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homoose · 3 years

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Love Has a Learning Curve: Part IV (x reader)

Summary: Reader visits Spencer at the university and finds that her old insecurities aren’t as dead as she thought.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: hurt/comfort, fluff

Warnings/Includes: implied smut, jealous!reader, insecure!reader, vague mentions of previous emotional/mental abuse (Owen), mentions of cheating (Owen)

Word count: 3.2k

a/n: Owen’s really a piece of shit, huh?

Series Masterlist

———

“Could I come see you teach?”

Spencer looked up from his desk, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “It might be kind of boring. It’s a 100 level Intro to Profiling course.”

She peered over the side of the couch, closing her book. “Well, I don’t know anything about profiling, so an intro course would be right up my alley, don’t you think? And if you’re teaching it, I can guarantee it won’t be boring.”

He scrunched his nose in the way he sometimes did and clicked the cap on his pen once, twice, three times. “If you, um— if you really want to.”

She considered him for a moment before pushing herself up off the couch, coming around it to cross to his desk, perching herself on the corner. “You’ve seen me teach a bunch of times,” she said, knocking their knees together. “It’s only fair.”

He set his pen down and leaned back in his office chair, avoiding her eyes. She pulled her leg back, regretting her decision to ask. “It was just an idea. I don’t have to if you don’t want.”

As she moved to stand, he stopped her with a hand on her knee. “It’s not that. I don’t not want you to,” he clarified. He turned his chair to face her fully, peering up at her with a flush on his cheeks. “I just— I don’t know. You’re such a natural. I’m… awkward. Sometimes they just— stare at me.”

Y/N scoffed. “I’m sure you’re not awkward.” She twirled one of the curls falling into his face around her finger, releasing it into a soft ringlet. “But seriously, if you don’t want me to come, it’s fine.”

He rolled his chair closer and ran his hands up the tops of her thighs. “I do want you to. Really.”

He sat up straighter, craning his neck up towards her, and she couldn’t stop herself from smiling. She leaned down to meet his lips, and his hands wandered up to grasp at her hips. She laughed as he pulled her off the desk and practically into his lap, sliding his tongue into her mouth. She let him take it a little further, his hands traveling under her shirt and up over her back.

When she pulled back to catch her breath, his dazed expression had her heart pounding. Any insecurity that managed to weasel its way into her psyche evaporated every time he looked at her. She ran a soft finger over the bridge of his nose. “Can you take a break?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, standing up and dragging her toward the bedroom with only a little too much enthusiasm.

…

“Okay, can I help you with anything?” Y/N asked, setting her bag down on the lecture podium.

“Actually, yeah. Could you, um— write these topic notes,” he pulled out his notebook and flipped it open, “on that half of the board?”

“You got it, professor.” She accepted the notebook, turning to the board and uncapping the dry erase marker.

They worked quietly together, scrawling his notes across the white board, shoulders brushing comfortably together every so often. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him finish his side, capping the marker and stepping back to watch her.

“This is much faster with two people. I should hire you.”

“You couldn’t afford my hourly rate,” she teased, leaning down a bit to copy the last bullet point.

“Is there a boyfriend discount?” he asked, a soft fingertip tracing down her spine.

She laughed as she capped the marker and set it in the tray, turning to face him and tilting her head in consideration. “Maybe we could work something out.”

He brought his hands to her hips, dug his fingers in, and pulled her closer. “Yeah?” He brushed his lips over hers and stepped forward, nearly pressing her back against the board.

“Mmhmm,” she agreed, pressing a slow kiss to his mouth. She used her hands on his tummy to push him back a little. “But I charge double if you smudge it.”

“Fair.” He smiled and kissed her again, this time bringing his hands up to cradle her face.

“As much as I’d love to kiss you forever,” she mumbled against his lips, “your students are going to be here any minute.”

He groaned and leaned his forehead against hers, and she laughed at his petulance. “I��m gonna go to the bathroom, and then I’ll sit up in the back. You won’t even know I’m here.”

He pulled back with a sigh. “You being here is all I’m going to think about.”

She kissed his nose and stepped around him to grab her bag. “I’ll try my best not to distract you.” She made her way off the lecture platform and up the aisle, turning back to ask, “Oh, office hours are right after class?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed, leaning against the lecture podium. “1:00 to 2:00. The quad is beautiful this time of year, and there’s a coffee shop if you wanted to hang out there.”

…

After her bathroom break, she re-entered the lecture hall as quietly as possible, slipping into the last row of seats and setting her bag down on the desk in front of her. The room was more than two thirds full, with students crammed into the first few rows and then sparsely sprinkled throughout the back half of the room. But she only had eyes for him.

She’d seen him, kissed him less than ten minutes ago, and yet here she was— blushing like a schoolgirl and resisting the urge to pull at her collar.

Even from the back row, she could see the way his suit coat stretched across his broad shoulders, the way the button at the bottom of his cardigan didn’t quite reach, the way his pants pulled taut across his thighs. She’d seen him pick the outfit out of his closet this morning, watched him put it on, even helped him with the knot of the tie. She shouldn’t realistically be this rattled by the sight of him.

But something about the way he set his shoulders back a little, the way his arm moved underneath the fabric as he scrawled an additional note across the board, the way he turned and put his hands in his pockets and waited quietly for the class to settle— felt different.

“We’ve got a lot to cover today. Let’s get started.”

She didn’t pull her collar, but she did remove her jacket— she was suddenly so, so hot, practically sweating— and draped it across the back of the chair. He caught her eye, gave her a small smile, and then launched into a lecture about the foundations of building victimology.

Just as she suspected, he was an absolute natural. Unbelievably knowledgeable of course, but also incredibly enthusiastic and positively captivating. She couldn’t take her eyes off him.

And neither, it seemed, could the class. She scolded herself for the train of thought— of course they’re looking at him, he’s their professor. But he was right when he’d said that they... stare at him. The class was mostly young women, although the ogling seemed to cross gender lines.

She couldn’t blame them. He answered questions with ease and gave witty responses to the devil’s advocate types. His enthusiasm was endearing and charming as hell. And, of course, he looked damn good doing it.

With just over ten minutes left of class, she gathered her jacket and bag, standing quietly and moving into the aisle. She caught his eye as she headed for the door, slightly reassured when she saw a flash of concern in his eyes. She smiled and made a sipping gesture, and he nodded minutely and continued with his lecture.

…

Fifteen minutes later, she was on her way back down the hallway toward his office, a coffee in each hand. When she turned the corner at 12:57, she was stunned to see that a line was already forming.

“You gotta be kidding me,” she muttered, approaching the crowd of undergraduates.

One particularly perky coed stood directly in front of his door, and Y/N cleared her throat. When the girl turned, she held up the coffees and gestured to the door. “I’m so sorry. I— I’m just gonna drop this off. I’ll just be one minute.”

The girl took a small step back, barely allowing Y/N to squeeze through the door left slightly ajar. It creaked slightly as she stepped through it, and Spencer’s head lifted from where he was hunched over his desk.

“Hey!” He stood and shuffled around the side of the desk.

“Hi.” She forced a smile. “Sorry, I won’t keep you, I just— thought you might like a pick-me-up,” she said, holding out the cup to him.

He sighed with relief. “You’re a mind reader.” He accepted the coffee cup with a grateful smile. She moved to leave, and he lightly snagged her wrist. “Hey.” He slowly pulled her back toward the desk, his eyes darting down to her mouth.

She hummed, and he leaned forward to kiss her, moved his hand up to cup her cheek in his warm palm. He sighed into her mouth and gently tugged at her bottom lip with his teeth before pressing a quick peck to it. “Thank you.” He pressed a final kiss to her mouth with chapstick-soft lips. “I’ll see you in an hour?”

“Mhm,” she smiled again, a little more genuinely. “See you then, professor.”

She slipped back through the door, avoiding the curious eyes of the crowd. The hallway felt tight and constricting, and she was grateful for the way the fresh air hit her as she pushed through the door back out into the quad.

She found an empty seat on a bench and set her coffee and bag down, shuffling through the latter to find her book. She flipped open to her bookmark, sure that she could finish at least two chapters during his office hour. As she attempted to read, however, her mind could not stop turning over the image of Spencer being admired by fifty young, attractive coeds.

She read the same sentence five times before closing her book with a huff. She closed her eyes and tried to slow her breathing, focusing on a deep inhalation and a long exhale. She carefully packed her book back into her bag, opting instead to sip her coffee and watch the bustle of the quad.

It wasn’t that she was jealous, exactly. Jealousy wasn’t the right word. She trusted Spencer wholeheartedly. He was honest and kind, and he made it abundantly clear how much he was attracted to her.

She sighed shakily and closed her eyes against the unexpected tears that she could feel brimming just below the surface. It wasn’t jealousy. It was simply the insecurity that had always been there. Well, not always, she supposed, but long enough. Ten years. Owen had been out of her life for nearly half that time, but the mental scars he’d left her with would probably never fully heal.

She was twenty one years old when they first started dating, and twenty six by the time he ended it. Five years of her life spent with a man who had conditioned her to believe that she had nothing to offer. Her work was insignificant. Her family was low-class. Her friends were irritating. Her laugh was obnoxious. She was immature and loud and annoying and daft. She should be grateful that he was interested in her despite these flaws.

As if he hadn’t made all of that clear enough, he’d ended their relationship by cheating on her— not once, not twice, but consistently for nearly a year. And it seemed that almost everyone had known about it… except for her. That had been the most humiliating part; he’d had this woman in their bed, and she’d been completely unaware. She had cooked for him, attended his work events, slept beside him, subjected herself to his wrath, and never even considered that he could be with someone else.

It took years for her to recover and rebuild. Years before she was ready to date again. It required her to construct a foundation of independence and self-love that she’d never had. And nearly five years later, she finally felt beautiful and strong and worthy.

So why was her mind suddenly replaying every horrid thing Owen had ever said to her? Spencer was nothing like Owen. Spencer was kind, loving, and supportive. He was brilliant, talented, and accomplished.

She pressed her lips together and swiped a hand under her eye, catching the lone tear that had managed to escape. That was exactly the problem. Spencer was all those wonderful things, and suddenly she couldn’t understand why he wanted her.

She pulled out her phone to check the time, huffing out a breath as she realized she’d spent nearly an hour dredging up old wounds. She closed her eyes and repeated her daily affirmation. I am powerful, and I am capable. I respect and honor my mind and my body. I am worthy, and I am enough. I love myself fully, just as I am.

Now she just needed to believe it.

She gathered her things, finishing up the last sips of her coffee before scoping out a garbage can. She tossed her empty cup in the bin on her way back to the building. As she opened the door, the blast of air conditioning cooled her sweaty skin. She stopped by the bathroom to splash her face with cool water, taking barely a moment to look at herself under the harsh fluorescent lights.

She made her way down the hallway, turning the corner to see that there were still three students in line outside Spencer’s office. She checked the time to see that it was technically five minutes past office hours. She dropped quietly into one of the two chairs across the hallway from his door.

The other chair was occupied by a student, quite clearly waiting for Spencer, judging by the heavy sigh that accompanied his glance up at the office door. Y/N almost laughed at the way he aggressively checked his watch, tapping his foot rapidly on the floor.

“Is it— um. Is it always like this?” She gestured to Spencer’s door.

The tapping stopped, and the kid turned to her with another sigh. “Every. Goddamn. Time.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I mean, I get it. I do. But, man. I’m just trying to ask about the structure of the final. This is the third week in a row that I’ve been here and I still haven’t seen him.” He checked his watch again and then ran a hand over his face. “And now I gotta get to my next class. I’m gonna have to leave early next week to camp out,” he joked.

He stood and gathered his things, and Y/N did laugh a little then. “Good luck.”

He waved and headed off down the hallway, and Y/N turned back to see a girl leaving out through Spencer’s half-open door, looking positively dreamy. She barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes as the next girl stepped through the door.

She waited another twenty minutes for the final two students to finish their visits. When the last student made her way out the door and down the hall, Y/N stood and smoothed down the skirt of her dress. She crossed the hallway and peered into his office, knocking on the door frame.

Spencer raised his head with a panicked look, his face softening into relief when he saw it was her. “Hey. Close the door,” he begged.

Y/N stepped into his office and closed the door quietly behind her. She finally took a look around the space— fairly small but tastefully decorated. The wall across from her was one enormous bookcase, filled to capacity, of course. Light filtered in from a single window, and his mahogany desk sat on the far wall, accompanied by a wing back leather office chair. Behind his desk was a low shelf lined with a globe, some other trinkets, and a plethora of picture frames.

“Sorry that took so long.” He ran a hand over his face. “I don’t know why my office hours are always so busy.”

She hummed, crossing to the gigantic bookshelf. “No?”

“No,” he confirmed exasperatedly. “No one else has that many students at their office hours. I asked.”

She laughed a little. “You asked?”

“Well, yeah.” He drew his brows together. “I don’t know if my syllabus is confusing, or if I’m— not clear enough in my lectures, maybe?” He dragged both hands through his hair and leaned back in his chair. “But there are always so many questions, and I mean— there are no stupid questions, but…” He sighed. “Sometimes the questions are stupid.”

She did laugh at that, full and loud. “Well, if my professors looked like Dr. Spencer Reid, I imagine I’d come up with a litany of questions, too. Stupid or otherwise.”

He was quiet, and she ran her finger along the book she was studying rather intently. She felt him moving toward her more than heard it, felt his eyes on her. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, instead pretending to peruse the titles in front of her, books full of theories that she’d never be able to understand.

“Are you— are you jealous?” he asked incredulously.

“No,” she defended, a little too quickly and voice a little too high.

“It’s okay if you are. Jealousy is— it’s a very normal human emotion.” He cleared his throat. “It’s, um— it’s kind of hot, actually.”

She rolled her eyes, but his confession made her feel a little bit better. He put a hand on her waist to turn her to face him, and she could feel her cheeks burning— hoped he couldn’t see it. She couldn’t quite meet his eyes, instead staring at a spot on the wall behind his head.

“But you know you have no reason to be, right?” He cupped a gentle hand under her chin, finally brought her eyes to his. “Why would I be interested in girls when I already have a woman?”

When she didn’t say anything, he continued, “A woman who brings me coffee, and buys gifts for my fish, and helps me make PowerPoints, and goes to fancy dinners at Le Chateau LaMontagne.”

Her lips twitched into the start of a smile, and he brought his hands down to lace their fingers together. “Who forgives me when I mess up, and lets me cry on her shoulder at 3:00am, and helps me be a better person.”

She sniffed but tried to lighten the mood. “She sounds pretty great.”

“She is great. She’s remarkable.” He tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “I love you.”

And there was that look again. Spencer looked at her like she’d hung the moon and the stars and every single celestial body in the galaxy. Like the answer to every question was contained within her atoms. It was almost enough to have her believing it, too. Maybe someday she would.

She squeezed his hand. “I love you, too.” For now, that was enough.

———

Permanent tags: @spacedikut @andiebeaword @averyhotchner @pinkdiamond1016 @shadyladyperfection @coffeeandendlesswords @justanothetfangirl @no-honey-no @ajeff855 @sapphic-prentiss @rexorangecouny @rainsong01 @blameitonthenight21 @moviequeen51 @90spumkin @reniescarlett @ncsls0515 @daybabyx @sturmmhond @takeyourleap-of-faith @saspencereid @calm-and-doctor @reidtheprettyboy @atabigail @ayo-cowbelly @muffin-cup @ssa-natalya-reid @wheelsup @reidingmelodies @this-is-gublerween @s1utformgg @reidemandweep @sonnydoesrandomshit @rigatonireid @luwheezey @joalsglasses @je-suis-prest-rachel @dr-omalley @spencie-adams @honestimanormalfan @blurryreid @elldell1204 @babyhoneystvles

Permanent (sfw) tags: @mrs-dr-reid @eevee0722 @goldentournesol @froggybagels

Broken tags: @radtwinkie @archer561

Series tags (x reader): @uhuhuh @itsametaphorbriansblog @magenta145 @annesauriol @watermelongubler @ampal98 @mggsprettygirl @ceeellewrites @joalsglasses @chevyimpala00067 @misshale21 @ilzieah @froggybagels @gublersbooblers @matthcwgraygubler @andromedasstarship @reidspurplescarfs @hanniebee33 @nazdaniels @irisisonline @nazifa94 @rotinireid @kyomito @outer-spacious @stupidcrazylittlething @princesssmooshie @luvspence @samanthareid06 @maddievevo

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid self insert #criminal minds fanfiction #homoose writes

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skyabove · 3 years

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Theory Time! - Home Space isn’t Real!

Ok so here’s a relatively straightforward theory while I procrastinate a more complicated one (King and MB)

Basically, there is a fair amount of evidence that the Home Space is not a real location in the ‘Sky world’, but instead is a ‘non physical location their minds can enter, similar to the locations the Elders are in.

Lets start by looking at the main way you can reach Home Space. This swirly white pool of light.

