my family, but without losing himself for it. We’d talked about it a few times. Going in circles. “Bye.” I said, fighting against the urge to scream.

Judith and I spent the day playing. She told me about the races her and Dad had, and how she won. How Mom would help her hide, how much fun she had with them. She chattered and I listened, loving that she wanted to share everything I missed during the time between visits. I missed her so much when I wasn’t here, but I also loved the fact that I got to JUST be her big sister now. Not a parent, just what I’d been to Carl.

We’d just started making dinner when I heard a knock on the door. Opening it, I saw Aaron standing there smiling. I liked Aaron, he and Daryl had easily become friends early on, and he never seemed to show as much animosity toward me as some of the others.

“Daryl and your dad wanted me to tell you that they’ll be back tomorrow.” I must have looked concerned because he hurried on. “Nothing bad, well, nothing overly bad.”

“What happened?” I felt Judith’s arms wrap around my legs and my hand absently went to her head and brushed through her curls.

“The bridge is out.” Shit. That wasn’t good. “They wanted to go back to the Sanctuary while we pushed on.” I let out a breath I was holding and nodded. “I’ve got to go home and see Grace.” My smile came back. “Have a good night, ladies.”

“Night, Aaron, thanks for letting me know.” And as Judith offered her own goodbye, we went back inside. “Guess we’re having a sleepover, baby Jude.” Her giggles carried me through the night.

[home-halone]

I thought I could handle the recordings. I never realized how visceral the reaction I'd get was, just from hearing stories of emotional abuse and manipulation from other victims. I'm in tears for them. I have nothing but empathy and love for these people, and I stand by them but hearing their accounts is just so hard hitting. I'm in tears because I know the exact feeling of being in their shoes. It disgusts me that so many others had experienced this, and that he's neither the first nor the last.

The more I heard about their stories as I clicked to listen to each one, the more I realize how precisely my old situation fits the same pattern. In my case it did not happen on FFXIV and the abuser in question was a completely different person.

I actually used this game to escape my previous MMO.

I don't know if it's appropriate for me to speak up about the abuse I experienced here, or in this situation, if it takes the spotlight away from the here-and-now of it all, but if anything it just reiterates how common it is and how easy it is to miss. So, so easy to miss.

Did you guys know I used to be a healer main? I loved playing support, and I could never bring myself to tank or DPS. I liked helping my friends and working with them.

Did you guys know I used to be wholly content doing casual stuff? I didn't care about endgame, and clearing the latest content. I just wanted to hang out with friends, doing silly things, making a whole army of alts to try new things and classes with. I liked to explore and have fun at whatever pace I wanted and I didn't fucking care if anyone thought it was lame.

But then I met him.

I'd seen Q* around before. He was real life friends with P, someone I played with on occasion, but I had no real interactions with him.

At least not until Q and that friend had a fight, and pretty much left him with nothing. He played the game casually, and ended up borrowing much of P's things. Now that they weren't on speaking terms, he had nothing. I wasn't the richest player or anything, but a friend (who quit playing shortly after) and I offered to give him some in-game money to start off fresh.

Eventually, I saw him around more and more often, and I started to play with him. I invited him to communities I had been a part of, including a very casual weekly group raid group. It was very much less savage and more like extreme primals in terms of difficulty. So it wasn't anything crazy, really.

When we weren't doing that, we were farming and raking in cash for glamour. I thought it was nice because I knew that being P's friend meant he was of a higher skill level than I was. I trusted his opinion and followed his lead basically. Not only that, I really connected with him in a way I hadn't connected with other people. Spending time with him was a lot of fun, and we'd be on Skype for literal hours.

It was the same story. Very charismatic, somewhat flirtatious guy. It was all for fun until he started sounding serious and I found myself very into it even with all the red flags and gut feelings. When I confronted him about the nature of our relationship it moved to us becoming a couple.

But don't tell anyone.

It was a secret.

The same story.

I should've figured it out because a lot of times it felt like he was talking at me instead of to me. I couldn't put my finger on it at the time, but that's what it was. Consent was a line he would try to push. He would switch from an absolute sweetheart to using disappointment and frustration against me to get what he wanted. He never raised his voice, but he was excellent at making me feel like shit.

If I didn't play well enough. Because "this is so simple". Or if I didn't know where certain items were stored. Even knowing I have problems with my memory. If it turned out he had it the whole time, he’d laugh it off. If it was with me, he’d be so so disappointed and upset and tell me I’m careless.

Q wanted another group to raid with. I get it. He wants to do more, because that's just his skill level. I was in a very casual guild, but they looked up to me as a mother figure, partly because of my age compared to everyone else's, partly because of the character I RPed. I knew I could convince them to play, and it would make him happy.

They were all new, so they weren't like the regular group. But that just made them so malleable for him.

I became stricter and nitpicky towards people who treated me like I was the group mom. I kept the same tone but there was an underlying annoyance. Why couldn't they be as good? Some things are so simple. I started to echo what Q told me. Because if they failed, to Q, I'd failed.

Praises became so hard to come by. Even when I singlehandedly shortlist and fix our raiding roster, when I make literal spreadsheets for schedules and attendance and for the item directory just so I don't forget and I keep things perfect and convenient for him, just so he wouldn't be upset or disappointed. And he would top it off by being sweet and make up for two weeks worth of not spending time with me. He treated me like a retainer. Sometimes worse. I was there to accompany him to dungeons. As far as he was concerned, that was probably all I was good for.

Because when I'd asked to spend time talking, and not playing, I'd just get told that I was suffocating him. Like I was demanding more time, and what we had wasn't enough.

I organized every raid we had, I was raid leader, I called the shots, I pushed a group of casual players into helping me avoid feeling like shit by doing well enough. When it was my fault, I'd be blamed. Even when it wasn't, I'd be blamed. There were times when I had to fill a role we were missing. It couldn't be helped. Not everyone had every class. All Q had to do was show up and do the easiest fucking class. If we'd wipe, he'd ask me why I wasn't on healer. But somehow when I play healer he'd find all the ways to tell me what I was doing wrong. I didn't feel dependable. I always felt like I fell short and I wasn't good enough.

But I had to reassure everyone, I had to remind everyone. Cast this buff when X happens. Use this element for better DPS. I had to keep it all together until he shows up. Even when we'd reached one of the deepest parts of the dungeon we'd never seen before, and I was happy and excited for them, he wasn't. He was just disappointed we didn't clear.

So I became disappointed too.

Somehow, I had hoped it was the stress of school and it would pass. And Q will go back the the way he used to be when he and I first met. It was stupid but it was some sort of blind faith I latched onto. That somehow if I'd endured and if I were the bigger person, he would wake the fuck up. Obviously that wasn't true at all.

It got to the point where I really was just his retainer. Hold this. Go here. Go there. Why are you not producing the results I want? Affection was a reward, or something to quell me when I was upset and not a staple expression. I'd drawn a lot for him, but I'd hardly get a response. When I was kidding around and having fun making silly voices, all he said was "What is that voice? I'm just gonna mute you." And actually did. He was very pushy when it came to intimate stuff, asked for pictures and pictures and all that but showed me maybe two shit quality photos of himself and a 5 minute skype video call.

I could fucking solo heal 11 people and he wouldn't be impressed. He would nitpick me and ask why I hadn't used the right buff at the right time. Because healing is so easy. I would spend 4 hours straight doing some super menial stuff that would get an open-world boss into spawning mobs that you could farm. When I tell him I'd finally accomplished it, he'd check hours later when he wakes up to say "it isn't there anymore" and nothing else. I'd have to hold on but once he's salty he can rage quit at any point he wants.

I would be praised by other people, and I'd have fun without anyone pointing out how poorly I do or what I'm missing. The disparity was so evident but I kept lying to myself.

I gifted him an official comic of one of "our" favorite series via mail. He never thanked me. He complained about how inconvenient it was that HE missed the delivery and now HE has to go to the post office to pick it up.

