#and malcolm.........what kind of an heirloom is this

[eldritchbonedoll]

Gonna post my character three sentence descriptors so I have them categorized for later writing! (I'll eventually color code them to each other so I know who is relevant for what story) I will try to start posting writing blurbs and my art more frequently but there are no guarantees on a set schedule!

Esmeray Paige (An archeologist who travels around to get to her next excavation site or museum due to her love for history. Found a mysterious, assumed to be a poor prank, box at her most recent excavation site. Loves romance and slice of life content.)

Harper DelMonte (An indie artist who creates music, art, and book covers. Enjoys paranormal and occult topics, as well as listening to true crime podcasts. Loves making coffee at the cafe and working at the bar with her band.)

Rowan Winters (An approachable animal vet with a seemingly sweet disposition. Often finds himself watching people. An avid collector of knives and holds disdain towards Eric.)

Malcolm Winters (An antisocial programmer who struggles with interpersonal relationships and being tormented. Allows his daydreams to consume his mind to escape reality. Hides his collection of comics.)

Valor Nightingale (They are a graphic designer who's close run-ins with death has made him interested in the topic. Often, in his free time, finds themselves painting or writing about the macabre nature of man. Extremely obsessed with fungi and decay.)

Beau Valentino (An exhausted college student and barista at their local coffee shop. Adores Maddening Mysteries and co-hosts a podcast inspired by it. Tends to speak in sarcasm and hates liars.)

Eric Castillo (A flirty influencer who often over indulges due to his success. Loves to roam bars and bookstores for easy flings. Hunting is a hobby he holds dear and he enjoys pissing off Rowan.)

Elizabeth Cane (A reserved part time waitress at a street corner diner. Often seen with her strange friends. Has an odd interest in the occult and pacts.)

Blaire Cane (A headstrong mechanic who wishes to be seen properly. Completely exhausted with the idea of wasting time on what she sees as nonsense. Devotes herself to the written word, lingering on specific pages that catch her imagination.)

Lisette Cane (A determined doctor in training who devotes herself to the medical field. Tries her best to be as kind as possible, despite her buttons being pretty easy to push, so she can help others. Suffers from insomnia so she devotes her time to studying.)

Monroe Summers (A mute and fiery nun who devotes her time to her craft. Often wishes to be more than she is, unhealthily so. Cherishes bullet journaling and origami.)

Lucille Adams (A wrath based demon who has no true name and the forms it takes are barely comprehensible by humans. The more people spend with this being, the more they are likely to lash out wrathfully.)

Callum Solomon Blackwood (A social butterfly of a priest of a small rural town outside of the city limits. Has spent his whole life dedicated to his religion and its practices for his newfound role. A role model to Monroe.)

Ramus Snapdragon (They are a deal maker at their core, making deals for memories or energy due to their high value to this being. They will however, make exceptions once in a blue moon. They remember every debt owed to them and always come to collect.)

Valentine Kinoshita (A hyperactive photographer, writer, and part time bartender who takes photos of Harper's band. Has a strange affinity for collecting cursed or haunted knick knacks which has confused the librarian with how often he donates to the library. Writes small poems, stories, and so on.)

Renesmee Vivienne Webber (An easy going, skeptical waitress who recently inherited a family heirloom. She thinks the conspiracy theories of paranormal or supernatural beings are far-fetched. Learned Latin simply because she thinks it is a beautiful dead language.)

Mélaine Duplantier (A doctor and part time tarot reader who adores stargazing and mountain climbing. She inherits her mother's little shop in town square. She doesn't inherently believe in tarot reading but she finds it fun.)

Angel Rosendal (A flourishing florist who abandoned his dream to care for his father and their flower shop. Puts the weight of everyone's problems on his shoulder, even if he can't help. A former friend of Rowan’s.)

Cassius Bassett (A charismatic journalist who does weekly specials about the haunting tales of the town. Often left to delve into the theories of the unsolved cases in this town as a bit of a destresser. The author of Maddening Mysteries.)

Grayson Jones (A corrupt homicide detective who raises the dead to extract hidden information about their deaths. Often left undisturbed and unpunished due to his consistent results for the past thirty years. He worked relentlessly until he collapsed.)

Cyrus Grey (A homicide detective who is trying to dig into the missing cases of this strange town he found himself in. Even if he was taken off of a case due to either interpersonal relationships or lack of results he would continue to investigate. Willing to risk his own life to catch the killer's attention.)

Pierce Ryder ( A nurse interested in human flesh as a delicacy. Often lurking around Cyrus and seemingly offering off handed advice to the next suspect or clue. Enjoys Scarlett's company and the Intel she gives about Cyrus.)

Harley Vandeleur (A private business man who owns a good portion of the town. He's never revealed his face due to some unprovable rumors due to a mishap. Newspapers and articles refer to him as Logan oddly enough.)

Scarlett Sokolov (Mortician who can see into the minds of others. An associate of Ciara and Zander who seem a little standoffish. Obsessed with recording other's deepest secrets and exploits those who lack purpose.)

Natasha Bliss (A gravedigger and sexton, like a groundskeeper, of the local cemetery. A strong woman who geeks out at the esoteric and mysterious. Has an odd hobby of lurking the graveyard at night due to occasional nightmares.)

Live Sokolov (An anxiety ridden author and programmer who lives with her sister Sasha. Enjoys being alone more than anything else and only leaves her room when it is absolutely necessary. Obsessed with dark fantasy romances.)