We see this kind of light in a few different places. In places we can travel to Home, at meditation points, to interact with the Elders, to trigger memory based cutscenes (Season of Dreams final memory), inside activated memory cubes in Vault, the rising platform in Vault, and in the Forest Treehouse shared space. (there is also the Assembly minigames, the Valley races, and the boat to ark but I’ll mention that later)

The one thing that all of these locations have in common is their connection to transferring thoughts/consciousness from one place to another. The meditation points have you think of a message and then it appears as a readable white candle. The spots to communicate with the Elders takes you to the ‘in between place’ that they are located in, in which you can move around, but when it's over your body is just where you left it in the real world so only your mind was moved. The cutscene trigger at the coliseum inserts you into the spirits memory, an event that has already happened and now only exists as a memory in their mind, but you can freely move around and again when it is over your body is where it was left - side note this is not the same as the spirits memories manifesting in the real world as the entire setting is as it was before they died, not just a certain scene being re enacted. The memory cubes in Vault seem to be transferring or projecting energy into the floating diamond to power it, and while not seen in this particular instance the cubes essentially contain information which can be projected. We don't know how this information is captured but, would it be too much of a stretch to assume they are stored memories? Memories and light seem to have a connection in the rest of the game so the spirits finding a way to directly store and replay memories as a way of documenting things doesn't seem too out of place. The rising platform in Vault is again less obvious, but it has been stated that at least the later levels of Vault are supposed to be less real and more dreamlike, so how much of Vault is ‘real’ is unknown. Potentially everything after the first few levels may exist outside of the ‘real world’ therefore requiring the transference of the mind. And finally probably the clearest of them all is the Treehouse Shared Space. When you try to enter you get the message “Temporarily leave others and enter your mind to Build and Edit your Shared Space”. And how is your mind entered? A white light spot, with a statue (which is another thing I’ll talk about later)

(there are also white spots for the Assembly minigames, the boat to the Ark, and at the Valley races. These are definitely just gameplay necessities, and I cant think of a logical in universe reason for them)

Now I know there are other ways to get to Home such as the gate button in the emote menu and the bird statues in Wasteland and Forest, but the emote menu itself is purely a gameplay necessity, and the bird statues are left overs from the old version of Sky and have been removed in most places.

So now that we’ve looked at how we get to Home, let's look at the contents of Home. The first things are the realm gates. This is the only place we see realm gates, when you go through them there is no gate on the other side. The only other places we see gates are at the end of the 8-player area in Prairie, and in Orbit before being reborn. The first is interesting, it is different as there is no image of the place you are traveling to, but was probably built by the spirits in the area with some connection to their title of ceremonial worshipper. The second is in a location between life and death, most likely made and controlled by Megabird themselves so is not connected to the main Sky world - BUT is important for later. So overall, the gates and realm fast travel seem out of place in the real world.

The next point is access to the constellations. From Home you can summon and communicate with any spirit you have saved. This is the only place you can do this without having to go to their grave stone/marker first. You can also create copies of any Skykid you have friended. You are not literally summoning them, it is an illusion/duplicate of them, they are lacking their chest light and often look darker or not glowing and you can't interact with them in the same way as the spirits (friendship tree).

Similar to the spirits from the constellation, Home is also where Travelling Spirits, i.e. spirits that have already been freed and returned to the stars, voluntarily return to. This is also where a copy of the Questgiver spirits appears, and the daily quest/shop boat spirits appears. The daily quest spirit is interesting as they dont have a body/memory to be freed from in the realms, but we know they were a regular ancestor as they appear as a child in the Confident Stance spirits memory.

And finally there is the Eden Gate. The gate which is locked until you have “returned the light” to all of the Elders, and collected 20 winged light. We know this is not the actual Eden door as when you enter there is the same gate which needs to be opened by 8 switches. And the requirements for opening the Home Eden gate just so happen to be the main missions the Skykids were created to fulfill.

When considering all of this, could Home Space be a non physical location created (by Megabird) for the Skykids? This would explain the methods of access - thought/mind transferring light patches; the access to the constellation spirits and copies of other Skykids - the freed spirits have returned to the stars/become one with Megabird again so if anyone can send them somewhere, MB sending them to a realm of their creation would make sense, and since MB has a connection to the Skykids, showing them copies of other connected Skykids isn't too odd. The Traveling spirits and Questgivers also fall into this category. The realm gates is more of a gameplay necessity, but does have connections to MB as there is a MB gate at the end of Orbit just like the ones in Home. The Eden gate could be MBs way of making sure the Skykids have done what they are supposed to, and have gathered enough winged light to survive until the final area. And we know that “in between planes of existence” exist as that is where the Elders are.

The final thing to look at is the strange statues that accompany the Home white light spots. I believe that these may be a representation of Megabird themselves, or at least the concept of Megabird. To keep it brief because I will hopefully be looking at this in more detail another time, Megabird is seen as the creator of all things connected to the light, when living things die they return to Megabird etc. When we see what is most likely Megabird in the game they are made up of massive amounts of creatures of light and children of light, with the orb at the centre. The statues themselves are interesting because they dont particularly look like the spirits. They have no mask, instead having a face with closed (round, rather than diamond eyes like the spirits and Elders) eyes very similar to Skykids under their masks. The head covering/gown clothing at best could be similar to Lamed or some of the Vault scholars, and it does feature the triangular pattern around the trim.

The pose of the statues, with their hands outstretched, and the use of them, to hold flame, creates the image of a peaceful figure, different from the spirits or Elders, who is offering or giving flame - the embodiment of life and the thing that connects all creatures in the Sky world - and looks oddly similar to an unmasked Skykid, a creation OF Megabird. We know that MB has a “human” form as well as their star/orb form, just like how the Elders have a “human” and star form. Now, this “human” form might be more of an assumption from the spirits, or them projecting their own appearance on their god like many religions do, but either way it fits that MB could be represented in that way.

The final point about the statues is that they are only found at Home Space white spots (it can be safely assumed that these are not leftovers from the spirits era, as they are in random places only convenient for Skykids - for gameplay purposes but in universe I guess you could say MB put them there for them), in Home before being returned to your body where you last were, marking the point to enter your mind at the Treehouse, and in Eden, where there are a lot of them. Without going into it too much because that's a whole other topic for another time, the fact they are only found in/on the way to Home, at an entry point for another mind/inbetween place, and in the place most connected to King, the Children of Light, and the Eden Diamond, it should be a safe guess that it is indeed MB - or at least representing the idea of MB.

In summary: Home Space isn't real, and is instead an in-between place similar to where the Elders are, made by Megabird for the Skykids.

#scotl #thatskygame #sky children of the light #theory

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hiccanna-tidbits · 4 years

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Happy Holidays, RotBTD Fandom!!!

Hello everyone! This is my Secret Santa gift for @siodymph’s RotBTD Gift Exchange!! Or a preview from it anyway--the full fic is actually much longer and is still a work in progress ^^;

I got @disney0bsessoid5150! I admittedly stalked your page a bit and it seems like you ship Jackunzel and enjoy angst, so I was just like ohhhhhhh yes, I can work with that!!! Truthfully I used it as a bit of an excuse to finally start on an angsty Jackunzel fic I’ve wanted to write for a loooooong time now. I think it’s approaching like...4 years that I’ve had the concept now?? Anyways, I guess I’m finally getting around to it! And I owe ya one for giving me an excuse to finally get up off my butt and get started on it XD

So I came across and really fell in love with the idea of icicle!Jack a few years ago, where basically Jack gets covered in icicles after his power goes out-of-hand in some way and like...double-freeze him, or Pitch does some shenanigans to use the icicles to make the poor boy even MORE isolated. Largely inspired by NightmareHound’s comic strips about Icicle Jack on deviantart as well! And of course my Jackunzel Trash brain instantly was like “Angsty Jackunzel fic??? Angsty Jackunzel fic??? Do I smell ANGSTY JACKUNZEL FIC???” as soon as I saw Icicle!Jack, so here is said angsty Jackunzel fic. The full first chapter will be posted on my fanfiction.net account Infrared-Ultraviolet soon!

Now without further ado--please enjoy this preview from my new story, Melting Icicles!

(Preview starts under Keep Reading marker)

The winter seems to last an eternity.

February is beginning, and some of the ice is starting to melt. Jack Frost treks through the forest again, heading for the creek.

Spring isn’t coming anytime soon, not on the Nightmare King’s watch. And if this means Jack Frost has to refreeze the entire forest and dump another 2 feet of snow on it, so be it.

He’s getting awfully tired of doing Pitch’s bidding, and although he admits it to no one but himself, he feels he could use some sun after all these months of dark. But if he loses the Nightmare King, he knows he will be alone again.

Someone who fills his mind with vicious whispers is better than no one at all.

The ice across the top of the creek is cracked and splintered in places, revealing water starting to rush with spring fervor. Certainly well on its way to thawing completely, if the late winter sunshine keeps up.

He spots a plump female rabbit a little ways down the bank, ears twitching and nose to the ground. She sniffs cautiously around the dead reeds and gingerly puts a paw down on the ice, pressing down as if to test it.

Seemingly satisfied, she takes another step forward, hopping slightly with her back legs so that her front half is now entirely on the ice. Jack feels himself tense up.

She wants to cross, he realizes.

The rabbit takes a few more paces forward, tiny, furred nose twitching as she goes. She takes one more step, and there’s a small snap beneath her.

“No, no, go back!” Jack hisses, feeling anxiety creep up in him like a brewing blizzard. “It’s not safe to cross yet!”

Frustration prickles at him as he watches the rabbit, willing her to back up to the banks. Couldn’t she wait until after he re-iced the creek to try and get wherever she needed to go?

The rabbit skirts the small fissure and continues on her way, albeit more timidly. Another louder crack sounds and she freezes again, nose twitching furiously.

Jack creeps carefully along the treeline to get a better look at where she is. The ice is nearly as clear as a window, and he can see the waves of the chilled stream rushing by below it.

It may as well be paper-thin.

The rabbit takes another step forward, and a crack spreads out in front of her, splitting and bifurcating like the branches of an eerie tree. The crevices grow and grow, scattering off to the side and spreading into a wide semi-circle almost completely surrounding her.

The entire ice cover is about to cave in.

No! Jack lunges forward, jabbing his staff at the thawing stream and sending a fresh wave of ice surging down it. The rabbit’s head turns and her eyes widen at the fast-encroaching wisps of blue-white. She leaps backward, spooked.

In one slow, horrifying moment, the ice gives way beneath her, and she plunges into the stream. Jack can’t quite put his finger on why, but the image chills him to the very bone.

It’s almost as if there’s a haunting sense of…familiarity.

Snapping out of his shock, he jumps into action. He slams his staff down against the icy creek, and it shatters like glass, fragments of ice spilling into the rushing water below. Crouching down, he plunges his hand into the water and freezes it into a thick dam of ice.

The rabbit lets out a cry as she collides with it seconds later, the wind knocked out of her temporarily. Jack scoops her up and pulls her out of the water, starting to massage her soaked, cold fur.

“It’s going to be okay,” he murmurs. “You’re safe now.”

He summons a burst of wind from his staff and lets it sweep across the rabbit, dragging the cold water away. The rabbit shudders as it passes, paws twitching uncomfortably.

“I know it’s cold,” he says meekly, an apology heavy in the words. “But you’re going to be alright. I promise you.”

“You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep,” he can almost hear the Boogeyman saying.

Well, you’re wrong. I’m going to keep this one.

He starts to run his hand back and forth through the rabbit’s fur, trying to generate some semblance of warmth. The creature trembles, letting out a low whimper.

The shivers start small, nothing more than tiny tremors. But with each stroke, they grow stronger and stronger, until the creature is shaking like an autumn leaf.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m trying.”

The rabbit jerks suddenly, starting to twitch and squirm toward the edge of his hands. He reaches out his thumbs to try and grab her, but she’s too quick. In one fluid movement, she twists out of his hands, toppling to the ground.

There’s a shock of red as she hits the ground, and Jack sees crimson lines rapidly beginning to form in her gray-brown coat. Places where his icicles grazed her in the fall, he realizes.

Not again…

“No, please…” His voice is shaking, becoming desperate. Frantic. “I want to help. Please let me help.”

He has to be able to do more than hurt. He has to.

Pitch has to be wrong about him.

The rabbit starts to drag herself away, leaving a trail of cherry-red in the snow. Tears brimming in his eyes, Jack reaches out and gently scoops her up again, careful not to touch the gashes.

Maybe I can at least wash them off before she goes…

The rabbit goes limp in his grip, seemingly with little fight left in her. For one horrifying moment, he wonders if she suffered the same fate as the squirrel, until he feels the shallow rise and fall of her breaths against his hands. His entire body slackens with relief.

“Allow me.”

An unfamiliar voice sounds behind him, and he turns.

The snow-melting girl from the clearing is looking right at him, long blonde hair streaming out behind her like a river of sunlight.

She can see me…

He expects her to shudder or wince at the sight of the coating of icicles, but she doesn’t even appear to give them a second glance. She steps forward, bare feet quickened with a sudden sense of urgency.

She kneels before him and sits on her knees, starting to wrap the ends of her long hair around his hands and the shivering rabbit in tight ropes. He doesn’t resist, too surprised to protest. He feels the rabbit finally relax against him, something about the touch of the girl’s hair seeming to finally calm the animal down.

Then the girl begins to sing.

A golden-orange glow glides down her hair, brighter than the purest amber. When it reaches his hands, a sudden warmth surges through him. A warmth unlike anything he’s ever known.

He leans into it, feeling like he’s stepping into the sunlight for the very first time.

“Flower gleam and glow Let your powers shine Make the clock reverse Bring back what once was mine

Heal what has been hurt Change the fates’ design Save what has been lost Bring back what once was mine What once was mine”

Her words are haunting, making him feel an emotion he finds he doesn’t quite have a name for.

The glow fades as the girl finishes, and she delicately pulls her hair away. The rabbit perks up, long ears sticking high in the air and nose wriggling curiously. The cuts on her side have completely vanished, any trace of red seeming to have been carried away with the winter breeze.

She hops out of Jack’s hands and bounds cheerfully away, eyes bright and eager again. In moments, the icy stream, the cold winter spirit hands, and the sharp icicles appear to have been completely forgotten.

“You…saved her.” He looks up at the girl in wonder. “From…from me.”

She shakes her head, smiling. “No, we saved her. I saw what you did with the ice dam. She would have drowned if not for you.”

“Only because I spooked her and made her fall in in the first place,” he mutters.

“Because you were trying to make the ice thicker so she could cross,” the girl says gently. “You were only trying to help.”

He scoffs. “Yeah, and look how well that went.”

Her smile widens, and Jack could swear he picks up just the slightest hint of a smirk in it. “She’s alive, isn’t she? I’d call that a net success.”

“Only thanks to you,” he mumbles.

He looks over her, and he finds his curiosity gets the better of him. She may be strange, but he can’t help but be intrigued. “Who are you, anyways?”

Her face falls suddenly, pink-purple dress seeming to sag like wilting flowers. “You mean you don’t know?”

He gazes at her, puzzled. “Should I?”

She stops and thinks on this for several moments before finally shaking her head. “No…no, I guess you wouldn’t.”

“How can you see me?”

She looks taken aback for a period before smiling sadly. For just a moment, she looks like she might be on the verge of tears.

She appears contemplative, like she’s choosing her words carefully. Finally she says, with the air of holding quite a bit back, “I’m a spirit too.”

“A spirit? A…Guardian?” He suddenly backs away, growing wary of her.

My replacement…

“Well, no…not exactly.” She looks away, frowning. “I help them sometimes, when they need it. But I’m not…one of them. I’m Rapunzel,” she adds, looking back at him and smiling warmly.

“Jack Frost,” he mumbles, not sure how to response to this entire situation. Never, not once in his 300 years of existence, has someone just…come up and cordially introduced themselves to him.

It’s amusing, really. Something that must seem so mundane to all the people he sees walking about the streets of the towns and cities he wanders through seems completely alien to him.

“I know. I’ve been watching you.”

He gives her a strange look, and she slaps her hand over her mouth, eyes widening.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…! That must sound so creepy! I wasn’t—gosh, I didn’t mean to be following you around! I’m so sorry!”

She buries her face in her hands, as if slowly realizing the size of the hole she’s dug herself into.

Jack can’t help but chuckle at the utter unexpectedness of the entire scenario. “I don’t think it’s creepy. Just…strange. I mean, why would you want to trail me?”

She peeks at him from between her fingers, expression shy. “I see those frost patterns you leave on the trees. They’re beautiful. I…did accidentally melt a few, though.”

She looks away again, embarrassed. He remembers her hand recoiling after touching his frost the other day, her gasp of horror. He thought she’d been appalled by the freezing cold…but perhaps she had only been dismayed she had started to melt it.

The thought that someone appreciated his work was more comforting than she knew.

He looks over her and something suddenly clicks in his mind—the ice-melting hands and feet, the flower-colored dress, the life-giving healing hair, the light green eyes. “You’re a spring spirit,” he realizes.

She smiles at him, shrugging. “I am, but…I think all of the seasons are beautiful. I love yours, too. I came out a bit earlier than I was supposed to so I could have a look at everything you’ve done. It’s gorgeous.”

If Jack Frost still had color in his skin, he’s sure he’d be blushing. How embarrassing.

He tries his best to deflect the compliment, smirking at her instead. “Oh, what gave away that I was a winter spirit?”

She smirks right back at him. “Oh, nothing, really. Just a shot in the dark.”

It’s a moment before it dawns on him that she hasn’t started to retreat after she finished her healing. She hasn’t apprehensively scooted away from the protruding ice spines, hasn’t eyed him with the same careful fear as someone creeping past a chained beast that could rip free at any time and lunge. If anything, she’s made herself more comfortable next to him—hugging her knees to her chest, resting her chin on her hands and regarding him thoughtfully.