I never got to read it.

After half a year of enduring this, I'd confided what I'd experienced with my guild, it came to light that he had been abusing them too. I'd realized we'd effectively converted my poor, fun-loving casual guild of friends into a farming mill for profit.

We farmed not for fun, but for profit. It was awful. Some of my friends still never want to set foot in that game again. It's been 4 years since then.

That's when I'd worked up the courage to break it off. Not for myself. It was kinda pathetic that what woke me up wasn't the need to fight for myself, but because he had hurt my friends. The ones who trusted me to guide them. People I'd hurt myself, by pushing them beyond what they really wanted via peer pressure.

Even when I broke it off it didn't feel satisfactory. It just felt like he didn't care. He went, "ah yeah, it's difficult." I mean that response makes sense considering at some point he told me I wasn’t his real girlfriend until I had sex with him lol.

And that was it. He gave back my stuff in game but lol wait remember the part where he knew I had memory problems? The fucker stole some gear from me and took advantage of that. Burn in hell, Q.

I lied about the reasons why I no longer wanted a relationship and made it seem simple, and I couldn't call him out. I didn't want to upset him. I was afraid of the dirt he had on me. I was afraid of what he'd say to me. Part of me is still afraid he has some of these things on me, years and years after it had happened. I never told anyone the full story really.

I moved on to FF at this point and it was a fresh start, with another friend inviting me to play. No one to tell me what was wrong.

But it sticks to you. The bullshit people like Q and Oldbear do to get what they want. If I said that I raid ONLY because I find it fun (and I do find it fun), it wouldn't be wholly truthful.

There's a part of me that still hears his sleazy voice telling me I'm not good enough. What I'm doing is easy. Support is easy.

I wanted to stop supporting and do things on my own ability. So I switched to DPS. I kept pushing the boundaries of my comfort zone to shut the voice up. I am good enough, and I can raid. I'm afraid to try new classes because of that fear of failure he'd inflicted on me.

I've never gone to a therapist because of the costs and the general stigma in the country, so I don't know how deep this has settled within me. But it's enough that I carry that elitist voice in the back of my head telling me I have to do more, more, more and that I'm not good enough.

Sometimes I’m in denial it was abuse and I probably just had a bad relationship with poor choices ;;;; Like I said, he never outright yelled at me, and he never swore at me or called me names, so I did not think it was abusive. But he gaslit me and used my emotional attachment as leverage whenever he could, would put me down but get away scot-free for things he’d do.

Anyway tl;dr emotional abuse is fucked up and downright diabolical and disgusting and victims suffer some repercussions long after they've moved on and fixed their lives, and now several of these women have had the chance to speak out and name their abuser we must give them that closure and draw attention to this very real and heartbreakingly commonplace issue.

[emry-stars-art]

Nights

(So uh this isn’t art but I thought I’d try my hand at posting some fanfic? Have some platonic analogical because platonic sides ships of any kind have me weak)

Virgil couldn’t hear anything through his headphones, especially when he blasted Evanescence, but it never stopped him from being aware of movement in the house. Something about people’s anxiety heightening whatever sixth sense humans had.

So when he opened his eyes at - 2:30 in the morning? Who’s up now? - he sighed and pushed off the headphones to think.

There was nothing to be anxious about. Virgil, for once, felt relatively at ease. Maybe Patton was having another gloomy spell. But downstairs, he heard the coffee maker whir to life and raised an eyebrow.

As a general rule, neither Patton nor Roman drank coffee. At least, not the coffee they made here. They must have found it too strong or bitter - Roman only drank the sugariest things from Starbucks, and Patton preferred hot chocolate. Virgil and Logan never complained. More for them.

So Virgil knew who the sleepless side downstairs was, but that only left him more confused. It wasn’t like Logan to be up so late. He was huge on regular and sufficient sleep. And to be making coffee at this hour, of all things.

Virgil sat and reasoned with himself for a moment. Logan probably didn’t want to be disturbed. Probably. Well.. what would Virgil want?

That question was almost harder to answer. Since being adopted into their little family, he never knew whether he wanted to be alone or not, especially during a panic attack.

But Logan had just stood up for Virgil. Would he expect Virgil to return the hospitality? Does Logan even like distractions? What helped him sleep?

Stop, stop thinking, he thought, closing his eyes tightly. He took off the headphones and jumped off his bed in one movement before he could really register what he was doing. Just go downstairs and see what Logan said.

He found the logical side leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping from his mug and muttering to himself. Virgil paused, then sat down on the stairs as he often did, as if for a little familiarity in the new situation.

“What are you doing up?” he asked finally. Logan froze and turned slowly, every moment calculated.

“Ah. Hello, Virgil,” he replied, leaving the kitchen. He looked incredibly tired. “I..” he blinked. “What was the question?”

Virgil was encouraged when Logan took his spot beside the banister and leaned heavily on it, looking into his mug.

“I asked what you were doing up,” he repeated, raising an eyebrow at the logical side.

“Thomas is overthinking himself again. If I don’t help him keep the proper frame of mind, he’ll..”

Virgil let the hesitation last only a second. “He’ll put me to work,” he finished. Logan’s lips thinned.

“Well.. yes.”

“You can say it, Logan,” Virgil muttered. “It’s still an issue.”

“I’m only hesitant to.. only comment on the worst of it. You keep Thomas sane.”

“I keep him up at night and away from parties.”

“And you keep him from forgetting his keys or losing his wallet. You really should stop focusing solely on the negatives.”

Virgil huffed. “Ok, Patton.”

“If emulating our most lovable companion is what will make you understand your worth, I’m willing to try it.”

Virgil seemed at a loss for words for a moment, simply staring at Logan. Then he turned and covered his face in his sleeves.

“Am I not performing properly?” Logan asked, suddenly sounding more alert.

“No, that - that’s not it.” Virgil groaned. “You can’t just say stuff like that, you know I can’t take compliments.”

“I believe I offered an assurance rather than a compliment.”

Virgil didn’t even try to respond to that, instead letting out a long breath. “Never mind. Are you going to bed?”

Logan sighed and rubbed his temple. “Thomas is still struggling. But it’s your turn to rest now, I will handle this.”

That didn’t sound right. Virgil was always the one that stayed up with Thomas’s problems.

“Wait, are you sure?” Virgil asked, narrowing his eyes at the other. “You.. you need to sleep too.”

“One restless night doesn’t have too terribly an adverse effect on one’s basic functions,” Logan said dismissively. “I will be fine.”

But Virgil didn’t move. He didn’t say anything, and he didn’t move. Logan raised an eyebrow.

“If it makes you uneasy, you’re.. welcome to keep me company.”

Virgil didn’t realize that was what he wanted until Logan said it. He only nodded. Logan offered to make him coffee, and again he nodded.

They sat down at the kitchen table, Logan still muttering to himself. Virgil heard several ‘now Thomas’s and ‘falsehood’s. Just being around it was making the anxious side.. less relaxed.

Maybe it was because Logan was becoming upset as well. Fighting with Deceit was a difficult and exhausting task.

Finally, Logan sighed and fell quiet. He rubbed small circled into his temples as if fighting off a headache. 4:43 am. Virgil slid the rest of his fresh coffee to him, just in case.

“I really dislike that side,” Logan murmured, taking Virgil’s mug in both hands. Both were silent for a long moment, until Virgil stopped chewing his thumbnail.

“Logan?”

“Hm?”

“Uh.. mug.”

Logan narrowed his eyes at the anxious side. “What about the - oh.”

Virgil watched the recognition click as Logan replied, “beverage.”

“Milk.”

“Cow.”

“Farm.”

They continued the word association game for nearly a quarter of an hour. Virgil had to pause a lot to think, especially when Logan began using bigger words. Logan, however, could spout them off with ease. Virgil could see the tension leave his shoulders as he challenged himself more.

“Mitochondria.”

Virgil smirked. “Powerhouse.”

“Dwayne Johnson.”

Now even Logan had to smile as Virgil snorted. “Well played, pocket protector. Rock.”

“Erosion.”

“Wind.”

“.. Coriolis force.”

“I.. don’t know what that is.”

Still smiling, Logan adjusted his glasses. “The Coriolis effect causes wind and water currents to bend clockwise.

“Of course.”

“Hm.”

There was another short silence. Virgil was chewing his thumbnail again before he realized it was happening.

“Thank you, Virgil.”

“Uh.. don’t worry about it.”

A sudden heaviness overcame them, causing Virgil to sway a little. Thomas must have finally fallen asleep. “Well.. what’s the schedule like tomorrow?”

Logan blinked, thinking. “Thomas’s first event is at 10:00 am, but there are a number of tasks he wishes to accomplish before then. I’m not harboring much hope for that happening any longer.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry; he’ll have plenty of time to get everything done tomo - today.”

Virgil paused. “Oh.” He smiled a little. “Oh yeah. It’s technically the next day, huh?”

“It is indeed,” Logan said with a nod. He stood and took the mugs back into the kitchen. “And these.. are a chore for later.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Well..” the logical side adjusted his glasses again, rubbing his eyes beneath them. “We have a few hours to sleep still.”

“We can try,” Virgil muttered. Then he paused again. They never liked his comments.

But Logan only gave the slightest nod. “Yes, well.. that is all we can ask.”

Virgil looked over, slightly taken aback. Patton would be two words away from threatening to physically fight him by now. Logan returned the look from the corner of his eye, one brow raised as if waiting for Virgil to continue his negative train of thought. So the anxious side stood as well.

“Ok.”

“Good night, Virgil.”

“Night.” 

Virgil watched Logan disappear down the hall. Before he could have another thought that might cause them to stay up later, he went back upstairs and put the headphones on again, settling down. He wasn’t disturbed again until Thomas woke up naturally.

[adamarinayu]

“We’re All We’ve Got, Remember?”

So this was originally supposed to be a completely independent oneshot that just sort of popped into my head but then this quote slipped in there.

This is completely and 100% AU.

When a city, no matter how large, is all you’ve ever known, it begins to feel more like a prison than home. That was something Donald’s nephews had to learn the hard way.

Not that Donald took it much better- after decades of adventuring the world, being confined to Duckburg alone was driving him crazy. It was like cabin fever, only he could go out into town instead of being locked within the walls of that mansion he had once upon a time and once again called home. The simple fact of the matter was this was Duckburg, and there was no way out.

Except for the sky burning red and hot above them, the high glass ceiling of the dome keeping them inside the city, the guards patrolling the streets enforcing laws Donald had never grown up with, and a plethora of other small details and big details, it was the Duckburg he had known and loved and often left behind for a bigger, better, more exciting place- but the Duckburg he always returned to.

The children had never known any other world. They didn’t know life outside the dome.

Donald, Scrooge, Bentina, Gladstone and Launchpad did.

The world they grew up in was not the world Huey, Dewey, Louie and Webby would inherit.

“Uncle Donald!”

Donald’s eyes tore away from the window, swinging around to look at his nephews and niece running over to him. They had dart guns in their hands, but the expressions on their faces told him they were much less interested in their game and much more interested in something else.

They leapt up on the couch, forcing themselves between Donald and Gladstone, causing the latter to drop the book he had been looking through in order to scoot over.

“Yes?” Donald asked, giving them a somewhat disapproving look. Gladstone didn’t look too perturbed, however, as he just plucked his book back up off the floor. He waved the childrens’ apologies away.

“We were talking with some friends from school,” Dewey explained to his uncle, “and everyone else says their parents tell them stories about the “old world” all the time.”

“So we were wondering,” Huey continued almost nervously, “what was the world like when you were young, Uncle Donald?”

Donald and Gladstone shared a surprised look over the ducklings’ heads. “When I was young?” Donald repeated.

“Yeah,” Louie confirmed, leaning against Gladstone’s side. “You know, when you were a duckling. Like us.”

“When you were our age!” Webby added excitedly, dropping her dart gun to grab his arm. “Please tell us, Uncle Donald? Uncle Scrooge doesn’t want to talk about it!”

That was understandable, Donald figured- Scrooge was bitter about the whole affair and hated thinking of the old days. He missed those days so much.

But Donald? Donald wanted the children to know. He wanted them to know how it used to be. How it should be.

He gave them a slight, sad smile. “Gladstone,” he started, turning towards his cousin and holding his hands out. Gladstone looked slightly unsure.

“You sure, ‘cuz? Unc’ didn’t want us talking about it,” he reminded Donald.

Donald rolled his eyes. “Scrooge can stuff it,” he said as Gladstone dropped the book into his waiting hands. “They deserve to know.”

“If you’re sure.”

He turned to the children. “Things were a lot different when Gladstone, your mother and I were growing up,” he started. “Back then we could go outside.”

“We already go outside, Uncle Donald,” Dewey pointed out, raising a brow.

“Not outside the house,” Donald corrected, flipping the book open to the first page. “Outside the dome.”

The album was filled with memories. Memories of Donald and Gladstone and even Della’s entire lives, right up until the dome was erected. Twenty-five years of fun, glory and paradise.

Sometimes the cousins regretted not taking more pictures- why they didn’t just take a picture of that common flower that bloomed every spring, or take more pictures of their grandmother, or more of Della, more of Fethry, more of that old pond out by the farm... the farm itself...

It was filled with memories, longing and regret, but also respect and nostalgia for the things that no longer were.

On the very first page, three ducklings- one slightly different, his goose showing through- sat on a blanket in the grass, looking at the camera in confusion. In the background, ducks of various ages played.

Scattered across the page were more pictures of those ducklings, sometimes all together and sometimes separated. It wasn’t very clear whose pictures these were, to be honest- Donald and Gladstone, when the triplets and Webby were barely a year old, had piled all of their pictures up and cobbled the album together with no clear separation on who the photos had belonged to originally. Sometimes they were at the farm, sometimes they were at the house Donald vaguely remembered belonging to his father, sometimes they were at Gladstone’s house, and then sometimes they were elsewhere.

Some places the two cousins had carefully copied whatever their parents had written on the back of the photos underneath, to be sure they would never forget the details.

At some point, of course, the pictures seemed to all merge- when all three children came into their grandmother’s care. Several years passed with the children there before a sudden separation happened again in their teens, when Donald and Della moved in with Scrooge officially.

That was when the old photographs really got interesting. Suddenly Donald and Della were in other countries, in adventuring gear or camping or somesuch, while Gladstone was at parties and the “best of the best for tourists” countries available.

Of course, there were the “cousin roadtrips” they took and treasured every year scattered throughout, but other than that Donald and Gladstone’s lives ceased crossing over as much as they once had.

Fethry, their other cousin, showed up mostly in family reunion photos and the cousin roadtrips. Every day Donald and Gladstone felt crushing regret that they didn’t have more pictures of him.

No one knew where he was when the enemy none of them knew about rose into power. No one knew where he was when the dome came to be.

He wasn’t home when the sky began to burn red.

“Uncle Donald, these pictures look so...” Huey started, sounding unsure as he stared at the album.

“Fake?” Dewey supplied somewhat nervously.

“Fake?!” Gladstone repeated, almost offended. “Dear children, these pictures are our lives!”

“Gladstone,” Donald started tiredly, leaning back on the couch as he gazed at the old photographs. “It’s okay, they don’t know.”

“The world can’t be that different,” Louie said, frowning at the picture of three blue-eyed ducklings swimming in a lake, an orange sun gleaming down from a blue sky.

“Sure it can,” Webby argued. “I mean the world had to change sometime, right?”