She’s just naïve, he thinks bitterly. She’ll find out soon enough that all I can do is hurt people. She can’t fight my nature any more than I can.

Nonetheless, the girl seems kind, if lacking somewhat in worldly wisdom. He hates the thought of anything bad happening to her.

“I’m surprised you let yourself get so close,” he says, the implied warning clear in his voice. “You know…considering all this.”

He gestures at his torso, sweeping a hand in front of his lower chest to show off an especially honed row of icicles. Rapunzel seems unfazed.

“I’m not worried,” she says nonchalantly. “I think I can manage to not get close enough to jab myself.”

“But what if I got closer to you?” he retorts. “What if I attacked you? You know, getting cut with these, it wouldn’t be…” He trails off, unsure what he’s trying to say. “Just…you shouldn’t trust so easily, Rapunzel. I could hurt you.”

She shrugs, looking almost annoyingly unperturbed. Smiling, she holds up a lock of blonde hair.

“I have this, remember? I think I can handle myself fine. Besides…” Her eyes soften. “You don’t seem like the type who wants to hurt people. You just seem…lonely. And sad.”

He bristles suddenly, alarmed. This girl he barely knows, who he met mere minutes ago…how had she pegged him so entirely?

“How can you know that?” he asks, unable to keep the edge out of his voice.

She smiles again, and this time, there’s something bittersweet about it. “Well…if you wanted to hurt people, you wouldn’t try and make the winter beautiful just because you can. You’d make it angry, destructive. But you wouldn’t find ways to make it into art.”

He sighs, looking away. “Those gashes on the rabbit…you know those were because of me, right? I…I didn’t mean to hurt her, but stuff like that just…happens, if you’re around me. When I try to help.”

“But you were trying to help,” she says, without missing a beat. “And that’s what matters to me.”

“So stupid,” Pitch whispers in his mind. “So tragically, trustingly stupid. People who try to see the good in monsters are only going to get devoured in the end. When she succumbs to some tragic demise, there will be nothing to blame but her own bleeding-hearted naivety.”

She makes no move to distance herself from him. No move to flee from the obvious danger. If anything…he swears he can see her inching closer.

He looks back at her, eyes growing as cold as the ice he trails throughout the forest.

“You’re making a mistake,” he says harshly. “It’s not safe around me. You want to end up like…”

Like the squirrel?

He stops short, finding himself reluctant to spill the details of the incident…no matter how relevant.

Perhaps, he finds himself thinking, she doesn’t need to know. Not yet.

Idiot. Of course she needs to know. How else will she see what abominations you’re capable of?

“…marred like that rabbit?” he says instead.

Of course you pick the story with the happy ending. Of course you pick the comparison that could persuade her to stay. What on earth makes you think she’d want to, anyhow?

“I’ll take my chances,” she says softly.

Jack hates himself for the unadulterated exhilaration that courses through him.

What the hell is wrong with you?! You shouldn’t want her to stay! She’ll get impaled in the end somehow, and it’ll be all your fault…

“You look like you need a friend, Jack Frost,” she adds, eyeing him sympathetically. “No one deserves to be alone.”

He thinks of a man cloaked in black, and he looks away guiltily.

“I do have a friend,” he argues. “And he says…he says no one else would want to be my friend. He hasn’t been proven wrong yet.”

She scowls deeply—an expression that looks almost amusingly out-of-place on such an innocent, serene face, he thinks.

“That doesn’t sound like a very good friend, if he tells you things like that,” she retorts.

He shrugs, trying his best to look indifferent. “It’s all I know. It’s better than being alone.”

“Well, then maybe it’s time for you to know something better.” She brightens up again, the frown flitting away as quickly as it had come. “You think you could use another friend?”

She gazes expectantly at him with those big green eyes of hers, and he feels a prick of annoyance at how convincing she’s being. It’s an offer that’s hard to refuse, he has to admit.

In a heartbeat, the Nightmare King is back, whispering doubts into his mind. Telling him it’ll only end in disappointment and abandonment and being alone once again.

For once, Jack ignores it.

“It’s at your own risk,” he says simply.

“I can live with that.” Rapunzel shrugs. “Will I see you again?”

His lips, long-since blue and frosted over, form the tiniest hint of a smile. “I think you will.”

#jackunzel #rotbtd gift exchange 2020 #jack x rapunzel #rapunzel x jack #icicle jack #icicle!jack #icicle jack frost #icicle!jack frost #jack frost #rapunzel #jackxrapunzel #rapunzelxjack #fanfic #fanfiction #rotbtd #the big four #tangled #rise of the guardians #crossover

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mor-beck-more-problems · 4 years

Text

Don’t Do Sadness || Morgan & Deirdre (feat. Ruth Beck)

TIMING: Current

LOCATION: Houston, Texas

PARTIES: @deathduty & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Morgan flies back to Houston to pick up Agnes’ bones. But there’s other family who need her attention first.

CONTAINS: Mentions and discussions of past abuse

By the time the Houston trip finally rolled around, Morgan booked and planned their stay around her old hangouts in an autopilot haze rather than any eager sentiment. Thanks to modern technology, they largely avoided customer service desks and transitioned from plane to car to hotel without having to ruin anyone’s day. Morgan even put in a delivery order for her once-favorite Vietnamese restaurant from her phone and had it brought up like room service, with just a knock at the door and a quiet ‘thank you’ called into an empty hallway. There was little to say, since the gritty smog didn’t reach her nose and the lo mein she got for herself was soaked in soy sauce and sriracha before she could get a hint of any flavor aside from the brains she’d picked up on the way to the hotel. Morgan hadn’t even liked sriracha when she was alive. At the end of the night, they left the TV on (Titanic was playing on TNT) and laid down holding each other. Morgan thought of all the things she’d once imagined showing Deirdre, the cemeteries, the magic shops, the food, the landmarks. With crazy, non-existent zoning laws, high rises rubbed elbows with tire shops and mom and pop burger joints. There was no such thing as a ‘generic’ street until you were at least thirty minutes to an hour outside of downtown. But those were Alive-Morgan’s plans. This one just prayed that after they dug up what she needed tomorrow, they could bubble themselves up and forget all about White Crest and everything they’d left there on their last full day before they had to go crawling back.

But before they could dig up Agnes Bachman’s grave in the dead of night, Morgan needed to scope it out. And before she could do that, she owed her dead their respects. Sunrise seemed best for the visit. No one would be there except for the workers, the humidity was too intense, and morning traffic on the freeways was already in a gridlock. People would want to be anywhere but Washington Cemetery. Morgan reached for Deirdre’s hand as they passed through the gates, taking a second to appreciate the vastness of the sky. Houston was a flat swampland; from the right place, you barely had to tilt your head back to see as far as the human eye could see. The sky stretched above them like a golden purple dome, not a flash of wings or shadow or teeth in sight. The grass was patchy, but mowed even, so you could hardly tell the weeds from the rest. Flat headstones tiled the area in a perfect grid, so orderly you could play checkers on it with pieces big enough. Her parents were off to the side, near the roar of traffic and mumbling drifters. Every time she visited them, Morgan feared she would forget the way and get lost, but as soon as her feet met the pavement, she knew just where the next turn should be. “Agnes is kinda here by chance actually. When the older cemeteries got condemned, they split up the bodies to be re-homed or whatever, and some randos got the fancy cemetery next door, and Agnes and her kids got this one. They did some random algorithm or lottery thing, and apparently it made my grandmother so mad that she would have to share space with her. But it’s really not that surprising, with our run of luck.” She winced. “I know it’s not…as pretty or anything as what we have back home. Not sure what Texas has against standing tombstones. Maybe it’s all the hurricanes? At least markers don’t drift off course when they’re nailed flat to the ground.” That didn’t sound how she wanted to either. “I’m sorry, what I’m trying to ask is, how do you like it?”

Deirdre would not let them drown. For all the sadness that congealed around them, for every shred of darkness that pleaded to be accompanied, Deirdre would be stronger, louder. For all the pain that weighed down her love, she would carry it in herself, and lift her free. Months ago, a trip to Texas together would have read like a happy occasion—they’d spent nights tangled together swapping stories of their homes. She knew Texas through Morgan’s eyes. The smells, the heat, the thick and sticky air, were not new to her mind, only to her ill-equipped body. Though Morgan moved like she wasn’t so much coming home as she was walking to her death, Deirdre held a measure of excitement about everything, despite everything. It was magical to be in the place that once only existed in the stories she loved. There were the trees Morgan described, and while not those ones exactly, they were just as important for Deirdre’s slowly filling image of Morgan’s life. Their hotel held a beautiful view, and a large, lush bathtub perfect for soaking off the Texas heat. Morgan couldn’t see it, she realized, which is why she pointed each detail out with a smile. It was fine, anyway, love didn’t need to be hundred to exist. Whatever tar was intent on dragging her girlfriend underneath, she would be the life jacket. She could love enough for the both of them; be enthusiastic as if she carried two minds and care as if she were born of two hearts. And, of course, Vietnamese food from such fame as Morgan’s stories of sad nights eating it alone, was just as good as she described it then. Titanic, played in low quality on some choppy basic cable, as featured in tales of Morgan’s viewing it, was just like she said it was. And the side-of-the-road cemetery was just like she heard it might be.

“I love it here,” she breathed, happily leaning over to stare down at each name they passed. Loving it here, was not entirely accurate. She’d complained about the sticky heat already, waltzing around in a thin summer romper and still feeling like her skin was melting off. And she always liked cemeteries, so much so that it wasn’t even a question worth asking. It was being here, in the places that Morgan walked, in the home that she knew, that Deirdre loved. It felt like she had a place in those stories too, in her life. “As if pretty matters...” she breathed. “Oh my love,” Deirdre turned her attention away from the names she didn’t recognize and smiled at her girlfriend. “Don’t worry about that.” She paused and drew her into her arms, picking her up for a quick spin and kiss. “I love you. Do you know how exciting it is to be here? I finally get to see the grass that you did, smell the scents that you did, see the—“ she gestured at the sky “—everything that you did. It’s like...being a part of you. Knowing you. And you—“ she grinned and pressed another kiss to her girlfriend. “—are my favourite thing to know. I would never tire of it.” Even if it felt like Texas was trying to dump hot glue on her. “Tell me more,” she asked, brushing Morgan’s hair back before she settled her hand on her cheek. “Show me more, whatever you feel like. It’d be impossible for me to hate it.” She turned her attention to the cemetery and chuckled, “were you worried about me not liking a cemetery or are you concerned about your touring skills?” Deirdre turned back with a smile. “I think you’re doing a wonderful job, and this isn’t the only time we’ll come back here—we can take a thousand trips, if you wanted them. So...don’t worry; I always enjoy myself when I’m with you. And you’ve got more important things to keep your mind on.”

Morgan’s eyes welled as Deirdre poured all her affection on her at once. She knew she was loved unconditionally, that whatever else came up, Deirdre would care and care and care as long as Morgan let her, but with the air beneath her feet and her banshee’s strong arms around her body, it all pierced her shell and rushed in as a flood. She had burned to give Deirdre pieces of her no one else in town, no one else alive possessed. She had kept them up for hours some nights, talking about how good, how interesting and exciting for all its mundaneness Houston was. The murals, the galleries, the roadkill, the sprawl, the smell. Now they were here and she felt so weighed down by herself. The air, so eerily imperceptible to her new body, felt like it was pulling her into the ground.

I want to be here, Morgan reminded herself. I need to be here.

She clung to Deirdre for a moment, anchoring herself in her body. “I love you too,” she murmured into her shoulder. “After this I’ll show you anything you want. We can go anywhere, I’ll take you to a play at the last minute, they have one with skeletons and murder in it. Or this Italian restaurant my mother would insist on going to that does brunch, or the little one my dad would take me to sometimes that’s not as fancy but makes the best fettuccine and you can have fresh scooped gelato there, and this giant chessboard, and the Rothko chapel, it’s all in black and the skylight is beautiful, but it’s always a little cold in a good way and you can pray to any being in the universe there, and…” The list tumbled out of her in a rush, even if her voice didn’t quite lift to the occasion. Half of the words on her lips were impossible to recapture the way she was. Fresh tears came to her as she parted with pieces of each memory. The awkward silence as she and Ruth scraped their forks at Birraporetti’s, running out of things to say about the ballet only twenty minutes after the show. The mess she made on her shirt with the gelato in Rice Village, the dangerous thrill of buying a new shirt at the boutique next door instead of mending it with magic while her dad lingered outside for plausible deniability. Having something new, and whole, and secret. And there were hours singing loudly in her car, sloppily slathering sunscreen on her forearms too late because she’d gotten so caught up in the escape of the moment. It was all over and never coming back, as permanent as the ache her parents left behind.

Morgan breathed slowly and wiped her eyes, flashing Deirdre a sheepish smile. “Sorry,” she said. “I know everything is so awful back home and I’m trying to shake it off, but I am so glad of you, and so relieved. This is everything I want right now, even if it doesn’t look like it. I...stars, I hate not having anything to do after this visit most years, and now I do, and I’m not so painfully alone.” She jumped on her tiptoes and kissed her again as best she could. Wrapping herself against Deirdre as much as she could, Morgan led her around the next few turns along the path, guiding their steps by intuition and distant memory, until she saw two ghostly figures clustering by the fence.

Morgan stopped short. She couldn’t make out their faces, but she knew who her parents were. Somehow, even with all the Agnes drama, it hadn’t occurred to her that she might see them. Certainly not her dad. “Oh, stars…” Neither of them moved. Maybe they didn’t see her yet. “You see them, right? They’re really here, it’s not a trick this time. Shit, I can’t even…Deirdre, it’s my dad.” His face, from this angle, was whole and warm, and he did see her. He was just watching as serenely as he’d watched everything in life. His head tilted to one side, like he was working out how to parse a line of poetry, and Morgan burst with a laughing sob of recognition. He had the same ugly Hawaiian shirt he’d died in, and from this far away the sick on his shirt looked more like a food stain. It was so normal, so silly and safe and unlike anything in her life now.

Morgan didn’t know what to say to either of them, if they would be proud or even like the person she had become, but even having a fight in front of her girlfriend didn’t seem so bad right now. “It’s real, right?” Deirdre’s eyes could see them, if she tried. It wouldn’t be like before. How could it be, with her dad here? “We have to—he’s gonna love you, come on! Now!” She tore herself away and pawed for Deirdre’s hand, running for the spot so fast she nearly lost her shoes.

Deirdre leaned down to press her lips against Morgan’s neck, laughing in a warm flutter against her cold skin, afraid if she kissed her anyplace else, she might interrupt her. Her mind drifted as easily as Morgan rambled, she pressed nipping kisses in response to each point: a play would be divine, Italian sounds great, I’ve always liked fettuccine, what does a giant chessboard even look like? Houston held so many memories for Morgan, and just as many for Deirdre to learn. As well as she knew her girlfriend, there would always be some things that came new, and she could think of no greater delight than to know them. There was another feeling she didn’t know how to explain, something about life at her fingertips, a world under her lips. She loved their bubble in White Crest, but the earth was vast, and it could be theirs. Houston, Austin, whatever part of Texas Morgan wanted to show off—that was a new world for their taking. Was it so wrong for her to want more for them? To share in everything life had to offer, and then some? To love Morgan in White Crest, in Houston, on every inch of land they set their feet upon? Deirdre lifted her head from where she’d nestled it and smiled warmly. “Don’t apologize, my love. You don’t have to be chipper all the time, excited to show me restaurants and parks all the time….I just want to be with you, in whatever shape that takes. That’s always what I want. And if you want to do something after this, we can. And if you don’t, we can do that too. I’m really just happy to be here, and share in all of this with you….it means so much to me. Thank you, for letting me do this with you. Nothing will rob me of my excitement to be here. I love you, my Morgue, I always do.”

She held Morgan tight and careful, praying that her words might carry the power to soothe some worries. Visiting family graves was no easy task in general, there was no need for her love to be plagued by other thoughts. While the Dolan catacombs were a dark place of pride and worship—there was no sadness in death, after all, it was the greatest show of servitude—Deirdre imagined that Morgan, whose entire family was buried here, would find a visit heavier than most. She was prepared to hold her extra tight, even closer, kiss harder and love louder. She would not allow the sheet of sadness to smother Morgan. It was natural, then, that when Morgan happily yanked her along, Deirdre was shocked. She hadn’t even processed the information that Morgan’s father was a ghostly presence before she was running alongside her.

“W-wait! I’m not ready!” Deirdre yelped, laughing. She hadn’t expected to be meeting her girlfriend’s ghostly father either, and so she had no charming quips prepared. Should she have brought an offering? Did she call him Hector or Mr. Beck? Would he know what a banshee was? Was it appropriate to mention how rich she was before or after she explained the lengths at which she loved his daughter? “What am I supposed to say! All I know is that he likes musicals! I didn’t brush up on my musical knowledge!” She grew sweaty from anxiety rather than the heat, for once, blinking rapidly as her eyes spread into darkness and oh Fates, he was wearing a Hawaiian shirt. Of all the shirts she pictured he must have died in, that one wasn’t it. His face was soft like Morgan’s, and he tilted his head just like her and—Deirdre shook her vision back to normal and tried to think. She needed to ready herself. At this rate, her eyes would be glued to his questionable fashion and that’d just be rude. Did humans still do that thing where parents had to be asked before their daughters could be courted? Why was it that she suddenly couldn’t remember basic manners? They ran to a halt and Deirdre doubled over trying to collect herself. She huffed and tried nervously to straighten out the wrinkles in her dress. “What if he hates me because I forgot to bring flowers?” She mumbled to herself, deciding finally on a simple ‘hello’. She took Morgan’s hand back in hers for emotional support and as her eyes darkened, she rehearsed her introduction. Hello, Mr. Beck, so nice to meet you, I love your daughter so much I’d burn the world down. No, that was too strong. Howdy, Hector, lovely ghost weather we’re— “My love, I don’t see him.” Deirdre blinked her death-vision away, turning to her girlfriend. “...Morgan?”

Morgan only looked away for a second. It was too good to see him laughing to himself, beaming and shaking his head like he’d just figured out something wonderful and obvious to turn around every time she said, it doesn’t matter, it’s fine, you’ll be great. But she looked back once so Deirdre would know by her smile just how true it was, and when she turned to the grave where her dad was waiting for her again, he was gone. Morgan stopped short, staring at the empty space. There wasn’ anywhere for him to hide in all this open space. And he wouldn’t. He’d never played those kinds of tricks on her. She searched the sky, and the roof of a plain mausoleum across the way, the still-fluffy top of an oak tree, but he was gone.

“What the fuck…” she whispered. She had seen him. It hadn’t been in her head, she’d really seen him, and he’d looked at her. He’d been happy. He didn’t know anything about the choices she’d made since her last visit, but he’d been happy and he’d wanted to see her. “Where did he go? I don’t understand.”

“Oh, and what am I, chop liver?” Ruth Beck demanded.

Morgan was too hurt to hide her pained grimace. This wasn’t about her mother, at least she’d gotten to practice speaking to her once before. But she hadn’t had a conversation with her dad since she was eighteen, a stupid kid in over her head. Why hadn’t he stayed to talk to her? Why didn’t he want to meet her again? Morgan continued to stare at the emptiness over his grave, mouth trembling.

“They don’t bring you the metaphysical manual for ghostly rules and behavior, Morgan. You don’t seriously expect to be handed a tidy little answer to make you feel better, do you? It’s fine; I've known all along how much you two care about me.” Her tone cut with bitterness. “I knew he wouldn’t stick it out with me forever, but I’ll give him this, I don’t think it was an entirely conscious decision. Whatever you took or whatever spell you cast to see us like this, it scratched his itch and now he’s signed off and done.”

Morgan stiffened. Nothing her mother said felt untrue, exactly, but it all sounded so twisted and awful, like her dad had betrayed her by crossing peacefully or like Morgan should be sorry for missing him after having a second chance dangled in front of her. She could never just be; Ruth always demanded her due. “I’m sorry, Mother,” she mumbled, trying desperately to keep her tears in. “I am happy to see you too. I should have said so.” She swallowed, forcing her body to remember breathing. “Are you okay?”

Ruth scoffed, unimpressed, and turned her attention to the woman with her daughter. “Who’s this? She’s taking you talking to the air pretty well. Should I be concerned?”

She knew it. It was her ruffled romper or tousled hair that did her in. Or the sweat, maybe it was the sweat. Hector took one look at how sweaty Deirdre was and vanished out of disgust. Or maybe it was that she’d taken so long to introduce herself, she should have ran up with her greeting instead of standing around waiting for her chance to do it. Deirdre frowned, turning to Morgan to apologize when another voice cut across the air. Deirdre couldn’t see ghosts without summoning her vision, but she could hear them perfectly fine. And she remembered then, hearing this woman and her biting remarks, that she’d seen two figures—the now-gone Hector and someone who was unmistakably Ruth Beck. Out of politeness, she tried not to look angry. She knew Ruth Beck better than she did Hector, not because Morgan loved Hector less, but because Ruth controlled her life even in death. Her painful, complicated memory could not be shaken. Deirdre knew Ruth by way of tearful retelling, shaky explanation of locked rooms and denied love—and the infuriating hypocrisy of her journal, left behind as if to taunt her daughter. And she knew her now, by the sharpness of her voice, and the burden shuddering down Morgan. Eventually, politeness was dammed, and Deirdre’s face twisted with displeasure. She drew Morgan close to her, and then—though she knew it wouldn’t help anything—shifted their bodies so she stood between Ruth and Morgan.

Deirdre let blackness spill across the whites of her eyes again as she looked up and stared Ruth down. She had Morgan’s brilliant blues, and lips that might’ve looked like her daughter’s if they weren’t pulled thin. Her sour expression was different both from Morgan’s transparent emotions, and the pictures Deirdre had seen of Ruth’s past. There were a thousand things she wanted to say to Ruth. She blurted just one, the thing that burned on her tongue, pulled her brows together and her lips down. “Your daughter is dead.” Couldn’t she see it? Feel it? Was it really so important now to be thinking about anything else, when the life of her blood was a zombie? She’d wanted to ask about the locked rooms, about why her husband could find peace in seeing his daughter but she could not, about why she loved Morgan so poorly, or if she remembered being in that cursed coin at all, but Deirdre’s confusion stuck out instead. She’d known Ruth was a questionable mother, but hearing her more offended about a greeting than noticing her own daughter was dead, was something strange. “I’m Morgan’s girlfriend; Deirdre. I’m sorry your husband’s vanished so suddenly. I wonder how terrible that must be for someone who hasn’t seen him since he died. It must be exciting to see someone after that long, don’t you think? Perhaps you’ve been spending so much time remembering that there is no competition here that you forgot your own manners.” Deirdre didn’t know what she was saying, exactly, the words tumbled from her mouth freely. Unlike their forgotten meeting on the beach, Deirdre knew the kind of woman Ruth was now, and she wasn’t so eager to impress her. It would be nice for Morgan, she knew, if her mother approved of something she held dear for once. And perhaps Deirdre should have taken more care for her manners, but Ruth’s words were needlessly petty, and Deirdre didn’t care to make either of them listen to it. She stood straight, stern, breaking her stance only to attend to Morgan, and lend her strength where she needed it.

Ruth had to do a double, no, triple take at her daughter to see if this strange woman was telling the truth about her daughter. She had assumed that sentimentality had gotten the better of Morgan and she’d taken some drug or commissioned some truly powerful magiks to see if her talking to the air all these years amounted to something or not. But she looked, and even with this Deirdre woman blocking her full view, she understood. Then, of course, the woman kept talking, offering her opinion on things that weren’t any of her business. How could she know that Ruth had been looking forward to seeing her every November? Or how much it stung that when granted her ghost-sight, Morgan hadn’t said, it’s my mom and dad, it’s my parents. Only her dad, the one who had coddled and endangered her with his stubborn sensitivity, and then marked himself as a damn saint when he died just four months after Morgan turned eighteen. And this Deirdre couldn’t know how much she’d tried to shuffle off this god-forsaken coil, or how it felt to be left alone, for good this time, by the only person in her miserable life who had been stubborn enough to stay in the first place. No one knew. Even in death, Ruth Beck was certain she remained cursed. When she was sure this Deirdre was quite finished, she looked at the fluff of hair poking out from the woman’s arms. “Is this true, Morgan?” She asked.

Morgan let Deirdre whisk her out of sight, if only so she could compose her face and gasp out the few sobs that wouldn’t be swallowed away. She should probably be happy that all her dad wanted was for them to really see each other again, or maybe see her happy and loved. But her mind was still circling that one second. She could’ve squeezed out an I love you, or a hang on. Just hang on a little fucking longer, enough to meet my girlfriend, enough to know that I’m teaching at a real university, I’m going to make Constance pay for what she did to you, I miss you… but all those possibilities had evaporated in an instant.

But Morgan couldn’t evade a direct question from her mother, no matter how Deidre tried to shield her. Morgan lifted her head and nodded, still holding onto her girlfriend. “Surprise,” she said, breath shaking. “The curse got me, just like you said.”

“I told you,” Ruth began. “On our last phone call, I told you, Morgan--”

“Yeah, well I tried anyway! And actually I got kinda close, but…you were right and I was wrong.” Morgan shrugged, her smile pulling into a pained gash on her face. “So now I’m this. Sad zombie lady. About seven months and counting. And it’s the worst, but I have at least a couple of friends, and Deirdre, who loves me, and who you would probably like if you weren’t spending so much time scrutinizing her like she’s a science problem. She’s insightful, and clever, and curious. She loved me even before I was like this, and she’s still here. So I can’t say I truly regret any of my actions, because I don’t want to know where I’d be without her. But I know that doesn’t sound like good news to you, so I’m at least partially sorry for that, I guess.”

Morgan changed the topic by way of reaching into her bag and fishing out a now partially crumpled bouquet of flowers. “I was gonna split up the bunch in two, but I guess they’re all yours now.” She held them up for inspection out of habit, before realizing that Ruth may not be able to take them for herself and so knelt in the grass to cram them into the bronze vase welded to the gravestone for this purpose. As she arranged the mess, the real news she wanted to share burned on her tongue. But some habits were hard to break, and she was too stiff with ritual fear to begin without first asking, “Are you really okay, Mother? Is there something I can do for you?”

Ruth Beck didn’t say anything for a good long while, but stared, just barely holding her heartbreak at bay. “Oh, pumpkin. I told you going to White Crest would only bring you more suffering,” She sighed. She looked over at Deirdre, defiantly transparent in giving her a critical once-over. “And what are your thoughts on this nonsense? If you’ve been with her through death, you’ve had to learn about our little family sickness eventually. Has she told you what happens to nice, loving girlfriends yet? I’d give you three guesses, but you just saw one of them disappear. And just how are you perceiving me, exactly? I don’t think you’re the one responsible for granting Morgan an extra half-life, but the exorcists and the wannabes who come out here don’t generally get ink in their eyes when they look at me.”

Morgan bowed her head as she worked, visibly cringing at the exchange. “Please be nice to her, Mother,” she said, barely above a whisper.

Deirdre had been expecting more bite, perversely, she had hoped for it. Not for Morgan, but onto herself. She hoped, perhaps, that if her annoyance shifted someplace else, Morgan could be freed from it. Yet, as she had been learning about Ruth, the woman could not make herself easy to hate. Complicated was less like a descriptor and more like a way of life. Even Deirdre, who had no intentions of conceding to Ruth, slumped a little when her bait wasn’t taken—embarrassed that she tried it in the first place. But she shook the sensation away and watched Ruth carefully, listening with an attentive ear. If that bite ever came back, she’d swallow Morgan up in a hug again and stand between them...but if she could be gentle...Deirdre shifted, releasing her high wall of protection for a sturdy one of support. Though she felt a little more like a guard dog, ready to snap if anything came too close. She anchored herself to Morgan’s side, even as she moved, as if stuck there. She hadn’t been expecting, either, that Ruth would address her again. She thought one angry comment was enough for her to ignore her, but Ruth was, as Deirdre supposed, terribly complicated. All she had really wanted to say to Ruth was how dare you and if she had some corporeal body, she might have settled for one dramatic slap. She knew Ruth by her failures as a mother, and as someone who loved Morgan as well, she was the harshest critic of the woman. Just as, she imagined, Ruth was in turn harsh of her.

“I love Morgan very much,” she began, though speaking to Ruth, she smiled warmly at Morgan. “I’ve loved her for a long time. If you’ll let me be dramatic to say it, maybe since I’ve met her. I intend on loving her for a longer one.” She turned to look at Ruth, her smile colored by confusion. Surely the woman who loved, and started a family, understood why Deirdre stayed, so was she testing her? Or did she really not know? “I always have. I’m not so afraid of death, that I would refuse to live. You and your husband have had a good life, wouldn’t you say? She has told me what happens, it might have been the first real thing she told me—and even if it wasn’t, you and I both know that Morgan wears her emotions freely.” Deirdre tilted her head to the side, withholding remarks about how terrible it would be to stamp that away. Or that she couldn’t understand how Ruth would know how badly her daughter wanted love, and then deny it. And if she could understand it, then she certainly couldn’t grasp how a mother would do that, and then expect that her daughter might still be excited to see her. She either played the villain and accepted it, dealt her tough love and recognized what it must have done or...well, she was the standing example of what happened when someone didn’t. “In a good way; in the best way,” she added quickly, nearly in a hiss. “I thought it was noble of her to want to fight fate, silly maybe, but the spirit to fight is a commendable one. How could I not want to be by her side? Maybe we would have had five years, or a few good months, maybe she would have won and freed herself...all I knew then was that I loved her, I wanted her to be happy, and if I could be there too...maybe we could make something together. Pain is unavoidable for anyone, death is equally as demanding, but somethings are worth it, aren’t they?” She had more to say about risks and love and much she knew that death could take prematurely, but that she was always ready. It never was so much the length of time, but how well it was spent. That she knew, better than the average person, just what fate she might have agreed to, and that she didn’t care. She loved Morgan more than letting fear rule her, or them.

But she realized quickly that Ruth was not as endeared to her long speeches and Morgan was, and left it there. ”I’m a banshee,” she explained simply, pressing a kiss to Morgan’s forehead. “And you didn’t answer her question: how are you?”

Ruth’s face remained impassive as the woman, the banshee, spoke. She understood a great deal, though how, Ruth didn’t know. It hadn’t been from Morgan. It would have been nice if she had been able to put those desperate puppy eyes Morgan seemed to have for her to good use and stop her. Keep her alive. But of course she hadn’t. The only way to get Morgan to do anything she didn’t want to was to make her. “I can see why she likes you,” Ruth said. “You’re a romantic fool as much as she is. More common sense, but…” Not enough to keep her in check. “In a less cursed lifetime maybe more of what you said would be true. Maybe wherever the heck you come from, it is. I guess I’m glad she stopped being a liar long enough to tell you.”

“Mother—“

Ruth continued as if she hadn’t heard Morgan’s interjection. “You seem kind, Deirdre. Enough to deserve better than whatever being attached to us is going to bring you. Everything is a bargain, Deirdre. And sometimes the universe cheats. And if she’s gone and made herself a zombie and made this mess last until some dumbass with a sword comes along, I’m not sure if you can know what you’re signing up for.”

“The curse is over, Mother,” Morgan said, hand clenched in Deirdre’s. She feared what looking away from her mother would do, if she would be left dangling and abandoned again or if her mother would read something cruel into it, so she only held onto Deirdre, tight, and hoped she understood that her love was keeping Morgan from falling apart. “I didn’t break it, but it’s done with me. And there’s more, something good and more I want to tell you, but for the mother of earth, I wish you’d just tell me anything about how you’re doing or what I can do for you.”

“I’ve been about as well as you can be after three years being a specter in this place. Neither of you want to know how well I’m really doing.”

Morgan exhaled stiffly. “I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t—I died too, okay? I ‘m not a ghost but I do get something about how awful—

“Don’t say that like it’s something I want,” Ruth’s voice managed to cut without raising to a scream. “If you had just listened to me, if you had accepted for once that I know what I am talking about and I’m not some evil gorgon bent on ruining your life, maybe you wouldn’t.”

“I am trying to tell you that I am taking our power back, Mom!” Morgan flinched to hear the way her voice snapped with anger. She always took the bait, no matter how long it had been or how much she said she wouldn’t. And realizing this made no difference. She couldn’t stop herself from going louder, more determined. “I found the miserable little witch who cursed us. I ripped her out of the ether to make her confess and after she came back to finish the job she started, I found a way to make her pay. She is going to suffer as much and as long as a ghost can for what she did to me and to you and your mother before you and mother before her. I am doing that. Me, Mother! I am taking control of our lives and if there is some miserable little Bachman descendant out there, they aren’t going to have to suffer another cursed year when I’m done with her! I am as free as I am ever going to be, and when she is ground into nothing but floating particles, she is never going to be able to cast her shadow over me or you or anyone. That’s what I wanted to tell you.” She smiled sadly. “I thought it might make you happy. I may not be doing what you wanted, but I am doing something right.”

“Morgan—”

“I’m not finished. I know you lied to me about going to White Crest. I met Nisa and her kids. I found your stuff. Everything you kept from me about your time there. I know, Mom. Everything you pretended you never were.”

“White Crest was a mistake. If you knew, it would only give you hope, it would encourage your outrageous tendencies to reach for something that’s not yours to have. I wanted to keep you safe, Morgan. Are you trying to say that’s a crime, now? Clearly I didn’t do a good enough job teaching you or protecting you, but now I’m a demon for even bothering?”

Morgan hung her head and wondered why she bothered.

“I’m waiting,” Ruth murmured.

Somehow her quiet tone hit Morgan worse than the rest. The words on her tongue started to dissolve. The questions she had for her drifted away like so much dust. What had she really expected? What could there have ever been to hope for? Morgan didn’t have it in her to hold back her tears. Everything went into keeping her voice even. “Maybe the way you tried was. Maybe…” Maybe it should have been.