“It can’t be this different,” Louie repeated, huffing. “I was expecting boring talk about a building that no longer stood, or a park where industry is now, not-”

“We grew up on a farm,” Donald interrupted their argument, silencing the children. “The pond’s water was really cold,” he told them, pointing at a picture of him and Gladstone swimming. Della was in the background, a blur jumping off of the small dock with a rare image of Fethry following. “We swam in it every summer, anyway. The skies were always blue in summer, and the sun was warm and the air clean.”

“Air,” Gladstone added, leaning over the children to peer at the album as well, “actually came from the trees and grass and oceans, and not a factory.”

“That can’t be true,” Huey mumbled in awe, eyes on the trees Gladstone pointed out to them. Donald and Della were beneath that true, the former holding a spider protectively in his hands while the latter tried to throw a rock at it.

Donald remembered that- that had been in the year between his and Gladstone’s parents’ deaths, and Donald and Della were living at the farm without him. Donald had, shortly after losing their parents, become obsessed with being a pacifist. Everything, he believed, deserved to live- even the icky gross spider he used to cry for his father to come kill.

It was during that time Donald came to really respect all life, and learned that he actually really liked spiders... much to Della and Gladstone’s horror. He saved a lot of spider and insect lives in the years following.

In a photo on the next page, however, something caught his attention and he dropped his line of thought. This, he knew, was so much more important.

“This is Grandma,” Donald said, directing the childrens’ attention to an elderly duck lady, laughing at her grandchildrens’ antics as they pretended to drive a tractor. It was old and rusted, and Donald remembered it was sold a year later (briefly he wondered what happened to it, considering he couldn’t remember a time that old thing had actually worked), so she didn’t mind the three (and sometimes four!) children climbing up to play pretend. “She raised us after our parents were gone.”

“Your parents died too?” Webby asked, surprised. Gladstone was the one who nodded.

“Yeah,” he said, turning back a few pages and pointing to a family photograph taking up the entire page. He tapped on the ducks in question. “These here were my mom and dad, and these were Donald’s.”

“This was taken a week before mom and dad died,” Donald told them quietly, looking at his parents. They were holding hands, gazing adoringly at each other while their children played in the front with the others. They had been so happy. “An accident on their way home from St. Canard.”

“St. Canard?”

Donald and Gladstone looked at each other, and the latter- who, even Donald would admit, knew the album much better than anyone else- swiftly flipped to a page further in the book. Donald immediately recognized it; Gladstone and himself, one of the rare pictures of Donald without his twin (as she was the one taking the picture), under the lights of a club they were much too young to enter. It was their first trip together after Donald and Della moved into McDuck Manor.

“This is Donald and me in St. Canard,” Gladstone told them. “A city across the old lake- the lake’s not there anymore,” he added, flipping back and tapping a photo of the docks. “It used to be massive. Donald had an old houseboat docked there for a time, always dreamed of moving in, but then...” he trailed off, a frown coming over his face.

“Then...?” the children prompted.

“The soldiers came,” Donald finished for his cousin. “Whatever they did dried the lake, and all of the boats were left stranded.”

“But that’s not what we’re talking about,” Gladstone said quickly, clearly not ready to tackle that topic, and he flipped back to the St. Canard pictures.

He began pointing out every picture of them there, talking about what street they’d been on, what it had been like, the sights, the sounds, the smells, everything, and Donald, for just a moment, felt like he was there again. The children were just as enraptured, trying to imagine all these things they never had the chance to experience...

Then they were back to green-grass, blue-sky and clear-waters. A cousin roadtrip picture came up, the first year Donald, Della and Gladstone had their licenses, and finally Dewey broke down and, pointing to the fourth duck in the picture, asked, “Is that Uncle Fethry?”

“Yes,” Donald and Gladstone said in unison, each looking at the picture of their missing cousin.

“The one who wasn’t in Duckburg when the soldiers came?”

“Yes,” Donald answered alone, quietly.

“Oh.”

“And this is mom,” Huey guessed, fingers reaching out to brush over Della’s form. She was smiling so widely, giving Donald and Gladstone both bunny ears while, unknown to her, Fethry did the same to her.

“Yes,” Donald answered again, voice cracking slightly. “She loved the world, y’know.”

Without any prompting, Gladstone flipped to the first picture of Donald, Della and Scrooge on their adventures. “They used to adventure all the time with Uncle Scrooge,” Gladstone told them, gently tapping a selfie Della had sent to him of the three of them shortly after they barely survived a crash landing. “Had a blast doing it, too. I opted out.”

“There’s no way Uncle Donald could be an adventurer,” Dewey protested, looking at Donald in shock. “Right?”

“I was, and it was probably the best time of my life,” Donald sighed, looking at another picture of himself and Scrooge, taken by Della, in front of a South American pyramid in a previously-undiscovered city. Two faces Donald hadn’t seen in more than a decade, faces that hurt to think about, names that the children wouldn’t recognize, seemed to be cheering in the background. It had been the first time his adventures with them and his adventures with Scrooge and Della had overlapped. “There’s nothing quite like exploring the world, kids.”

“Even I did some exploring, just not the same way,” Gladstone said, flipping back a few pages to a picture of himself on the Eiffel Tower. “This album is our lives, right up until-”

“The soldiers,” Webby whispered, sounding awed. “So... it this was the world back then...”

“What happened?” Huey asked quietly, staring at the photos as Gladstone slowly flipped through the pages. “Why did the sky turn red?”

“No one really knows,” Donald said, turning to observe each one of his children. “Scrooge, Gladstone, your mother and I... we were all here when it happened.”

“Why isn’t mom here now, then?”

Donald sucked in a shallow breath. He had expected it, of course- he just showed them an album full of their mother’s life.

They knew she was gone, but they didn’t know why.

“She fought,” Gladstone answered for Donald, voice so quiet it was almost lost. He stared intently at the last picture in the album, at Della’s mischievous smile, Grandma’s laughing eyes, Fethry’s goofy grin, Donald’s exasperated affection, Scrooge’s proud expression, Gladstone’s own confident smirk... the last photo they ever took. “She fought alongside Uncle Scrooge, Donald and Bentina while I stayed with you four here, at the mansion, to keep you safe. I only wish I had kept her safe, too.”

“She died?” Louie asked, though they knew it to be true already. “She died... fighting them?”

“She died trying to protect the world she loved,” Donald told them, reaching over to gently stroke Louie’s feathers. “And she died to protect you four.”

“We didn’t stand a chance against the soldiers,” Gladstone admitted, closing his eyes and looking away. “There were too many. After Della died, and Donald was injured, and Scrooge lost basically everything...”

“They didn’t even give anyone a chance to save their families,” Donald said, tears burning his eyes as he thought about the farm- about his grandmother- so far outside of any city limit. “We don’t even know if domes in other cities were erected, before they did... whatever they did to kill the world outside.”

“We could be all alone in the world,” Gladstone sighed, rubbing at his eyes as they both thought of the family that hadn’t been in Duckburg with them.The family they lost, the family they might have lost.

“It was only Gladstone’s luck that let us stay in the mansion. Even though it’s a good point to see the city from, the soldiers didn’t want to make the drive every day,” Donald told them bitterly, turning back towards the window. “Frankly I’m surprised they let us live, but living in Duckburg now is a greater punishment than death so it’s no mercy on their part.”

He stared out the window, across the city he had loved and now only loathed, to the dome wall slicing through the bridge, to the old Moneybin sitting outside, falling apart as the harsh environment lashed at its walls.

Everything was bathed in a red light.

“On the other hand,” he mused, turning back to the children, “we’re still here, together and alive. And so long as we’ve got each other, we’ve got everything we need, right?”

“Right!” the children agreed, though the tears in Louie and Huey’s eyes told Donald that they weren’t exactly happy about it.

This was the world they lived in now. They had to accept that.

All the loss, all the pain, everything. It was their life. And maybe one day, he thought, maybe one day these children and their generation would change the future, reclaim the world as theirs.

Donald, though- Donald could only wish he could help.

He looked at Gladstone, who without words took the album from his grasp and closed it, handing it to Dewey, saying, “Read the things we’ve written in there, if you want to know more.” Then Gladstone stood up and moved over to Donald, grabbing his arm and helping him to his feet.

Donald leaned on Gladstone as the half-goose helped him take the few steps needed to reach his chair. He sunk down into the seat and, after setting his feet in their proper space, reached down to the wheels.

Looking at the children again as Gladstone retook his spot on the couch, Donald said, “The world used to be bright and colourful. Not everything was red. We lost a lot in that fight...

“But we should still be thankful for what we do have. We’re all here together, and we’re all we’ve got, remember?”

Gladstone just looked back at him while the children nodded, each one quiet as they watched their uncle.

Donald took a breath. He sounded more confident than he felt. Because honestly? His heart was breaking all over again.

“Good. ‘Cause for now, that’s gonna have to be good enough.”

His smile was sad, shaky at best, as he turned and wheeled himself out of the room.

[artdjgblog]

​Innerview: Effie Lin / ​DPI Magazine (Taiwan)  

November 2009 - January 2010

Photo: DJG (2009) by Cayla Kennedy (Age 5)​

Note: Interview for a magazine feature.

0​1) What is your philosophy in your art world? I have to be a human first and a maker of things second. Sometimes the two court together really well. Sometimes they pick fights and choose sides. I sort of have a get up and go method and plan to always be working on my life and work, and to my best ability, given the resources at hand. It’s not that I have a complete lack of care, responsibility or feel disenfranchised or on the outskirts. Though, I do have my moments. Even in bad moments, when it’s probably not a good idea for me to be around me, I try to eventually spin a positive from that experience. They can be the most crucial moments as I learn a great deal once I get beyond their borders. I think that’s part of the process. Process is a big deal and we’re all a part of it. And there is such a thing as bad process equaling a positive in life and work. All I know is that I need to be honest and pure with how I speak inside and outside of the work I am putting on and off the table. Anyway, I’m not really a grouch or a slouch in both areas of life and art, but it is a constant work in progress. I think that thinking too much about it, or the idea of it in the larger spectrum, can become damaging, unhealthy and grow bean stocks further from the truth. Though, I might add that I understand how hard it can be to keep from big ideas and big thinking, it is. I like where it is that I’m at right now and it all stacks up to here. I just need to be making things until I move on to something else. And that something else will probably involve making things too. I love what I do. There is a bigger component to the little pictures that I’m here presenting. I just need to keep up and in the know of the tip toes and perhaps leave some behind in the only way I can try, that means being something like me. ​0​2) What is your favorite medium and why? I feel that maintaining and manhandling a single medium would be quite overwhelming. I admire those that can do it, and do it skillfully. Not that I’m a special breed, but I don’t understand how some people can milk the same cow every day, for years. Every day is a little different inside and out and that fuels my mood of operation. I think that I suppose there is a definition when one looks at the work I’m doing, and the way I go about it, to easily pin me to a favorite medium. I like to use my hands and things around me to tell my stories. But, I don’t know much other than the day-to-day as my mind and energy wanders much on the map. I wake up and see what weather we’ve got. I believe much of it comes from growing up on a farm and spending a lot of time alone. A lot of people think that time is at a stand-still on the country clock. It wasn’t for me as there wasn’t really a cap on the kind of external culture and entertainment I could in-take and fuse with country living inside and out. Everything was a big pot of soup for me and it still is. I was always doing something and I still am. I also watched my Grandma make a lot of things by hand, and although not really an “artist”, she’s been a big influence on the work I’m doing. Another thing, I can’t be as involved with my work when there is a computer screen barrier involved. I can use a computer, but it is only like a nail gun to me. In my college studies while struggling with the introductory marriage of technology and design, I almost quit completely. Funny, before even getting on a computer I naively claimed to tech-savvy peers, “I am going to take the route that doesn’t employ computers.” Anyway, computers are cool and all but it is not how I like to really play. It didn’t help that around this time in my early 20s, I also had doubts about my artistic talent and identity. I also never felt comfortable visiting the design firms of my possible “future”. Some people find a home in them, but I couldn’t and wanted to be in a sense, a stay at home mother to my art. So, these factors led me to re-learn and go back to being a kid locked up inside and/or getting that kid to come back out…becoming an adult can be crippling. I started putting my identity back in the work at this time by leaving my human elements and story behind. I was also exposed to new kinds of external stimulus with art and culture and that helped me see things better too. I eventually had a calling to do my own thing completely, dropped out of school, moved to a big city and mixed it all together. Cities are big cooking pots anyway. But, on a personal level, I’m not done cooking yet. I’m kind of “mild” right now compared to most. I’m just one more guy carving a name on the cinder block and trying to pay the bills. ​0​3) Could you talk about the exhibition post of “Showing My Sheep”? Could you talk about your creating concept? I was born and raised on a farm. We raised sheep and showed sheep at county fairs. I used to have a basketball court shared with the sheep lot. As a youngster I spent some time wanting to be a farmer and in many ways now I kind of am. I’d like to live on a farm again someday, mostly for quiet space, to have more animals and to have a big barn I can work in. I did my first retrospective art exhibition called “Showing My Sheep” after five years of working on my art odyssey. Yeah, that’s not a long time for a life or career overview, but it was important for me to show my whole flock of work together like that and up to that point. And in truth, a 5 year old sheep is middle age. The image on the exhibition poster is a quick scribble of me (or something like me) in sheep’s carcass/dress. I’ve always wondered silly about sheep walking upright and maybe a bit of my love of Gary Larson “The Far Side” comics is shining through just a bit too? But, there is more to this one as it is a tribute to my upbringing as it represents my sheepish nature and approach mixed with the “wolf in dress” image that I think we all catch and can’t catch up with, at least every now and again (notice the front legs and how they are also a wolf snout?). Another idea in this sheep image is how zombie-like an artist, anyone for that matter, slaves to their nature. I rummage a lot of thrift shops for unique papers and board game “play cards” to print on. Paper can add another dimension to something like a poster, in this case adding to the idea of the game of life and art I play. The board game this paper came from is called “Facts in Five: The Game of Knowledge”, thus adding to all the pieces of art and life that added up to the making of my 5 year retrospective. There is also the handwriting element of an anonymous other’s involvement that I find fascinating. Plus, there is the “grid” pattern that reflects a panel fence to keep the sheep in and out…breaking fences, doing my own thing, so to speak. If you squint you might even see sheep pellets, or what I used to refer to as M&M’s, as they would make for an interesting game of basketball. Did you get all that? There are lots going on in this one. Almost another 5 years after that exhibition and I wonder if I’m nearing the end…hmmm. You never know. ​0​4) Which one of your work is your favorite? Or which one made you spend the most time and effort? What’s message you would like to convey through this work?? Favorite Work: My favorite piece of personal art was stolen at an exhibition in late 2004. It is the only thing of mine that wasn’t/isn’t documented (scanned, photographed) and I can’t recreate it. It is a simple little broken pen scribble drawing of a mentally handicapped water bison. His name is Mortimer. I made him in a couple minutes while on hold on the phone with the phone company. I busted a pen and let the ink spill. I’ve tried other drawings like it, but they turn out different. I have a lot of favorite works, but that one is the winner and loser. Time & Effort: I don’t think you really need “time” or “effort” to make something stick or feel, or even get something done. In fact, once I’m in the creative moment there is no such thing as “time” and “effort”. If you do something enough and love it, then it becomes another extension and you’re a paint brush for something bigger. Though, the words do become tangible when “life” stuff is thrown into the mix. This can’t be denied. Due to my so far 8 year schedule of day jobs, night jobs, marriage and the general day-to-day, I’ve always worked fairly fast and in small slots of time and many things at once, lots of things. It’s as much mental and military discipline as it is anything else and I just go for it. If it ever starts to feel like a chore, I try to take a short break or study up in other areas. If it ever becomes a chore out of my grasp, I’ll find something else to do completely. It can be struggling at times, but there is something good about the “life” stuff that I feed from. It can add fuel to the fire and makes me realize that I’m not always first in line. Sometimes it can be rough sitting on my hands while at the day job, but I’ll make up for it. In truth, there are never enough resources for the things I’d like to leave behind before I’m called quits. But, I sure try to make the best of “time” and “effort” while I’m here. I’ve made many posters and I love the fact that the poster has a shorter shelf live than something like the CD. I like experimenting with posters because if it gets swatted down, it only lived for a couple weeks and another will come along. They are kind of like flies. At three to five sessions, I try to court CD packages a lot longer. There are instances when an image instantly clicks in my mind when I’m told of an upcoming CD and that’s the final product, but most of the time I have to make them incubate and mature. I’ve always been fascinated with productivity and the human mind and mood, at least in my path. I often look at my timeline of work, wondering how different some of the things would have turned out had I did them on another day or even a minute later than I did them. The past few years, my music design output has shrunk some. I reached a certain point after 2006 to where I realized I needed to step back. I still do a few music projects here and there, but mostly just make a lot of visual art for myself. Which, I’ve always teetered on visual art. Maybe I’m trying to make up for Mortimer? I did start something different for me and in a medium that I’d love to pursue more. It wasn’t until this year (2009) that something really consumed me and that was a music video. It has been a great thing for me to be more patient with a project. Now, that’s a whole different extra innings of “time” and “effort”. ​0​5) Which one of CD cover/album artwork is your favorite or make you really proud of? What is the concept? Could you talk about your creating process? Did you listening to the music when you working? I’ve been asked this question a lot. I always answer with: “Whatever Makes You Happy” by The Elevator Division. It’s something to feel proud when you accomplish anything, but even more when it is all done and duplicated by hand in one night. 250 CD packages were made out of hand-cut cardboard, spray paint, stencils, rubber stamps and glued inserts. The concept is a hand shooting off a missile finger. The music themes revolve around relationships on and off the battlefields of life and war and the cover image relays the idea of shooting off one’s options, as in, “Whatever Makes You Happy”. Conceptually (design-wise), it might be the best thing I’ve got in me and inspiration came at the last minute before production and during a great Midwest thunderstorm. Upon the last spray of paint in my basement (yes, I was stupid enough then to spray paint in an unventilated basement), there was a crack of lightning and I flew upstairs and out the door of my home and slid down the well-watered front lawn and into the gutter of the street with red spray paint all over me. The squatters on the porch at the supposed drug house across the street got a kick out it. It was a massive affair and I swore I wouldn’t do it again and then I did a near repeat 4 years later for another band, but not all in one night. I swore I wouldn’t do that again-again and then I kind of did it again two years later. So, I must be due up for another one soon. In the case of The Elevator Division, the band lived with me and practiced nearly every day directly outside my basement studio door at our home. There were several bands that this happened with. I usually don’t listen to albums that I’m designing very much and I rarely listen to them after they are a finished product. This is especially so when it is blasted in the flesh right next to me. ​0​6) Why is sound/music important to our life? What is the most important for designing the album/CD cover? I’m not a fan of a lot of “noise”, but I like sound and I love music and I like some noise music. I love the idea and image of the album cover and making an album “feel” on the outside and giving it an identity. I find I have a detachment from the music and the memories when it is fused in our current in-between stage right now of technology and mp3 land. Even if they have a digital image shroud, they lack a hard identity to me as they float out in space and it makes me a little sad. I prefer a physical collection/body of music, with identity. I don’t want to get too far into this topic and I’ll add that both formats have their good and bad. And I love walking to and from work with a pocket overflowing with Bruce Springsteen songs (I have the records at home too). Along the same lines, I think that the idea of “cover art” or something physical isn’t going to die 100%, at least not in my lifetime. I do hope it doesn’t get even more eclectic-expensive like it kind of is looking. I love album art and I can’t really afford it. I just remember one of my earliest memories being the apple on records by The Beatles. That was/is important to me. I bit that apple and it has been good to me for 30 years now. ​0​7) What had been the most challenging thing to you in art world, and how did you overcome it? I think I have challenges and things to overcome and then I tune into the news or watch certain documentary films. I realize there is nothing for me to complain about after that. Of course there are some personal issues that challenge me and my little world. A major one of is overcoming some of my social phobia. It’s made me who I am and probably factors to why I make the way I make, but it has kept me from getting in the ball game as much as I probably should have. Though, what is “probably should have”? Technology makes great networking devices, and is “the now”, but at the same time I always feel so exhausted and behind with it. I also don’t have resources to keep up with it (money, time and mind) but I’m trying bit by bit. Another thing I’ve always carried a heavy lump with is a day job. But, it’s the only way for me to stay afloat. Every year I spend more money than I make with art (currently, I have 24 cents in my DJG Pay Pal account). One way to overcome this is to stop entering high-cost art and design competitions, which was one way of being social with a lot of people. Well, from a global publishing stand point. Competition fees are rising so much these days. Another challenge is the business end of the art. I stink at business. Though, a lot of that has to do with not having enough time and not being the best at problem solving and math, plus always being broke. And I would rather just make more art. I’m a happy camper though and constantly doing my thing. ​0​8) What are your future goals in the art world? Naturally, anyone who feels they’re sitting on something at home is going to set their sights on doing their own thing full-time and for full-time income. But, even if I never get there, I will be punching my own time card in some form or another. I’ll find peace. I’ll always be working on something and working on myself. I could easily keep my head down all day, dragging my wagon (and I kind of do), but I love the idea of sharing my work on a larger, global scale too. It is global on the internet, yet I easily butt heads with technology as it can get quite beastly. But, I appreciate it greatly as even a decade ago you probably wouldn’t have found out about me to get an interview like this. Thank you! I’ve met a lot of my initial goals and it’s easy to sit here and think about tomorrow but I need to work out today to make it there. I’d love to eventually put out an officially published book or lots of them (any bidders?). I plan to start with some handmade ones very soon. I’ll also finally be selling things on my web site soon. I’m currently working towards a 10 year retrospective show of my time in Kansas City, MO USA. I plan to show everything. Also, I will be working on more and more visual art in the coming year. I’d love to exhibit my physical work in more nooks and crannies of the world. I’ve been fortunate to do this a little bit, but nothing on a massive scale. I love the idea of ideas and imagery inspiring people. I also love the idea of relaying an interpretation of the world, while we’re all down here in this together. It’s kind of neat to think I’m leaving a little trail behind in this way and sharing that. Though, I’m not so confident art can change the world on a large platform, I do think it can help a little bit. Even if that means muscling up a smile that you can say was honestly spent. -djg