Deirdre grimaced, pulling Morgan in so she could be tucked tight against her chest. It would have been wholly inappropriate to throw salt at Ruth, but that didn’t stop Deirdre’s hand from inching towards Morgan’s purse. “Hey,” she cooed for her girlfriend’s ears only. “You’re okay; you’re doing good.” She wrapped her arms around her tighter, just the way she liked, like the two of them were the only people who existed. She pressed her lips to the top of her head, hard as she could, and turned to look at Ruth. “It’s a terrible crime, actually. To let fear masquerade as love.” She pulled back just enough to lift her hand up and thumb Morgan’s tears away, as covertly as she could—not that the tears themselves were shameful, but because she understood the desire not to lend any more ammunition to an angry mother. “May I say something?” She asked Ruth, having no intention of listening to her answer anyway. “It’ll be long, so bear with me. But if anything, maybe we can let it serve as a breather for this conversation. I ask you, Mrs. Beck, do you love your daughter? Is there an answer to that you can admit? I would assume you do, and if so, there’s just something I don’t get...let me try and understand you a little better. Correct me where I’m wrong, but let me take a stab at your life.” Deirdre breathed in, drawing her attention away from Ruth so she could care for Morgan. There were tears to wipe, and strength to work back into her bones. Look at me, she was saying, don’t think about your mother, look at me. And like that, she began. “You hate the way your mother raised you, Mrs. Beck. It was cruel, and unfair, and I’m sure she must’ve justified it to you—if your life was suffering, if you loved nothing, there would be nothing to take. Or maybe she just didn’t care, she didn’t want a child anyways. But you grew up, and you got away, and you lived your terrible, tragic life until you found your way to White Crest with hope. But your curse, and the pursuit of its end, hurt people or it would hurt people, eventually. Good people, kind people, even yourself. Maybe the guilt was too much to live with, maybe you tried and tried and there really was no end—not without something too drastic even for you. So you left. And then you met your husband. And he, like you’ve called me, was a romantic fool. Stubborn, I bet. What did he say when you told him about the curse? That it was okay? That he would stay with you anyways? That he didn’t care?” Deirdre looked up at Ruth, smiling softly. “So, he finally convinces you and you two get married. And then you think, or maybe he gets through to you, that there might just be a life around your curse. If you’re smart, and careful, maybe you can make something good. And then you start a family, maybe by plan, maybe by surprise, it doesn’t matter how just that it did. And you have a daughter. And you realize that you can’t raise her like you were, so you try to be better. You don’t tell her about the curse, because the curse only brings pain, and ignorance can be a powerful thing. Either that’s your idea or it’s your husband’s, but that doesn’t matter either. You don’t say anything, and neither does he. But his love is open, yours is not. And how could it be? You know the dangers of love better than anyone else. You’re smart, and careful. And so your daughter wonders, tragedy after tragedy, what’s wrong with life. But you don’t tell her. And ignorance isn’t enough, she needs to be more careful, like you. You try to teach her how not to laugh, love, look forward to things. But you know it’s not working, despite your best efforts, because your daughter is like her father, in that regard—open. And then he dies, and there are some secrets you can’t keep alone. And suddenly all your daughter’s self-hatred has another place to go, and you know what happens next. You’ve lived your life, you know what it does to hope and argument. You try to tell her that she can make a good life with her curse, a smart one, a sensible one. You did it, after all; for those few years. And then you die, and she goes anyways, and you wait for her every year like clockwork. But you see, what I don’t understand with this story is how? How did you ever expect her to learn how to be happy in between the years when you taught her to fear happiness? How are you so blind to the fact that you hurt your daughter? How can you claim to know her so well, and yet speak with such ignorance? How is it that you can love your daughter, and yet never say it? She wasn’t wrong to go to White Crest, just like you weren’t. It’s a courageous act. How do you not know that? Her recklessness, her naïveté...none of those things are bad. She hopes, she fights, even when her odds are impossible and to do so doesn’t make her wrong, it means she was able to do something you couldn’t. How are you not proud of her? Morgan is the strongest person I know, strength she learned not because of you, but in spite of you. How can you think so lowly of her, that you don’t trust that she understood the risks? How?”

Deirdre shook her head, sighing her speech away. “You know what effect you have on your daughter. I know you see it. The curse is gone now, and even if it wasn’t, you’re both dead. You don’t have to keep this up, Mrs. Beck. I know you want to be a good mother, there’s nothing stopping you now. I ask you again, do you love Morgan? And are you sorry, for the role you’ve had to take in her life? Or do you want to float there and justify it to us like your mother might’ve?” Deirdre offered another smile, small but not but less sincere. At least, if everything she was saying was wrong, she hoped Ruth could see that her love for Morgan was true. And if she really cared about her own daughter, then they’d be two people on the same page. “Why don’t we try this conversation again, Mrs. Beck? Maybe listen to Morgan a little better, for once.”

“You don’t know fear,” Ruth tried to interrupt. Whatever airs this woman put on, she didn’t understand what it meant to be a mother, or what the cost of their existence truly was. She didn’t know how much of the banshee myths were true, but she couldn’t know enough about the universe to know when you were pinned down and doomed. “You don’t know me--” But the woman wouldn’t be stopped, and Ruth fell quiet. For the first time, she began to believe that Morgan had figured some things out. She had at least figured out enough for Deirdre to connect most of the dots. She didn’t have enough to make the spell work, to see Ruth as she truly was. Her affection for Morgan, blasted and cursed and biased, was too strong for that. But it was more than Ruth had expected. She couldn’t help but be stricken by it.

The only thing that kept Morgan from turning into Deirdre’s arms and hugging her was the pull of her mother’s face. The more Deirdre went on, so gently and kindly and with so much confidence, the more Ruth seemed to crack. It probably wasn’t visible to Deirdre, but Morgan had scrutinized her mother’s face for years searching her mother’s face for approval, for forgiveness, for a shadow of affection. She could transmute any scrap of tenderness into just enough to hope for. She knew the widening of her eyes, the way the edge dulled in her jaw or her frown slackened, there was something there. Some feeling that was for her. Morgan wished then for any passer-by to wander past them so her mother could borrow their body for a second, just long enough for Morgan to throw herself into her arms and beg and drag that feeling out of her.

“Mommy--” She whispered.

“It was a mistake.” Ruth said, clenching her airy fists. “I didn’t want to bring a child into this world with my problems, my curse. I am aware that I lack the typical temperament people look for in a good mother. And besides that, I wanted to be the end. And my one job above all else was to protect you. Not to be your friend, not to coddle you--”

“Mommy, please.”

“You need to understand.”

“I do! I do understand why you hurt me! I know you tried and I know you were afraid of loving me because of Constance’s fucking curse, but that doesn’t mean it was okay! And you can’t throw me into a room anymore just because you’re afraid that I’m having too many feelings for you to handle!”

“I wasn’t afraid of loving you, Morgan,” Ruth said, more quiet and stiffly controlled than ever. “I was afraid because I already did. I took one look at you, doughy and red and screaming and I loved you. And say all you want about chemicals and hormones in the wake of a pregnancy, but I couldn’t shake that love no matter how stubbornly you disobeyed me or how miserable you tried to make me. A love like that could only mean it would find you sooner rather than later. So I protected you.”

Morgan’s face crumpled with tears. She had waited her whole life to hear her mother say she loved her and now she wanted to scream to drown it out. “You hurt me. You didn’t even want me and you hurt me.”

“I changed my mind about wanting you as soon as I saw you.” Ruth said.

“That doesn’t matter. Like what, if your mother was here and she said she loved you, that would excuse how she destroyed you? Everything she took and burned and beat out of you?” Morgan stared wide-eyed at her mother, daring her to challenge what she said. “She turned you into someone capable of locking your kid away all day. Someone who would try to yell at her out of a fucking panic attack. Someone who would rather gaslight her child into hating herself to the point of danger than admit the truth. Someone couldn’t say I love you for her whole life. Is making you capable of that okay if she loved you? Love isn’t supposed to hurt like that, Mother. It’s not anything a person should want or be giving if it’s giving out licence to be cruel too.”

“Sometimes, pumpkin--”

“No. Not with love. Other reasons, fear, jealousy, anything else. But not that.”

“Then what is it you want from me, Morgan?”

Morgan had to think. She couldn’t touch the thing she wanted, not if it came with accepting all those miserable years, all that misguided bullshit, the skewed equations that meant her self-hatred was worth this so-called perfection and calling it love. She clung to Deirdre’s arms, fastening her tight to her back. It had been a difficult autumn, but what they had was never cruel, never calculating. Their mistakes and lapses were honest. They told each other what was wrong and what they needed. They were honest. They were sorry. Morgan threaded their fingers together as she cried. She tried to breathe with her, steady and confident. “I want you to apologize,” she said.

“I did the best I knew how. I swear to you, no, you--” she pointed at Deirdre. “If I am holding back even a little truth, I will vanish from this cemetery and haunt somewhere else for the rest of my days. I swear--”

“Don’t, Mother,” Morgan said softly. She let go of Deirdre and slipped away, coming right up to her mother until they were face to face. She needed to do this much on her own. “You don’t have to swear. I get it. This is hard for you. And you just want to feel like it was all worth it. All those mistakes, those shitty choices, all of that pain you made both of us carry. You want the exchange for what you sacrificed. But the spell isn’t what you thought it was, Mommy. You got it wrong and it’s not going to bring you what I feel like you’re asking me for.” She sniffled and tried to cup her hand around the shape of her hand. If she could just squeeze it, if she could hold even a piece of her for a second-- “Now, I’m going to destroy the person who really started this. Because you used to be just a sad little kid like I was and none of it was ever going to be fair and you deserve to know that she’s going to be punished. I’m gonna do that for us. Her soul will be nothing and she will hurt as much as we have the whole way. But I can’t get rid of what you did by destroying her. If you want something back from me, you have to at least tell me--” Morgan shuddered as her resolve crumbled one word at a time. “Tell me you’re sorry and you know now it was wrong. Just tell me that much.”

Ruth didn’t say anything for a long time. She could not bear to look at her daughter’s face, unnaturally pale as she began to sob. Morgan always grew red so quick. She forgot how to breathe, it was like she was so ready to run from any suffering, she’d try and take herself into the ether to hide from it. How she made Ruth panic when she hyperventilated. Her eyes would grow big she’d wheeze so helplessly, expecting Ruth to simply know the antidote. “I love you, Pumpkin,” she whispered, just for her daughter’s ears. Then she leveled her gaze at Deirdre. “My vow still stands. I swear I shall not haunt this place another moment again if I am holding any lies or doubts in my heart. I was wrong. I was wrong and I’m—I’m—”

There was a terrible pause before Morgan saw her mother dissipate. She had expected the trick as soon as the words had begun, but there was no bracing herself for the silence that claimed her mother’s voice and in the farthest, saddest parts of her, she thought she screamed just so she didn’t have to hear it.

There were several reactions Deirdre expected—anger, acceptance, sorrow. But for all she expected, Ruth was undeniably hard to read. She reminded her of her own mother in that way, as if her only emotions were anger and pride. Deirdre had yet to see the pride though, but she imagined it would come. And she hoped, as anyone who loved Morgan might, that it would be the right kind. She watched her intently, knowingly. Ruth had an answer delivered to her on a plate in two courses; an admittance of love, and an apology. She knew one would be easier than the other, but as Morgan had taught her, she hoped for both parts. And she waited. And she listened and she cut her ears through all of Ruth’s filler. And she waited. “I don’t accept that,” she mumbled, rejecting her vow. How could she? Neither of them were asking Ruth to leave, only to accept the truth all of them knew. There was no reason to swear to her, and Deirdre held no desire to humour her game. She would stand there and she would be honest on her own merits. She would listen to the sound of her own voice for once. And so she waited. The love came strangely coated in guilt, before her attempt at bolstering a fae bind, but at least it came. As Ruth continued to speak, Deirdre realized her vow was some manner of a performance. She had been withholding the truth from the start, hadn’t she? And now she wanted her exit, and freedom from Morgan. How would her daughter ever find her if she haunted some other place and she had no more magic to search? The hope she had, little as it was, shrank. Ruth revealed herself to be many things: a liar, a coward, and a bad mother. “I don’t accept,” Deirdre mumbled again. She wanted to ask her what it was this time, fear or guilt? Which did she let disguise itself as care? But she was gone soon, perhaps realizing Deirdre hadn’t created any promise between them, and she needed to be away from any more ideas she didn’t like. Deirdre turned her gaze to the cemetery gates, half expecting to find Ruth there, tip-toeing her way out with her bag of stolen goods over her shoulder.

Satisfied that Ruth wasn’t lingering behind some tree, Deirdre blinked her death-vision away and wrapped her arms around her girlfriend. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, trying to pull Morgan against her, “I’m sorry.” As it was, even trying to show how much they understood of her—how much her daughter, the very woman she didn’t think understood much, knew—and how she had no more places to hide, she still manufactured her own escape. “I’m sorry your mother is...like that.” She surrounded Morgan with her love, affection that would not leave, and hoped it could make something okay. “I didn’t accept her promise, by the way. It didn’t seem right to let her have that. But I suppose she just left anyway.” Deirdre sighed, and tried to meet Morgan’s eyes. “How are you, my love? Are you okay?”

Morgan whipped her head around, one side, then the other, searching for where her mother had gone. How far could she have gone? Where was she? Her chest burned and she clenched her fists to keep herself together. “You coward!” She screeched. She strained her eyes on the horizon, hoping to see her silhouette, even a vague Ruth-shaped blip nearby. How good could she be at this after only three years? “You don’t love anything, how dare you!” She kicked the bronze flower holder, over and over until it bent and the flowers spilled over. “You don’t want to talk to me, fine!” Her voice broke and she slumped in Deirdre’s grasp, weeping and gasping. “I should’ve known, I should’ve known she would never--” She grit her teeth and shook her head. “I heard you, and I knew you would never, you wouldn’t take her from me…” She shuddered, choking on sobs. “I don’t want you either!” She screamed to the sky. Maybe she was hiding there, or in a treetop, or behind a car. “I don’t want anything from you until you can tell me that, you coward!” She screamed again and buried her face in Deirdre. “I should’ve known she wouldn’t ever--” Change. Be different. Be better. She had died cruel and now she was determined to be that way. All that fear, all those stupid horror stories and bad memories-- Morgan sobbed and sagged against her girlfriend. “I’m sorry,” she said, still gasping. “You shouldn’t have had to put up with her, and what she tried to put on you.” At least she had run away on her own terms, if that could even be counted as a bright side. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I guess at least I don’t have anything left to say to her,” she laughed bitterly. “I don’t know. I wanted her to be better. If she was here, I was hoping she would...be someone who wanted to be better. I thought if I just understood…and I do, I do understand her pain. But she couldn’t…” Morgan shook her head and let it fall onto Deirdre’s chest. She was tired, and she wanted to be somewhere else.

“It’s not so bad—not so wrong—to hope.” Deirdre hummed, holding her girlfriend close, arms weaved around her as tight as she could manage. “I did too. I really thought she would—“ Deirdre swallowed, sighing the rest of her sentence away. It didn’t matter so much now that they had; Morgan wasn’t at fault for expecting her mother to...be a mother. Deirdre breathed her girlfriend in, pressing her lips against her jaw. There was much she didn’t know about motherhood, or family itself, but she had hoped that Ruth loved Morgan enough to face herself. She couldn’t imagine any other feeling being stronger than love. “It’s okay,” she kissed her cheek now. “Don’t be sorry to me. I’m okay.” She reached her hands down, and felt around Morgan’s purse for a pen and a tissue. “Let’s go back to the hotel, okay?” She kissed her again, pulling back and clicking the pen. “And we don’t have to do anything else. And if you’re feeling up to it, we can come back for the bones tonight like you planned, or we could do it tomorrow, or I can get them, or—“ Deirdre smiled softly. “Let’s just go back, and we can figure out the rest from there. We always do.” She scribbled carefully on the tissue, showing its contents off to Morgan when she finished. “Our address,” she smiled, stuffing it under the bent flower holder. “In case she wants to be civil for Yule. If not, I can throw salt at her. Ghost mothers are convenient like that.” She stepped back, her eyes drifting to the small note she left in the corner “if you want to try it differently”. Deirdre took Morgan’s hand in hers. “All good?”

Morgan rested in Deirdre’s arms, barely standing at all. There was something so counterintuitive and strange and gratifying about knowing Deirdre had hoped too. Even with all she knew of the world and all she knew about Morgan’s mother, she had it in her to hope. Morgan hiccuped another harsh sob and squeezed her girlfriend tight. “I love you,” she mumbled. “And I never, never want to hurt you the way either of us were. I love you and I want our life to be better. And I don’t need anything she has if it’s not going to fit with that.” She just wanted it. Or rather, she wanted her mother to learn to give something she could keep. Just one thing. One nice thing. Morgan hadn’t been able to give her peace with anything she had to say and she had nothing left in her to offer. She clung to Deirdre’s body as she fiddled in her bag and scribbled on the tissue. The rawness in her throat eased as she saw the note, the hope Deirdre was determined to carry for her, for both of them. She felt like a discarded pumpkin, hollowed out and too soft to stand. When Deirdre had finished her work, Morgan squeezed herself flush against her body again. “Thank you,” she said. “I...really like that. I guess when she can choose different…” Morgan shrugged, even as her trembling lip gave away the lingering pain.”Maybe she’ll be at peace. Maybe we both will.” Because that ache was still in her, the one cut by the girl she’d been, banging on her locked door and begging her mother for another chance, for her love. Morgan told the ache to hush, and wait, and have hope. She breathed slowly, trying to make her body still again. If it worked at all she couldn’t tell, but with Deirdre’s hand in hers, it didn’t matter. She nodded and started walking back toward the parking lot. Morgan cast one more glance at the cemetery, watching the shadows and the ripples in the short grass. Was she here? Was she watching? Was Agnes? But there wasn’t a soul to be seen, living or dead anymore. Morgan tucked herself into Deirdre’s side, murmuring, “I still want today to be good. I just need to lay down with you for a little bit, in our world. And then we’ll do all those things we said. And when we come back for Agnes--” She cast one more look back at the cemetery, lingering on her mother’s grave before turning to the spot where she knew Agnes was buried, too much in the shadow of the mausoleum for the grass around her to grow even, her placard probably weathered down to nothing. Morgan squeezed Deirdre’s hand to signal that she’d be back. She scooped up the fallen flowers and ran them over to Agnes’ neglected grave. It was so old, it wasn’t even granted a bronze vase with the others. Who was alive to care about her? Morgan laid the flowers down as neatly as possible and ran back to Deirdre’s arms. “We’ll make things good for Agnes too. If she’s still around here, we’ll help her too.”

“I love you too.” Deirdre said, marveling at how right those words always felt tumbling from her lips. Like breathing, she thought, and couldn’t imagine how anyone else thought they could be so hard to say. She nodded her agreement to Morgan’s words; they would be good to each other, as good as they possibly could be; they would be kind; they would be honest; the hurt they had endured would never be the hurt they left in the world. She could understand Ruth’s fear and cowardice, but only where it had come from, not why it needed to be clung to. She would not emulate her, and she knew Morgan wouldn’t either. It felt so simple then, holding Morgan in the cemetery that held her family, that they could be good. But as she had started to learn, simple did not mean bad. “Are you sure you want to—?” Deirdre swallowed, nodding. “Okay.” She watched Morgan with fondness and curiosity melded into one soft smile and head tilt. As she had also begun to learn, “good” was not some looming branch, fruit too far above to be plucked, it was smaller than that. Seeds, perhaps. Old roots, maybe. It took many shapes, just as evil did. Good was, sometimes, flowers for a neglected grave, dirt brushed off an old name. It was listening to a girl who knew far more about the world than anyone gave her credit, even her own mother. It was life’s discovery, one day at a time. It took the shape of people, or of arms wrapped around. “Yes,” she breathed, leaning down to kiss Morgan finally, fiercely. “We can make it good for her too, even if she isn’t around, even if she is.” Good was not one thing, once, but many things, all the time—shifting. It was choice. And there was no one who knew choice better than Morgan Beck.

#don't do sadness #wr deirdre #wr ruth #wr ruth beck #wr chatzy #wr deirdre chatzy #wr ruth chatzy #wr ruth beck chatzy #abuse tw #tw abuse #domestic abuse tw #emotional abuse tw #mentions of #wickedswriting

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acrispyapple · 4 years

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why do you watermark official pics that aren't yours? i'm honestly shocked cybird hasn't had you banned for dcma laws + spoiling paid stories and epilogues, but you do you. you made it so i never have to pay money for any of the cybird games + mlqc. also i read why you aren't posting the sprites which is cool and all but you shouldn't be posting game elements either way. that's super shitty of you to do because spoiler THE ARTWORK ISN'T YOURSSSSSSS. the pic of victor on your twitter isnt yours 2

heya! i’ve already answered an ask like this recently and ignored the follow up ones because i don’t really wanna keep repeating myself. but since you’re very persistent and it’s still the same thing, here i go! putting under a cut because it’s long and has images – with stuff written on them! dun dun dunnnn (¯▿¯)

to start things, i’m the wrong person to accuse of being irresponsible with my posts because i’m very mindful of posting etiquette. have you not seen all my campaigns about not stealing from artists, from blogs, etc. i ask for permission for everything, even for random text i want to translate from someone’s post. even for cosplay i’ve seen other people freely post, i always go to the source and ask. i hope my answer clarifies things for you because i don’t really wanna have to repeat it again! (*^^*)♡

re: watermarks (complaint mostly about mlqc because i don’t really do it for cybird)

re: cybird

i’m not exactly a hidden secret blog, so i’m pretty sure cybird is well aware of me. plus, they’ve left comments on my blog in the past. sooo, there’s nothing shocking about it at all! maybe what’s shocking is you somehow expected cybird to not have noticed my blog all these years. do you actually know what the digital millennium copyright act covers? (dmca not dcma btw) as long as i know how to read and understand rules and i’m always within its boundaries, there’s nothing being violated. always post obstructed cgs / never full, snippets of 10 for screenies, never in consecutive order, etc. you should read the rules tbh, you seem unfamiliar with it. ☆

re: you never having to pay money for any cybird game

again, snippets = not full stories. everyone can post snippets. paid or not. that’s so weird that you feel you don’t need to pay for ~any cybird game~ anymore because of my blog. i haven’t been consistently posting paid content for so long. even ikesen epilogues. because i don’t have the time. and i’ve skipped posting a couple of events on my blog too. i don’t post ikerev / midcin consistently either. i’ve posted from two ikevam events in the past months with epilogue snippets. i guess you only played those? that’s hardly everything. nice attempt at creating an issue about me making cybird lose money tho! for someone who thinks i do dodgy things, you sure do like reading from my blog– if what you’re saying is true. but you seem to not know my blog content either. (⌒_⌒;)

i have another answer for this from an ask from 9 months ago:

re: not paying for mlqc

they allow posting everything from their game, i even verified with their team! but even i don’t have the time or post slot to post everything from it. i mostly post about victor soooo, i guess that’s everything you need to know about mlqc then? yay for you only needing victor! ♡

re: game elements

what?

anyway, moving forward to my twitter header:

it’s from this post i made, where i screenied scenes (and edited them a bit to look brighter and prettier) from the pv of the new chapters in the ch version.

now, i just put my username there as a marker and it was already covered in the first part of this ask. (how it helps me keep track of my posts, helps me when people are able to identify it’s from my blog and alert me of it being posted elsewhere, etc.) but i wanted to show it even clearer so you can finally let go of whatever it is you’re burning with. ( ˙▿˙ )

it just says acrispyapple on this screenie i took (that’s right, it’s just a screenshot lmao), it’s a random word or name. i made it small and inconspicuous so it wouldn’t distract from the image. the weibo watermark is bigger and clearer but i don’t use it– i can, but i don’t. when people see it, they know it’s official art and that’s it. there’s no “made by acrispyapple™©®”

(thanks for visiting my twitter btw! it doesn’t really have a lot of followers haha)

sooo, there’s weibo and its automatic watermarks (location can be changed).

“damn, all the users on weibo are claiming stuff as their own!!!! it’s not just a marker that a certain thing was posted from a certain blog!!! they’re claiming it as theirs even tho it’s clearly very easy to see that it’s one of many free-for-all official images!!!” (≧◡≦)

and i’ve seen people use the cards as banners for fanfics and other stuff, or even memes where they put random stuff on it like this:

but writing a random word on it, just because you know my blog is somehow a great sin? it’s not even acrispyapple.tumblr.com ✿

would it maybe make you feel better if it wasn’t just acrispyapple? i can use random words and it’ll still serve as a marker for me lmao

anyway anon, it pays to actually listen and read before you get mad and accuse. i’m not breaking any rules and i’m very much aware of what’s not allowed and what’s allowed. (^ ^*)♡

edit:

i kinda like it. (^◔ᴥ◔^)

side note: if you have a vendetta against me, you’re free to have one. but please don’t try to make stuff up just to yell at me. you can hate me quietly from afar or just avoid me altogether. or if you want to find a reason to yell at me, at least try to educate yourself about what you’re planning on yelling at me about. it’ll save me time trying to explain stuff! i also don’t like wasting my post slots for the day. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

i would suggest looking at my actual content first, so your lack of knowledge of it doesn’t give you away. also, try asking yourself if you really think cybird’s en team would miss me after all these years and if you’re somehow the only enlightened one who can see all my ~misgivings~? are you aware of mlqc’s rules?

it’s funny because i’m not even close to covering everything for mlqc and there are blogs that cover far more than i do. i answer a lot of asks (i wish asks were paid content, as in i get paid to answer asks), but game content-wise, i’m faaaar from covering everyone. unless you really consider victor the whole game (♡). in which case i’m still missing his ch11 and ch19 screenies and one date. oh and the recent rumors&secrets! if you take a look at my posts, it’s mostly announcements, asks, fanart, general info, avatar posts, etc. i think you blindly went in with salt. ( ˙▿˙ )

i don’t really interact with people unless i have to talk about reposts and fanart-related stuff. i also just talk about games on my blog. so i don’t know what i could’ve done to merit your hatred. maybe you dislike that i ask for basic courtesy or that i enforce rules given to me by artists? i’m always polite tho. hmm, mystery-desu! ✩‧₊˚

#asks #anon #personal #saltier than the dead sea #plz come because i have watermelon #(っ˘ڡ˘��)#showing comic sans some love

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imagesbyele · 4 years

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redirect from this post , don’t reblog

theme 08 aro-ace

first of all, as always: do NOT trust your tumblr preview when you go to the customization page or html editor. It messes npf photosets and more things, so you should check your blog page to see the changes. That and the preview window is smaller than your desktop and will likely show the tablet view. Also remember to toggle everything on and off once.

static preview / code

links with the tutorials/posts I used to make the theme, with the people I credited for it, are in my pinned posts, it’s the link ‘credits’. For my images (sidebar etc) I used random ones found on google. I also used googlefonts and 1001fonts font fonts. for my icons I used fontawesome ones, and I chose dragons as permalinks and in the pinned post so just search for dragons if you want to change each of them into something else. You should also search the envelope to find the ask one (and right above it the house) if you want to change those links and the icons don’t work well with them. I didn’t make the ask one disappear if you don’t enable asks exactly because you can just type a different url for your link and title from your customization page, then go change the icon into what you want from the html editor.

some instructions/explanations starting from the things with asterisks on the post, feel free to contact me for anything:

*the symbols you can use for your lists mark, right now spades: here on w3schools. You can copy the symbol or the second code present, the hex one, adding a \ right before. Or just copy the image itself. Could be a keyboard symbol too if you google them and paste them there. If you don’t want it, you should go to the html editor, erase ul li::marker and its content, and chat li::market as it’s not needed anymore. then edit ul (right next to ul li:marker) which right now has {list-style:none; other stuff;} by changing it back to {list-style:normal; other stuff;} You can leave the symbol for post titles empty if you just want your title and nothing around it and that’s all.

*Glenthemes made a tutorial about it before on how to add your songs urls to tumblr players here, but if you can’t go to the post now basically you put your mp3 song on dropbox, right click on it, select copy link, then paste the link, remove everything the link has written after .mp3, change www in dl at the beginning of the link and that’s it.

note that spotify posts this time have a max-height of 80px which means never seeing the big album art nor the empty space with the background color of the album art depending on your post-size. It also means that if you post playlists people won’t see your list of songs under the player, so if you want to change it look for .spotify_audio_player and make the height bigger, even if that will change the height of the regular player too and re-add the weird album art choice they made.

if you don’t want the tiny-image/post separator image to appear in your ask page and other pages (I do, I love the look, so I left them by default) you do need to go to the html editor and look for <div class=“tinyimage”> you’ll find that it’s wrapped in several blocks, the one that contains them all is {block:ifshowtinyimage}. Now, right before that block put {block:date} and at the end of the tinyimage area where you find {/block:ifshowtinyimage}, put, after this last block thing, {/block:date}

this way it will only appear in posts that have a date, which means your regular posts on tumblr and not your custom pages and asks etc.

(like this:

{block:date} {block:ifshowtinyimage} blah blah {/block:ifshowtinyimage} {/block:date}

and I think that’s all!

#redirect post

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bananagreste · 5 years

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tutorial: how to make gifs (part 1)

Hello!

Today, I will explain how I make gifs. Due to the tutorial being image-heavy, it will be split into two parts. In this part, I will explain the methods to capture image frames and how to prepare your gif prior to colouring.

I used the following programs:

Adobe Photoshop CS6 Extended Edition

KMPlayer or Avidemux

Step 1: Prepare your videos.

Ideally, 1080p videos are the best for gifmaking. However, 720p videos are also great. It’s not advisable to use lower resolution videos, but if you must, stick to making small gifs to avoid loss in quality.

Step 2: Prepare your Photoshop workspace.

This can be done on selecting Window and enabling the following options:

Actions

Adjustments

Layers

Properties

Timeline

Note: Regardless of version, ensure your Photoshop is the extended edition as timeline option is not available in the standard edition. If your timeline has two options: create video timeline or create frame animation, you are good to go.

Step 3: Capture your image frames

There are two methods that can be used to capture image frames.

Method 1: Using KMP’s Frame Extraction

1. Open KMP. 2. Right click and select Options > Advanced Menu. 3. Right click again and select Capture > Frame: Extract (or Alt+G).

4. The above are my settings.

Method: only video image.

Numbers to extract: continuously.

Size to extract: original size.

Frames to extract: either ‘every frame’ or ‘every # frame’.

6. Press ‘start’ to begin the process and ‘stop’ when you are done.

Method 2: Using Photoshop’s Import Video Frames into Layers (plus Avidemux)

1. Open Photoshop.

2. Select on File > Import > Video Frames to Layers.

3. You will be prompted to select a video. Your video MUST be the following formats: MPEG‑1 (.mpg or .mpeg), MPEG‑4 (.mp4 or .m4v), MOV or AVI.

4. The above are my settings.

Range to import: selected range only.

(Optional: limit to every # frames).

Check ‘Make frame animation’.

The trim controls don’t allow for precision so be as close as possible.

5. Select ‘OK’ and wait for the frames to load.

# What if my video is not the above formats? # What if my video is too long?

You can use VLC to cut the video but I’m not familiar with it. You can also use a converter if you have one to re-encode the video. However, a friend suggested using Avidemux to cut and convert and I find it simple to use.

a. Open Avidemux.

b. Select File > Open. Choose your video file.

c. Find the scene you want. You can specify either by frame or by keyframe. Then, select ‘Marker A’ to mark the beginning and ‘Marker B’ to mark the ending of the scene selection.

d. The above are my settings.

Video Output: Copy.

Audio Output: Copy.

Output Format: MP4 Muxer or AVI muxer.

e. Select File > Save.

f. Do the steps as stated in Method 2.

Step 4: Load the frames in Photoshop

If you use Method 2, the frames will automatically load in the Timeline panel as Photoshop is already opened. If you use Method 1, follow these steps:

a. Open Photoshop.

b. Select File > Scripts > Load Files into Stack.

c. Select Browse, choose the image files, then click OK.

d. Usually, by default, only one frame will appear.

Select the dropdown button and do the following steps:

a. Make frames from layers

b. Select all frames (or manually select the first frame and shift + last frame)

c. Reverse frames

Make sure you double check!

Step 5: Determining the gif delay

Ideally,

if you extract all frames, the gif delay is between 0.05 to 0.07 sec.

if you extract every # frames, the gif delay is between 0.1 to 0.13 sec.

However, you don’t necessarily have to follow the suggested gif delay.

For example,

my gif delay when I extract all frames is either 0.05 or 0.07 sec.

my gif delay when I extract every 3 frames is either 0.14 or 0.17 sec.

My suggestion? Experiment until you find your preferred gif delay. Just remember not to make your gifs move too fast or too slow. If you are like me who wants to be able to see what’s going on in your gifs, go moderately slow.

a. With all frames still selected, right click on the gif delay and select ‘Other’.

b. Set the frame delay.

c. This is the loop option and by default, it’s set to ‘Once’. Change to ‘Forever’.

Step 6: Cropping

If you haven’t cropped your gifs, start cropping now.

However, make sure you have an idea of the layout for your gifs to avoid the frustration if you can’t put them together. Read this post for a guide on image sizes. You can also read this post for layout inspiration.

For my gifs, the following are my gifs dimensions (width x height):

540x540 px - 1 per row

540x275 px - 1 per row

268x335 px - 2 per row

268x150 px - 2 per row

180x225 px - 3 per row

Make sure the width is fixed, but the height can be adjusted necessarily.

Step 7: Convert for Smart Filters

a. Select all the frames (timeline panel) AND all the layers (layers panel).

b. Find this button next to the loop option and select it to turn the frame animation into video timeline, as shown below:

c. Select Filter > Convert for Smart Filters. All of the layers will merge into one, as shown below:

d. Select Filter > Sharpen > Smart Sharpen. Apply these settings.

e. Select Filter > Blur > Surface Blur. Apply these settings.

f. Alternatively, use actions to make things easier and faster. You can download my action here. How to load action? Select the dropdown button, choose ‘load actions’ and load my action. Press the play button and you’re off!

Step 8: Gif preparation is completed!

Here’s what your workspace should look like so far.

In the next part of this tutorial, I will primarily explain how to do colouring plus tips on how to survive colouring the show bc consistent colours? Idk her. Additionally, I will also have a brief section on how to add subtitles.

If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to ask.

#g: tutorial #miraculous ladybug

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itsomgitsgreenblogging · 4 years

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Re-sublimity: A Critical Role Fanfic

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

...enjoy!

Read on AO3

Preview:

>Journey Log #105

>Entered Intergalactic Standard Time 23:04

>Order: Read Transcript

Dear Traveler,

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

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

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

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

Bye!!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

>Postscript 7, Added by Caduceus Clay: Imjuhbdwpqidnamap

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Last name?”

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

“Tusktooth!” Jester chirped.

“Just Fjord,” Fjord clarified.

“Planet of origin?”

“Nicodranas.”