[thelastpilot]

Knighted- Part 5

Thank you for your patience!

To the east of the Castle Town was not much of anyone, any small villages or settlements for outside trading either favoring the east or hiding just within the shade of the forest to the south. Instead it was dominated by a great expanse of rolling fields, a scattering of rocky outcroppings the only thing to break up the gently flowing waves of color. In late summer as it was the hills and creeks were dressed in thick, sleepy yellows and light stalky greens. The stones of the creek beds bore every shade of a storm and cast them against the trickling blue of its waters, lazy shafts of sunlight fighting through the billowing white clouds that hung in the sky. But perhaps most notably, were the wildflowers.

All across the hills and gripping tightly to the boulders were flashes of royal purple, shocking azure and pure snowfield white. Keeping together in clusters of vibrant color were the poppies, varied from crimson red to every shade of failing sunlight. The pollen and insects natural to all of these sights drifted on the breeze and traveled uninterrupted, unless their path happened to cross the only current inhabitants of such a naturally beautiful place.

The finely woven blankets the princesses had brought with them lay flat on the crest of a hill, creating a lowered square in the tall growing grass. The flora surrounding their place also hung low, the sudden traffic of two eager children and their older sister enough to cut narrow paths between their destinations. No matter where they wandered in the fields however they always drifted back towards their chosen spot, where stood on the hill their guard kept watch.