“Business here in the Kryn Dynasty?”

“Ship repairs, and mercenary work.”

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

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

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

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

“Name?”

“Caleb Widogast.”

“Planet of origin?”

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

“Business here in the Kryn Dynasty?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And how old are you?”

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

“Human, right?”

“I would be.”

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

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

“Lucky day?” Beauregard asked incredulously.

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

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

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

“My friends…”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” the officer said simply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What does it say?" Jester asked excitedly.

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

Caleb ignored them and read it out loud.

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

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

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

>Personal Log Entry #365242

>Entered Intergalactic Standard Time 01:11

>Order: Record.

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

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

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

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

>Order: Save.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Congratulations?” Fjord offered weakly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t have a twin,” Caleb sighed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Reintroduction?” Jester asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Caleb. Caleb Widogast," Caleb said softly.

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

"My friends. The Mighty Nein."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I...yes, how did you…?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Essek disappeared into the shadows, leaving Caleb behind.

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

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homoose · 3 years

Text

Love Has a Learning Curve: Part IV (x OC)

Summary: Maggie visits Spencer at the university and finds that her old insecurities aren’t as dead as she thought.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x OC

Category: hurt/comfort, fluff

Warnings/Includes: implied smut, jealousy, insecurity, self-deprecation, vague mentions of previous emotional/mental abuse (Owen), mentions of cheating (Owen)

Word count: 3.2k

a/n: Owen’s really a piece of shit, huh?

Series Masterlist

———

“Could I come see you teach?”

Spencer looked up from his desk, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “It might be kind of boring. It’s a 100 level Intro to Profiling course.”

He scrunched his nose in the way he sometimes did and clicked the cap on his pen once, twice, three times. “If you, um— if you really want to.”

He set his pen down and leaned back in his office chair, avoiding her eyes. She pulled her leg back, regretting her decision to ask. “It was just an idea. I don’t have to if you don’t want.”

Maggie scoffed. “I’m sure you’re not awkward.” She twirled one of the curls falling into his face around her finger, releasing it into a soft ringlet. “But seriously, if you don’t want me to come, it’s fine.”

He rolled his chair closer and ran his hands up the tops of her thighs. “I do want you to. Really.”

“Mhm,” he hummed, standing up and dragging her toward the bedroom with only a little too much enthusiasm.

…

“Okay, can I help you with anything?” Maggie asked, setting her bag down on the lecture podium.

“Actually, yeah. Could you, um— write these topic notes,” he pulled out his notebook and flipped it open, “on that half of the board?”

“You got it, professor.” She accepted the notebook, turning to the board and uncapping the dry erase marker.

“This is much faster with two people. I should hire you.”

“You couldn’t afford my hourly rate,” she teased, leaning down a bit to copy the last bullet point.

“Is there a boyfriend discount?” he asked, a soft fingertip tracing down her spine.

She laughed as she capped the marker and set it in the tray, turning to face him and tilting her head in consideration. “Maybe we could work something out.”

He brought his hands to her hips, dug his fingers in, and pulled her closer. “Yeah?” He brushed his lips over hers and stepped forward, nearly pressing her back against the board.

“Mmhmm,” she agreed, pressing a slow kiss to his mouth. She used her hands on his tummy to push him back a little. “But I charge double if you smudge it.”

“Fair.” He smiled and kissed her again, this time bringing his hands up to cradle her face.

“As much as I’d love to kiss you forever,” she mumbled against his lips, “your students are going to be here any minute.”

He groaned and leaned his forehead against hers, and she laughed at his petulance. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom, and then I’ll sit up in the back. You won’t even know I’m here.”

He pulled back with a sigh. “You being here is all I’m going to think about.”

“Yeah,” he confirmed, leaning against the lecture podium. “1:00 to 2:00. The quad is beautiful this time of year, and there’s a coffee shop if you wanted to hang out there.”

…

She’d seen him, kissed him less than ten minutes ago, and yet here she was— blushing like a schoolgirl and resisting the urge to pull at her collar.

“We’ve got a lot to cover today. Let’s get started.”

Just as she suspected, he was an absolute natural. Unbelievably knowledgeable of course, but also incredibly enthusiastic and positively captivating. She couldn’t take her eyes off him.

…

Fifteen minutes later, she was on her way back down the hallway toward his office, a coffee in each hand. When she turned the corner at 12:57, she was stunned to see that a line was already forming.

“You gotta be kidding me,” she muttered, approaching the crowd of undergraduates.

One particularly perky coed stood directly in front of his door, and Maggie cleared her throat. When the girl turned, she held up the coffees and gestured to the door. “I’m so sorry. I— I’m just gonna drop this off. I’ll just be one minute.”

The girl took a small step back, barely allowing Maggie to squeeze through the door left slightly ajar. It creaked slightly as she stepped through it, and Spencer’s head lifted from where he was hunched over his desk.

“Hey!” He stood and shuffled around the side of the desk.

“Hi.” She forced a smile. “Sorry, I won’t keep you, I just— thought you might like a pick-me-up,” she said, holding out the cup to him.

“Mhm,” she smiled again, a little more genuinely. “See you then, professor.”

Now she just needed to believe it.

She gathered her things, finishing up the last sips of her coffee before scoping out a garbage can. She tossed her empty cup in the bin on her way back to the building. As she opened the door, the blast of air conditioning cooled her sweaty skin. She stopped by the bathroom to splash her face with cool water, taking only a moment to look at herself under the harsh fluorescent lights.

The other chair was occupied by a student, quite clearly waiting for Spencer, judging by the heavy sigh that accompanied his glance up at the office door. Maggie almost laughed at the way he aggressively checked his watch, tapping his foot rapidly on the floor.

“Is it— um. Is it always like this?” She gestured to Spencer’s door.

He stood and gathered his things, and Maggie did laugh a little then. “Good luck.”

He waved and headed off down the hallway, and Maggie turned back to see a girl leaving out through Spencer’s half-open door, looking positively dreamy. She barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes as the next girl stepped through the door.

She waited another twenty minutes for the final two students to finish their visits. When the last student made her way out the door and down the hall, Maggie stood and smoothed down the skirt of her dress. She crossed the hallway and peered into his office, knocking on the door frame.

Spencer raised his head with a panicked look, his face softening into relief when he saw it was her. “Hey. Close the door,” he begged.

Maggie stepped into his office and closed the door quietly behind her. She finally took a look around the space— fairly small but tastefully decorated. The wall across from her was one enormous bookcase, filled to capacity, of course. Light filtered in from a single window, and his mahogany desk sat on the far wall, accompanied by a wing back leather office chair. Behind his desk was a low shelf lined with a globe, some other trinkets, and a plethora of picture frames.

“Sorry that took so long.” He ran a hand over his face. “I don’t know why my office hours are always so busy.”

She hummed, crossing to the gigantic bookshelf. “No?”

“No,” he confirmed exasperatedly. “No one else has that many students at their office hours. I asked.”

She laughed a little. “You asked?”

She did laugh at that, full and loud. “Well, if my professors looked like Dr. Spencer Reid, I imagine I’d come up with a litany of questions, too. Stupid or otherwise.”

“Are you— are you jealous?” he asked incredulously.

“No,” she defended, a little too quickly and voice a little too high.

“It’s okay if you are. Jealousy is— it’s a very normal human emotion.” He cleared his throat. “It’s, um— it’s kind of hot, actually.”

“But you know you have no reason to be, right?” He cupped a gentle hand under her chin, finally brought her eyes to his. “Why would I be interested in girls when I already have a woman?”

When she didn’t say anything, he continued, “A woman who brings me coffee, and buys gifts for my fish, and helps me make PowerPoints, and goes to fancy dinners at Le Chateau LaMontagne.”

She sniffed but tried to lighten the mood. “She sounds pretty great.”

“She is great. She’s remarkable.” He tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “I love you.”

She squeezed his hand. “I love you, too.” For now, that was enough.

———

Permanent tags: @spacedikut @andiebeaword @averyhotchner @pinkdiamond1016 @shadyladyperfection @coffeeandendlesswords @justanothetfangirl @no-honey-no @ajeff855 @sapphic-prentiss @rexorangecouny @rainsong01 @blameitonthenight21 @moviequeen51 @90spumkin @reniescarlett @ncsls0515 @sturmmhond @takeyourleap-of-faith @calm-and-doctor @reidtheprettyboy @atabigail @ayo-cowbelly @muffin-cup @ssa-natalya-reid @wheelsup @reidingmelodies @this-is-gublerween @s1utformgg @reidemandweep @sonnydoesrandomshit @rigatonireid @luwheezey @joalsglasses @je-suis-prest-rachel @dr-omalley @spencie-adams @honestimanormalfan @blurryreid @elldell1204 @babyhoneystvles @dayho3

Permanent (sfw) tags: @mrs-dr-reid @eevee0722 @goldentournesol @froggybagels (you asked to be on the perm tag list forever ago and I forgot!!!!!!)

Broken tags: @radtwinkie @archer561

Series tags (x OC): @kyomito @linnyalou

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic

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incandescent-eden · 4 years

Text

31 Days of Horror: Distort (1)

My story from yesterday for the first day of @witch-kid-writer ‘s 31 days of horror! (The prompts are really cool, I highly recommend checking them out!)

Total word count: 1653

TW / CW for: body horror, graphic descriptions of bodily horror sounds, moments of unreality, graphic descriptions of panic attacks, fatphobia mention

---

Imogen Gong was a quiet person. She had good grades, full AP classes and honors society in high school, got a partial scholarship to get into a decent college, practiced piano and violin and Chinese - the perfect image of what she was expected to be. Her parents were so pleased with how far their daughter had gotten.

For her part, Imogen wasn’t going to contradict them. Yes, I’m going to a great school, she told aunties who would cluck and congratulate her. Thank you, I’m really excited, I worked really hard. She would muster up the most emotion she can, tried to bend fatigue into pride, tried to twist empty, meaningless compliments into some amount of self-esteem.

And, as she should have prepared for, but didn’t expect, she crashed hard. Sure, her grades were still average, but the compliments dried out, and her sleep schedule became less of a schedule and more of a metronome bouncing back and forth between never sleeping and sleeping through classes, with panic attacks set as the notes. Quarter note equals sixty-six, repeat five times a day, her old piano teacher’s voice echoed in her head when her chest was tight and her muscles clenched involuntarily, and air was scarce.

If only she could play her panicked breathing as an instrument and her heart as a drum, and play a one person symphony orchestra, so she could become famous and rich and drop out entirely.

As it stood, she dropped her theory of computation class her third year of college and, in an effort to avoid having any eight am classes, re-enrolled the second semester that year in Professor Tenner’s class.

Professor Leonard Tenner was a curious man, in the way that he was absolutely, bizarrely average. He wore rectangle glasses and an ill-fitting suit every day he taught, and boyish white cheeks and balding brown hair. He spoke with a mild voice, with an accent that was painfully American, but just standard enough that his dialect gave no indication as to where in the United States he was actually from.

Imogen sat slumped in the second row.

“So suppose, I have this graph. The shortest path, then…” Professor Tenner would say with a small smile, as he drew the graph in faded whiteboard markers on a grayed out whiteboard, filling in circular nodes.

Professor Tenner looked up from the board for a second, his light eyes boring into Imogen. “Is everyone following along alright?” he asked with a mild smile.

The words that crawled from his mouth twitched and writhed, as though laughing, curling into themselves and over and into the students’ ears.

“I hope you’re all getting this information,” Professor Tenner continued. He traced the edges between the graph nodes, added number weights full of circular two’s and eight’s.

Each graph had different colors, pallid red and green and purple and blue graphs full of crossed, curving lines. The flat, gray whiteboard was stretched and distorted with the graphs scrambling over every inch.

“The shortest path, then…” said Professor Tenner, again and again and again, pacing from one end of the classroom to the other.

“The shortest path, then…” All the while, the graphs continued to twist.

Imogen’s pencil shook. He was going too fast; she couldn’t possibly write down the question that quickly.

“This will be on the exam, so make sure you know it,” said Professor Tenner. Imogen’s intestines twisted, as cross as the garish graphs that stared mockingly back at her with their incomprehensible paths of varying lengths. She hadn’t realized exams were coming on so soon.

The shortest path. The shortest path was...

“Oh, would you look at the time?” Professor Tenner said, at last. “I’ll see you all in class next week. Remember, the homework is due on Tuesday, and my office hours are Thursday from three to five!” His voice could barely be heard over the rush of students packing up to leave.

Imogen silently packed her things and went back to her room.

“Everything alright?” Cathy, her roommate, asked, when Imogen entered. Cathy was already seated at her desk, her psychology textbook cracked open, glasses smudged.

“Just tired,” Imogen replied, collapsing on her bed. The mattress was stiff. Her stuffed rabbit, Floppy, teetered precariously on the edge of the unlofted bed, moments away from falling to the cold tile floor covered in shed hair.

“I feel that,” Cathy said, highlighting a passage of her notes. “I’ve been studying my ass off for this exam.”

“I’m sure you’ll do great,” Imogen said, crawling under her blankets. The twisting in her torso would not go away. “I’m going to take a nap. Stayed up til four last night trying to do Tenner’s homework.”

“God,” muttered Cathy piteously.

Imogen made a noncommittal sound in agreement, curled into a ball to try and stop the cramping.

When she awoke, it was dark, and Cathy was gone. Probably at dinner or in the library. She checked her phone: notifications from Twitter, an email from her stats professor reminding everyone to bring a pen to class, and a grading notification from Tenner’s class. With a frown, Imogen checked the grade notification. The soft blue glow of the screen was cold, despite the thick blankets in which Imogen wrapped herself.

Her skin prickled with heat and ice simultaneously, staring at the impossibly curved score that danced on the screen as her hand shook.

Taking a small breath, Imogen locked her phone, throwing herself back into darkness. The twisting in her intestines worsened.

She was vaguely aware of Floppy lying on the dirty floor, but Imogen was too numb to poke her hand out of the blankets that swallowed her and rescue the stuffed rabbit. The world was spinning.

Imogen closed her eyes. Willed the spiraling graphs to disappear. Begged the curved, bloated, distorted score from her last homework to have been wrong, to stop glaring at her from behind shut eyelids.

Her breathing started to get faster. Quarter note equals forty, then fifty, then sixty six. In out, in out, in out, gasping and gasping and gasping, and suddenly it’s not her piano teacher’s voice she hears, but Professor Tenner’s.

“The shortest path, then…”

Imogen flipped on her light, shaking as she stumbled out of bed. The world itself wasn’t moving, not logically, but the straight path to the bathroom turned into a twisted maze, spinning around her with every wobbly step.

The bright fluorescent lights of the bathroom washed everything out as Imogen leaned on the counter, hovering over the sink. In, out, in out, the breaths came, faster and faster, but then - finally! - slowing down. Her skin was a pale green in the bathroom mirror, the same green as Professor Tenner’s markers.

Faded, weak, a shadow of the bright green the marker once must have been. And used to draw twisting graphs, twisting and twisting like Imogen’s intestines.

Imogen watched her eyes in the mirror, watched as the dark brown shifted from hopeless to glaring. If she could just stop cramping, she could start to do something.

To her surprise, her organs complied. The pain went away immediately.

Imogen blinked. Pinched herself.

Watched with glee as the skin gave way, stretched and curled around her fingers as she twisted. Laughed, even.

This had to be a joke. She tugged at her fingers, her thumbs, her palms.

Pop.

She had always struggled to play tenths on the piano, but no more.

Gazing in the mirror incredulously, Imogen pulled at her cheeks, watched as her lips curled into a smile.

She could get taller, she realized, stretching herself by several inches. Crack, crack, pop, went her spine. Her face slid into a wider smile even as her cheeks flattened. Mom had always wanted her to be taller, thinner. Now she could be.

For a second, her smile lingered, until the homework score flashed in front of her eyes once more.

The twisting in her intestines returned.

Will as she might, Imogen could not erase the pain this time. She grabbed her abdomen. Hugged it tight. Watched as her skin turned from sickly to pink from the blood rushing, twisting with her own hands this time. Twisting and twisting and twisting until the pain went away.

She kept twisting, desperately trying to erase the smooth curves of the number that flashed in her mind. Stretched her limbs outward at sharp angles, as far away from smooth curves as she could get. Pinched and pulled, faster and faster, copying the graphs Professor Tenner had scribbled on the board. Twisted her joints until they were the half-filled curlicues of her professor’s handwriting, and pinched her skin until it was the faint purple and green and red and blue of the markers.

Ignored the sounds of popping and crunching and squelching.

Imogen smiled to herself. There was no one else to smile to - she couldn’t even see where her mouth was in the mirror.

The shortest path was clear in her mind, now, an obvious path from elbow to lung to pelvis. Imogen kept shifting, rearranging, distorting herself until she had created each graph configuration of Tenner’s questions and several more.

Shortest path, longest path, minimum spanning tree, and so on. All of them were clear now.

A new number flashed before her eyes, the score she would get on this exam if the answers came as easily as they did now.

She could challenge herself more, get harder and harder questions right. Add more paths, more nodes, more edges, more cycles. Her breathing picked up again, this time from excitement - quarter note equals fifty five.

The sprawling, spiraling skin and the cracking and clacking of bones as they connected to form a new graph were barely even noticeable now. Imogen solved the shortest path from her knee to her skull, faster than before.

The shortest path, then… echoed Professor Tenner’s voice in Imogen’s mind, again and again.

#writeblr #horror #body horror #original fiction #original writing #31 days of horror #distort #body distortion horror #panic attacks #reevie writes #original story

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margaretroses · 4 years

Text

Gif Tutorial

I was recently asked for some tips for making gifs, so I thought I’d make a tutorial show how I make mine. I’m using Photoshop CC 2017 for this, but I think the steps should work for most versions of Photoshop. I previously used CS6 Extended but this version has disappeared from my laptop and left me with basic CS6 which I wasn’t able to gif with.

I download my video clips from Youtube or screen record from documentaries/other sources online.

1. First open your Photoshop program and go to File > Open and open the video clip that you have saved.

2. Once you’ve opened your video, you need to make sure the timeline window is open, to do this go to Window > Timeline. If you want to use the clip you’re using to make a single gif, rather than taking clips from a full video, then skip to step 5.

3. To save separate clips from a long video you need to adjust the dials below the time markers. To avoid having a gif that’s too large to upload to tumblr and also too long, I suggest keeping your clips to no more than 6 seconds (this may depend on your clip). You can zoom in closer to the time markers to see a more accurate time including seconds by using the slider tool at the bottom of the timeline window. Sliding towards the smaller mountain zooms out (showing the full clip length as in the screenshot), the bigger mountain zoom in, allowing you to see the seconds and create a more accurate clipping. Use the play button to the left of the window to play through your clip and adjust the dials as you wish.

4. Once you’ve selected the clip you want to use, it’s time to save them. Go to File > Export > Render Video. A new window will open, where you can rename the clip and select a folder to save them to. You can ignore the other options.

You can go back and repeat step 3 and 4 as many times as you like to save the clips you want to gif. Tumblr has a limit of 10 images/gifs per post, but some tutorial and resource pages will show you how to put two gifs on to one canvas so you can upload more than 10 at a time.

5. To start giffing, you need to import those clips you just saved. File > Import > Video Frames to Layers. As mentioned in step 2, if your video clip is short already then you don’t need to go through steps 3-4. Once the next window opens, you need to make sure that ‘Limit to Every 2 frames’ is ticked.

6. When I created my clip using step 3, there were some frames left over from the previous shot which I don’t want in my gif. To get rid of these, just select the frames you don’t want and you can either press the delete/backspace button on your keyboard, or click on the little bin icon. Now that you’ve deleted these frames from the timeline, you need to do the same in the layers window. Be sure not to delete the frame with the eye icon as this is now the first frame of your gif. You may need to have a scroll to the last frames in your clip, to check there aren’t any other excess frames you don’t want. If so, just follow these same steps.

7. Next up we’re going to set the time delay between frames. This will determine how fast or slow your finished gif loops. To do this, you need to select all of the frames on your timeline, and click on the arrow next to the number shown (typically defaults at 0.04). The seconds shown in the list will make your gif run super slow - this is the delay between each frame, so if you select 5.0 there will be a five second delay between one frame and another. So, to choose your own time, select ‘Other’. For me, unless my chosen clip is super short where I might want it to loop a lot more slowly, I try to have my gifs play in as close to ‘real time’ as I can. I set my delay at 0.06 seconds and adjust it later on if needed. You can always press the play button and see how your gif runs, but this isn’t usually an accurate playback speed.

8. Once you’ve done this, you need to highlight all of the frames in the timeline window and all of the layers in the layer window. Next, click on the button that looks like three lines, on the right side of the timeline window and select ‘Convert to Video Timeline’. Then, in the layers window, right click one of the layers and select ‘Convert to Smart Object’. This will compress all of the layers into one, but will still be playable.

9. Now we’re going to crop your gif. First, you might want an idea of how what kind of layout you want for your gifs - this will depend on how many gifs per set you want. If you’re just making one gif, then set your crop with to 500px and your height to whatever works best (250, 300, 500 etc). Two gifs per set (if you want them side by side) need a width of 245px, three gifs side by side need a width of 160px. Before you crop, you should make sure that on the top bar ‘Delete Cropped Pixels’ is unticked. This will allow you to move your frame and re-crop the area.

10. Once you’re happy with your cropped area, it’s time to make some adjustments. For my gif, I want it to have a width of 245px and a height of 300px. To change the size of your image you need to go to the top menu bar and select Image > Image Size. Make sure the measurements are set to pixels. Next we need to sharpen the image, so we go to Filter > Sharpen > Smart Sharpen. I always have mine set to 500% for the Amount, 0.3px for the Radius. In CS6, Smart Sharpen didn’t have an option to reduce noise, so I just set this to 100% as this seemed to work best for the quality. It helps if you have Preview ticked, so you can see how the adjustments affect your image.

11. Now it’s time to start applying filters! To keep everything together in one place, you’ll want to create a new group so click on the little folder icon at the bottom of the layers window. Then click on the round icon to the left of it - here are your adjustment options. Have a play around with these and see which ones work best for you. Click on the eye symbol next to the adjustment layer will turn the layer visibility off, so you can see the effect it has on your image and see if you need to make any changes.

I tend to edit all of my gifs in the same style, the only difference being the options I use for black and white gifs, and those for colour. My basic go-to adjustments are Brightness/Contrast, Levels, Selective Colour (W/N/B for B&W, all colours for coloured gifs). To create a level tone for my B&W gifs, I apply a Gradient Map, fading from black into a very light grey. Colour gifs - I play around with Vibrance, Hue/Saturation and Colour Balance. It doesn’t hurt to play through your gif while you’re editing, to see if the settings your using work for all frames and not just the cover.

12. Once you’re happy with your gif, we need to save that masterpiece. Go to File > Export > Save for Web (Legacy). Some version of PS might just say ‘Save for Web’. In the next window, the only thing you need to do is select ‘Forever’ in the Looping Options drop down menu. Here, you can also check the size of your gif and make sure it’s below the 3MB limit. If it’s over, then you may need to go back and cut the length of your clip a little by adjusting the sliders in the same way as in step 3. If it’s a tiny bit over the limit, shaving a second or two off of your clip should be enough. If it’s over by a lot then you may need to split your gif into two. Again, following step 3, you can simply adjust the sliders to split the timeline into two sections. Once you’ve done this try saving again and check the size. When you’re happy, all you need to do is click Save and you’re done! You’ll need to do this for every clip you want to gif. The more you gif, the easier it’ll become and you’ll find your own rhythm where it may take only a few minutes to make one gif.

As mentioned earlier, if your final gif playback is too fast/slow all you need to do is drag and drop the finished gif back into PS and adjust the time delay as per step 7. You can change this and save it again as many times as you like until it’s right for you.

** TIP ** Never close your tab window until you’re 100% happy with your gif, to the point that you’ve uploaded it. If you’ve noticed a mistake or a problem with your gif this allows you to go back and edit it without having to start over again. Also you can save your work in progress as a PDF at anytime. Trust me, there’s been many a time where I’ve closed my window and had to start again if there’s been a mistake.

#gif tutorial #tp

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dragonrajafanfiction · 4 years

Text

Dragon Dancer IV: Christmas Eve

I rocked back and forth in a glider chair, eyes scanning the wall murals around me. Cute images of foxes, owls and deer peeked behind tree trunks and bushes. Little raccoons hung out in the branches. A bear reached for a hive of bees for the small bead of honey dripping out the bottom. Each image was painted in loving detail and in good humor.

I shifted my vision to the corner of the room where a small artificial tree twinkled with simple white lights. Gifts were piled under it, mostly for the baby. Each toy had marked on it a name and a brief description.

“Ru’yi’s duckling.”

“Ru’yi’s bear”

“Ru’yi’s Hello Kitty”

On the door hung a simple plaque.

“Ru’yi’s room.”

I checked my phone. It was getting close to midnight Oslo time. My eyes shifted to the table next to the rocking chair. A white unopened envelope from Comemnus Corp lay waiting. I turned it over face down, next to a box of tissues.

I didn’t want to open that envelope alone.

My phone buzzed. I exclaimed with delighted surprise. It was Johann and he wanted to video chat!

I immediately accepted and his face filled my phone screen. I grinned. “Heeeey!” My smile faded when I noticed the dark rings around his golden eyes and his pale complexion. “Wow you look sleepy...”

“Jet lag..." He shook his head. “The mission itself was simple. No problems.”

His expression softened, looking into my eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“Oh, it’s definitely getting harder.” I rested my hand on my round, distended belly. “She’s sitting really low on me right now so I waddle like a fat penguin...” I rolled my eyes. “...and yeah going to the bathroom every half hour is no fun at all.”

“That’s disturbing your sleep.” He observed.

“Yes, but I sleep a lot during the day. I’m trying to get as much as I can, while I can get it. At least, I can breathe now that her head isn’t under my chest.”

“Any contractions?”

I shook my head.

“Bleeding? Pain?”

“I’m fine. I promise.” I raised my arms, flexing the muscles I’d managed to cultivate over a year of training. “We made sure I’d be strong for this. Remember?”

He nodded. “I remember.”

“So... I have a bit of a surprise.” I reached over to the envelope. “I got this last week but... I haven’t opened it yet.” I held it to the phone camera.

“Is that the prenatal dragon blood purity assessment?”

“Yep. It’s either good news or bad news...” I turned it over in my hands. “I didn’t want to open it without you here... just in case... you know.” My eyes shifted downward, voice trailing off.

“No matter what the news, I know we’ll be able to handle it. Go ahead and open it.”

“Okay... drumroll please?”

Johann obliged, lightly drumming his fingers on the desk. My words were light hearted, but I bit my lip as I tore open the envelope.

I unfolded the letter. “Thank you for choosing Comemnus for your genetic testing needs... we take pride in the accuracy of the results...blah blah...” My eyes scanned down the page. “...keep in mind that prenatal checks are just a marker to establish a history and not entirely predictive of the future...” I took a breath. “It’s recommended to do continual testing to monitor fluctuations.”

“We regret to inform you that Ru’yi’s dragon blood purity is 48.5%... putting her at... high risk...”

I set the letter in my lap. Disappointment welled up in my eyes. Warm tears slipped down my face. “I knew it... I knew it... I knew this was going to happen...”

“Meixiu.” Johann’s voice was gentle. “You know you have a stabilizing effect...”

“Yes but after she’s born? When she’s separate from my blood?” I reached over to the tissues and wiped my face. “If she tests over 50 percent they’re going to take her.”

“No one’s going to take her. At most they’ll have to monitor her for a while.” He reached out to his screen. “No one’s going to take her. I won’t let them.”

I wished he could reach through the screen. I rested against the back of the rocking chair, willing the tears to stop.

He brought the camera a bit closer. “She’ll be fine. Your Soul Skill can help her. She’s not going to end up constantly dying like Erii. And even if that were the case, you’re in a unique position to help her live out a long healthy life. But I don’t think she’ll be like Erii.”

I put the letter back on the night stand. “What do you think is going to happen?”

A small smile played on his lips. “I think she’ll be born beautiful... and very strong. We’ll have to train her early and often. We’ll have to protect her and watch her very closely. Our lives won’t be our own for quite some time. But... that’s alright.”

“Will we be shipped to the quarantine island...?” I asked him.

“She’s a baby, she’s not that dangerous. Meixiu, relax. Take a deep breath. Please.”

I took a deep breath, held it, and let it out.

Johann’s eyes didn’t shift away from me. He breathed with me, helping me calm down. He stared, intent and serious, holding my gaze like an anchor. “Don’t let this stress you out, not in these final days. Make sure you’re getting enough rest. If you feel your mind racing, just remember it’s going to be fine. Alright?”

“Okay...” Relief flooded me.

“Everything else is okay with her, right?” He asked, his soft voice guiding me through my panic.

“Yeah. She’s otherwise normal.”

“Good. Meixiu... Now... there’s something else.” He hesitated.

I detected a shift in mood from the way his brow creased when he glanced away. “I finished the mission a bit early. I should have called you earlier, but I was thinking about a lot of things... and I couldn’t sleep.”

He ran his hand along the back of his neck. “I met someone who... was doing all this work for a woman who was stuck in a coma in a hospital. And I thought... he should be by her side. And it hit me... that I was not at your side.”

I hurried to reassure him. “I said it was alright...”

He held up a hand. “Please... hear me out.”

I bit my lip. “Okay.”

He sat for a bit, eyes distant. “To be honest... I forgot it was Christmas until I saw the decorations here. I’ve been that busy. Right now in Norway the sun doesn’t come up. It just flashes below the horizon. People have to work for their bodies to function normally. They spend a lot of time together to pass the time. I... I was alone.”

“A year ago. I would have been fine with nothing but my sword and a suitcase. But now... I’m not so sure.”

“The whole reason I joined Cassell was out of my own desire for revenge over something that happened to me when I was younger. I obsessed about it every day. I didn’t care what I did, so long as it kept me getting closer to my ultimate goal.”

“But I have gotten no closer.” He rested his forehead against his hand. “And I’ve left you alone. I’m sorry, Meixiu.”

He looked at me again. “I’ve been getting offers for where I will be stationed as official commissioner with the Executive Department. I haven’t answered any of them.”

“I’d just keep doing what I’m doing now, rising through the ranks of commissioner, to special commissioner, to senior... until I’m given a desk job when I’m too old or injured to take on missions any more.”

“I might never find what I’m looking for. And what’s more... I... I’m not sure if I want it as bad as I used to. When I fall asleep all I do is miss you.” He looked away suddenly.

Did he not mean to say that? I wondered. Was he ashamed? I tilted my head in confusion. This way of thinking was nothing like the man I knew. I held my breath, following his line of reasoning. I had kept my silence before such an unusually long speech, stunned at what I was hearing. Was he thinking of ending his dragonslaying career?

“You want to quit?” I asked quietly, gently.

“I’m not sure... this is the first time I’ve felt like this. I don’t know how to tell Schneider.”

“You’re tired...”

“Yes...”

“Come home... get some sleep. Give it some time.”

He looked at me through the camera. The desperate, frustrated look to his eyes began to fade. “I just know that so long as that...” His jaw clenched. “... thing is out there, there’s a risk it might come after you.”

We sat silently a few seconds. “I’m strong, Johann.”

He shook his head.

“Then why don’t you tell me what we’re dealing with?” I asked. “You’ve been hiding this from me for years!”

I watched as the thoughts ran across his expression, his eyes shifting, weighing the pros and cons. His breath became shallower, his lips pressed together. Was what happened to his father really that hard for him to talk about?

“Please...” I said.

His voice was halting and soft. “I was... in the car with my father. It was raining so hard, we could hardly see the road...” He suddenly stopped.

I leaned forward. “Yes... and?”

He didn’t move or speak. A notification popped up. “Connection Lost.”

I sighed. “Are you kidding me!” I checked my wireless signal. “Johann? Are you there? Can you hear me?”

The screen went black. I clucked my tongue. I sat waiting and waiting for the connection to re-establish, trying again and again to call him.

“Unable to Connect with Chu Zihang.”

I sighed loudly and growled to myself. It was so rare for him to open up like this. Maybe he’ll get back online. I propped the phone up on the table and watched for his call, rocking back and forth. In an attempt to keep myself awake, I sang to myself. Johann’s song, a very familiar tune.

The trees, they grow high, and the leaves, they do grow green Many is the time my true love I've seen Many an hour I watched him all alone He's young but he's daily growing...

I patted my stomach as I sang. I got to the end of the song, but there was no sign of him.

I got up to go to the bathroom. I turned out the lights to the rest of the house, showered and changed into my night robe, checking back after each activity for a return call. Thirty more minutes had passed but there was none. The connection was truly out.

“Come on... Johann...” I whispered, sitting back down in the rocking chair.

I picked up the phone to dial again.

“Relax Meixiu... what time is it?” I checked phone time. I hadn’t heard back for nearly an hour. I continued to rock myself and wait. I told myself to give him a few more minutes. He was clever. He was working on it.

My eyes suddenly grew heavy but I forced them open. I had to stay awake in case he called.

The lights in the apartment flickered. My vision blurred and my eyes shut. I tried to force myself to open them. Twisted images swirled behind my eyelids for a moment before they opened again.

I hadn’t moved from the room, but it wasn’t the room I’d just been in. The walls were different. They were just plain pink. The paintings were gone. The toys were different toys. The tree lights were multicolored!

Confused and frightened, I reached for my phone. I looked at it but it wasn’t the same color or the same model as I’d just been using! I dropped it.

“Johann!”

A cold chill ran through me from top to bottom, followed by a profound numbness. There was no response from Johann through my soulbond any more. His presence in my mind and heart had been as large as a mountain. Now it as snatched away, leaving an agonizing vacuum. In desperation, I reached out to him again and again. “Johann! Johann!”

I grabbed the unfamiliar phone and flipped through my recent contacts. I couldn’t find his name. I threw it across the room.

“Where is my phone?! Where’s my phone?!” My words blended together until I was just screaming, crawling on the floor, knocking things over trying to find it.

My howling was like a wounded beast and a crying baby blended together. The unearthly wailing and crashing furniture carried through the walls, the ceiling, the floor and window.

I lay my back against the wall, one arm over my eyes. My sorrowful pleas squeezed my lungs until my voice thinned to silence. Only for them to billow open again for me to cry out. “My love! Oh, my love! My love! My love!”

My love was gone.

Johann, my beautiful Johann, was gone.

#Dragon Raja #Fanfiction #Writing #Johann Chu

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