 Nino shifted a bit as he stood, subtly positioning the gaps in his armor to catch the cool breeze as it came through and sighed quietly in content, glad to be cooled down. The weather itself was far from brutal, but he found it uncomfortable to go without the breeze for too long, the sun working hard to heat his armor and him along with it.

He cast a careful eye over the vast area, glad once again that there were so few places to hide in such a place. It was the main reason the girls were allowed only one guard to be on hand, any others standing far in the distance at the edges of the forest or watching the road. So long as he made sure to watch for movement outside of the occasional animal visiting a creek, he could actually enjoy where he was.

It was stunning here, the end of summer bringing out its best. He partially believed that thanks to the wonders natural to the location, but he also could not deny that he was quickly growing fond of it for another reason all together.

He turned at the sound of shrill laughter, smiling openly to see one of the young twins gripping the length of her dress in her hands and charging through the creek with her bare feet. Her laughter sounded again as the cold water made her jump away, giggling happily as she sprinted back towards her twin. He chuckled to himself as he turned to face them completely, pleased to see them enjoying themselves under his watch but also wondering if should intervene before they slipped.

No, he decided, they were careful enough on their own for now.

His attention was caught again by another sound, this time coming from his side, and he looked down to see that the eldest princess was lounging peacefully on the blanket he had laid out for her, laughing to herself.

Alya looked up when she noticed him move, smiling at him lazily as she soaked in the pleasant atmosphere. The twins were taking another charge in together this time, holding hands as they did and sacrificing half of the hems of their dresses to be dragged through the water with them.

“Enjoying yourself, your highness?” he asked, attempting to be the one to start conversation.

“Yes,” she answered happily, shifting to sit up a little to better watch her sisters play. “It’s so nice here, and it’s fun to see them play.”

“Mm…” he replied distractedly, failing with conversation right away as he focused more carefully on the twins, watching as the two of them crouched low in the grass and whispered to each other about something on the other side of the creek. “What are they up to?”

“They’re just playing probably,” she reassured him, though she too watched curiously as her sisters flattened themselves against a rock, peering over the edge at something. “Made up a new game or something. I’m sure they’ll be safe, no need to worry.”

“Yeah… yeah you’re right,” he agreed, craning his neck somewhat to keep them in view as they started to move farther away but heeding Alya’s request to leave them alone.

There was a small stretch of silence, the twins being quiet now with their attention so entirely focused. Alya remained on the blanket with their guard, silence reigning until Alya broke it.

“So… what was being a farmer like?”

Nino jolted, looking back to her in surprise and found that she was smiling at him, grinning wide as could be.

“That’s right isn’t it? You were a farmer before Adrien brought you here?”

Nino blinked once at her, suddenly becoming a bit nervous as he quickly looked away again under the excuse of watching the twins.

“Um yes, I was. Uh...” he hesitated, smiling at her bashfully as he said, “there isn’t much to say honestly. It’s all boring.”

Alya didn’t reply, just watching him expectantly till he laughed somewhat nervously, trying to figure out what he could tell her.

“It was just, well. It’s my family’s farm. I worked on it with my father and cousins to set the crop and keep it alive, then work the harvest. Selling it wasn’t every really my job, I was more so responsible for making sure we still had something to sell.”

“What do you mean?” she pressed, her head tilting curiously. He shifted again nervously, trying to remember that she was a person just like anyone else. It was hard to forget who she was entirely though, even if they were alone. In fact being alone with her almost made him more nervous.

“Um… I learned to fight for a reason. At first it was to pass the time but it became necessary eventually. Since we were so close to the border raiders would cross over into the outer villages where we wouldn’t have the protection of the castle. They preferred to steal their food rather than pay for it, so it became my job to fight anyone who showed up in a raid and escort our shipments to town.”

“You had to fight bandits just to keep the crop!?” Alya blurted indignantly, her expression so genuinely outraged that he jumped in surprise. “Farmers already work hard enough; I knew the borders were weak that far out but I didn’t know that.”

“Don’t be upset,” he somewhat pleaded, trying to smile as he placated her. “It’s alright, a lot of people who live that far out know how it is. Lots of men study fighting in order to protect their families and keep off raiders. We can’t expect the castles aide when we are so far away, so we fend for ourselves.”

“But what happens now that you’re gone?” she asked quietly, watching his expression carefully. “Is your family going to be alright?”

“My village keeps things tight, no one there would ever leave my family unprotected. My cousins can fight as well and my fathers no pushover, I know they’ll be alright. The bandits in the area know not to mess with my family, raids only came close to us when they were attacking travelers in the woods or moving shipments of stock.” The young guard smiled, but she could tell he had had the same fears himself no matter what he said.

“Will they struggle without you when the harvests come again?”

“Maybe…” he admitted, but he shrugged, looking away again. “But I can be of more help from here then I would be if I had stayed. This way I can save money to support them. The farm is dead through winter time, we don’t raise livestock, so we usually have to look for other kinds of work. But I’m being paid much more here than I ever would have been anywhere closer to home, and it was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up.”

Alya was quiet, and after a while the silence stretched long enough that he looked back down to her, watching as she fidgeted with her dress.

“Are you alright?” he finally asked, thinking through his words and trying to figure out if he had said something wrong. His worry heightened when she didn’t respond, but when she looked up at him at last he was surprised by her soft smile.

“… It’s very honest. And noble,” she said slowly, looking him in the face as she did, absorbing his expression. “Your reasons for being here,” she explained. “It’s noble. That’s what I think all the guards should be like, people with that kind of earnest intention. You’re here because you earned it and you were capable, and you stayed because you knew you could help your family if you did. Despite the fact that I’m sure so many people told you that you didn’t belong I can honestly say you’re one of the only guards who actually does, I believe. I admit I don’t know you…” she paused, looking him over and seeing the way the tall armored image of a guard paired with the earnest open expression of a farm boy, before saying with a smile, “but you certainly have my attention.”

Nino was stunned, staring at the princess in silence but she did not look away. He was stood facing the royal in surprise, and truly he felt like a farmer in a bigger man's clothes, if only for a moment. But the longer she watched him and the more he absorbed her words he was again reaffirmed that he was not, in fact, out of place. He was exactly where he was supposed to be, and he was doing his job.

“You are… too kind, your highness.” He finally managed, looking down to allow himself a brief moment of privacy. Despite the genuine flood of affirmation though, he still afforded her a smile when he looked up again. “And incredibly well said… Thank you… You’d expect a guard to be more sure of themselves, but your faith makes me feel… better.”

He grit his teeth at the ineloquent reply, glad he decided to quickly look away when he heard her giggle. In his defense he didn’t have schooling like she did, but he had a feeling that even if he did he wouldn’t come off nearly as sharp as she did. He was realizing pretty quickly that ‘sharp’ was as good a word to describe her as unbreakable was. When he glanced back he could see the edge of her in her grin and the flash of humor in her eyes as she no doubt prepared to tease him over it, something he accepted with good nature. Her presence was, in a way, overwhelming, but also easy. How someone could manage to be both the most intimidating person he had ever met yet also someone he could grin at effortlessly he had no idea… She was brilliant and beautiful and incredibly important, but as she teased him jokingly he recalled that it was HIM who had caught her attention.

“Yeah well… I didn’t spend the ride over preparing a speech so excuse me princess if it was lacking.” Nino rolled his eyes, smiling as he turned back towards the field.

“You were so set on making a good impression I just figured-,” she had started to reply with a smirk, when she was suddenly cut off by an incredibly serious and alert guard, Nino’s playful tone instantly gone.

“Where are the twins?”

 “What?” Alya questioned but he was already moving down the hill when she turned to look. She sat up straight, looking out over the tall grass and sweeping her gaze across the creek where they had been and all the hillocks and wild flowers.

But that’s all she saw.

Her breath caught when she heard the sharp distinctive sound of a sword being unsheathed and she whipped around to see Nino moving quickly towards the creek bed, calling out loudly in a powerful voice that startled her.

“Girls!” he shouted out, “Etta! Ella!”

Nino stood where he had seen them last, his heart starting to race as his grip on his weapon tightened. He shouted again, stepping forward and crossing the stream quickly, a thousand thoughts silenced in the back of his mind.

Part of him wanted to panic, whether for the kingdom or the girls or himself. He was dead if something happened to them on his watch but that didn’t matter, it fell silent in the face of the greater threat. Even in as peaceful a place as the field he had been an idiot. He got complacent, distracted. His own life was forfeit, but those two little girls-

“Girls!” he shouted a final time, climbing the hill of stone and rock to get as good a view as possible, ready to face an army should he find it when quite abruptly, bursting up from the tall waist high grass… were the two most furious little girls he had ever seen.

“You RUINED it!” shouted out, her pink dress dirty and wet in places, startling the battle ready soldier so thoroughly he almost lost his footing on the stones. Nino blanched and retreated, glancing up just in time to see a small family of field rabbits dart away into the grass, followed a brief distance by the heart broken wails of the second young princess.

“They were right there, they were playing and they were RIGHT THERE and you ruined it!”

“I- you- what!?” Nino blurted incredulously, somewhat aware of Alya coming up beside him as he lowered his sword.

“Girls what were you-!” Alya started herself, her entire posture furious when she was cut off by one of her sisters running into her legs, gripping her dress in greedy hands and crying out indignantly.

“We followed the bunnies all the way there to their house and they had the little babies and then he came by and he was shouting and he RUINED IT!”

Nino stared at them in disbelief for another full second before he nearly dropped his sword all together and groaned heavily, an armored hand reaching up and covering his face.

He heard Alya sigh as well, her tone frustrated as she said, “You scared us half to death and disappeared because you were watching rabbits!?”

Instead of seeing any kind of error on their part for ignoring Nino’s clearly distressed calls they chose to cling to their sister, pointing accusingly at Nino and only seeing his fault in the whole affair.

Alya was frowning as she tried to make sense of their babbling, groaning again herself before looking up to see Nino sheathing his sword, shaking his head until he finally looked relieved. He was clearly pleased that nothing had actually gone wrong, but he had been ready to kill in a heartbeat and that had to be exhausting.

“Listen you two, no listen to me,” Alya cut in to her sisters’ frantic accusations, her tone so heavy and serious that they faltered and stared up at her, Nino looking over as well. She had on her best ‘princess’ voice as she gave them an order. “Under no circumstances, ever, EVER are you to ignore your guard when he calls for you. He is here to keep you safe you do not just DISAPPEAR on him; do you understand me?”

The twins looked up at her, their expression twisting in stubbornness and still mixed with their previous devastation. However, ever as strong willed as their sister, Etta had the nerve to say, “You ignore guards and run away ALL THE TIME.”

Alya froze, pulling back a little as she opened her mouth and closed it again, searching for an answer. She didn’t look at him but she saw Nino raise an eyebrow out of the corner of her eye.

Eventually Alya huffed and said, “That’s different, I am not a little kid! You two have to stay where he can see you, and you answer when he calls. Got it?”

Alya felt a little warm for the first time in the late summer sun as she deliberately ignored Nino’s questioning expression, not appreciating getting called out by her baby sisters. She waited firmly until they more or less agreed, moving away from her now and looking instead towards Nino.

“We’re sorry,” they said together after a moment, trading a glance between them before somewhat stiffly curtsying, clearly knowing it was what they were supposed to do even if they still held him responsible for ruining their fun.

“We should have answered,” replied Etta (he was fairly sure), looking away as she added “even if it would have scared them away…”

“Yes,” Ella agreed, looking up at him and seeming a little more genuine than her sister. “We didn’t mean to scare you. We were just playing.”

Nino didn’t reply right away, taking a deep breath and finding solace in seeing them both safe and sound before saying, “It’s alright. Just please, don’t run off unless I know at least where. I want to be able to let you two have your freedom but if you ignore me when I look for you I can’t do that.”

“Yes sir,” they replied together, bowing their heads. When they looked up again his heart ached dully at their expressions, and though it was completely ridiculous to, he honestly did feel a little bad about scarring away their rabbits.

“I’ll tell you what,” he finally said, gesturing further out into the field. “If you let me help, maybe we can try and find those rabbits again. That way you can play but I can keep an eye on you, alright? I promise I won’t scare them away this time.”

The twins were expressionless for about two seconds before it finally settled in what he had said, and he couldn’t help but smile a little at how suddenly ecstatic they seemed.

“You’ll help us?” Said one, bouncing on her heels. “You’ll play with us!?” asked the other, her hands clasped in front of her.

“Yes,” he reiterated, laughing aloud when they cheered. Suddenly though he thought better of it, looking up and past them towards Alya who was watching the scene with a fond smile. “If that’s alright with you, your highness.”

“Watching a guard in full armor try and sneak around and find some rabbits?” she asked back, quirking an eyebrow as she smirked at him. “It would honestly make my day. Mind if I help?”

“Of course you can!” Etta cheered, jumping and cheering with Ella before the two of them sprinted off, heading towards the blanket where their lunches rested uneaten saying they were going to grab some ‘bait’.

Quite abruptly, as was common with the twins, they were gone, and Nino was left standing in a small clearing of trampled grass with a very amused heir to the throne.

“You’re seriously going to play with them?” Alya asked, her smile clear in her voice as she looked at him, genuinely surprised which seemed odd to him.

“They nearly scared me half to death, seems like the best way to keep an eye on them,” he answered, shrugging a little as he looked back over the small trail the girls had cut towards the hill they had set up on. “Besides,” he continued, looking back towards Alya with an exasperated smile, “they actually managed to make me feel bad about the rabbit thing. I feel like I owe them.”

Alya let out something like a ‘pfft’ before eventually she was laughing, shaking her head. “They have that effect on people, but don’t be a pushover or they’ll take you for everything you’re worth.”

“I’m not a pushover,” Nino defended himself immediately. “…I’m not!” he said again when she just laughed, starting to walk away from him and towards the girls.

“Sure thing, farmboy,” she said over her shoulder with a grin. Surprisingly, even though if anyone else had said it it might have offended him he didn’t mind it when she said it. He knew she saw him as he was… it was more just… familiar sounding. “Come on now, I need help organizing them,” Alya continued, looking forward now.

“As you wish, your highness.”

“Alya,” she replied, and when she looked back at him the image of her stunned him. The sun shone through her red hair and made it look like fire against her dark skin. Her eyes were bright and her smile kind, if mirthful, as she reminded him, “When we’re alone, you can call me Alya.”

“Right…” he answered slowly, swallowing as he suddenly looked down to create some space. He was still smiling however, focusing on the grasses and the wildflowers to clear the sight of her from his head.

Didn’t work, he noted sourly.

She laughed before calling him by name again, and together they headed back towards the hill where the twins were rifling through their lunches for anything they were willing to spare. When they reached the creek he held out his hand on instinct, prepared to help her over it, but she gave him the stink eye and he retracted it, shrugging and gesturing for her to go on her own.

He rolled his eyes when she managed to soak half of her dress but otherwise made no comment as she shook out the hem, the water logged fabric clearly enough of a cost to pay to do something on her own. He did however say aloud, “Really?” when she turned back to offer her hand to help him cross.

“Don’t want you to rust your pretty new boots farmboy,” she said with a smirk, snickering when he ignored her hand and stepped over the creek alone, bursting into a short laugh when he shot her a withering look and continued on ahead.

“Oh I was just helping!” she called after him, “Isn’t that the polite thing to do?” but she only earned another dead panned glance for her trouble, and far out into the field a family of rabbits turned their ears to the sound of light, ringing laughter.