Sasha Sokolov (An charismatic and chill hair stylist who works at the local hair salon. Enjoys talking and getting to know others but absolutely loathes small talk. Has several pairs of scissors which gets put into a collection whenever she gets new ones.)

Nikolai Levitsky Moloski (A forgotten man who lurks in the shades of a dilapidated building. Causes mischief and terror, leading those to believe the home is haunted. Adored gothic poetry and often recites them when he is bored, which is often.)

Salem Molovski (The great grand niece to Nikolai who knows he's there but can not see him. She doesn't know who he is but she is determined to figure out who or what this being is. Often finds herself in the woods, looking for what others can't see but they can feel.)

Zander Sylvester Alaric (A librarian with a dark secret. An avid collector of ancient books and letters. He has an obsession with sealing letters with wax seals.)

Ciara Alaric (Librarian assistant who has an interest in nature, untouched nature specifically as it brings her great comfort. Often seen lurking in the depths of the library, talking with Nerys, or taking a walk on the outskirts of town. Makes wood carvings that can be found around town.)

Nerys Masters (A curious writer who loves to dive into the depths of the human mind in the cafe and bars. Has a side job as a library assistant. She loves gothic romantic poetry and scrapbooking.)

Seth Maverick (A reserved and cordial accountant who shares an apartment with Malcolm. He sympathies with Malcolm’s struggle and sticks by him when he can. Goes to a rage room to vent frustrations.)

Brynn Sinclair (An energetic tutor and college student who passed her excess free time by hosting a podcast based on Maddening Mysteries. Is a proactive person when coming up with ideas and solutions. Beau’s best friend and a musician.)

Vladimir Dmitriev (A cowardly scholar and archivist who is ashamed of his fears. Finds himself looking for trouble or to be punished. Has a small crush on Brynn.)

Isabelle Soliel (An easy going book club leader and small business owner. Often can be found alone at the diner. Typically to hold meetings or draw still life. Adores chamomile tea and belladonna's.)

Eden Whitlock (A child sung to by death and an employee of Isabelle. A mischievous woman who adores practical pranks and puns. Sometimes works part time at Angels flower shop and tends to gardens.)

Alice Lee (One of the last in a long line of exorcists, ones who can see into the very fabric of someone's being. Works as a secretary and hates her job. Loves rock concerts and Lyra.)

Lyra Webber (Adopted sibling of Renesmee and a half siren. A shape shifter who uses masks to change her form. Loves lily pads and shiny rocks.)

Ambrosia Verner (A man who loves to play with the strings of fate and loves risky (and risque) situations. Has a butterfly collection and stalks those that catch his eyes. Adores beautiful things and loves thrills.)

Léon Bourgeois (A man who is interested in collecting old and supposedly haunted books and selling them. He's a blunt man who works in a pawn shop just outside of town. He has, what seems like, old self portraits of various people varying in gender and ethnicity.)

Carmelia Thane (A respected ancient vampire and the eldest one. The wife of Bram Thane and founder to the scholars of Carmelia, at least before it got out of hand. Enjoys the luxury of her immortality.)

Bram Thane (An idol who loves to put strange and unusual towns on the map. Often seen drinking and flirting with his wife. Indifferent to Zander and Ciara, much to Carmelia’s dismay.)

Viola Little (The least respected of the three ancient vampires. A curator of fine arts and obtaining her own inspiration of any gender. Often headbutts with Carmelia over her small art cult.)

Rohan Wittlebane (A banished ancient vampire who lives in a cozy cottage with his boyfriend. Often seen on dates with Graham but nobody bothers the couple due to rumors. He enjoys hiking and listening to record players while it rains.)

Graham Jones (A muse who loves inspiring others and genuinely enjoys helping those who are afraid to take the first step towards their goal. Often seen walking dogs for the pound and going out on dates with Rohan. Loves stargazing and listening to old records with his boyfriend.)

Clementine Goldwyn (A confident model who occasionally takes her friends for coffee. A wingman and childhood friend of Pierce before he changed for the worse. She does singing and modeling gigs.)

Stranger (A being that distorts our reality and devours others due to its nature. It only allows itself to be adjacently human, not much caring about its imperfections that warps and imbeds itself into the mind of humanity. Loves playing cruel tricks on the human mind.)

Ezra Curtis (A being that shapes its form to that of which it has recently seen, it's not perfect but its imperfections tend to be miniscule. Has a couple of favorite animals it shifts into to mess with people. Loves gambling but has nasty cheats.)

Swarm (A creature that infests the human hosts and spreads the mass of filth and disease to those who welcome it. The warmth of the body determines when they will move to the next host. They are endless and will thrive even when we are gone.)

Doctor Amnesia (He is a soft spoken doctor who makes patients fears of not being believed a reality. An entity who enjoys the panic and desperation of those it messes with. If you were to ask for him, you can recall what he said but no one know him or seems to remember.)

Oracle (An entity that eagerly, ravenously, consumes others agony. Nobody can escape the fates it foretells, or well, ushers others into. Often toys with its victims with supposed warnings and false hope to avoid their inevitable prophecy but in reality it funnels them into their cursed fates.)

#ocs #three sentence descriptors #Please understand that these are supposed to be generalized ideas of the characters #so that i may look back and be like Oh! yeah! now i remember Lmao! #a little scared to be posting these #i have like some lire cooked up which is why words like Muse or Ancient Vampire might crop up in these descriptors

[fademirrored]

gamma: Champion of Kirkwall

“I changed me. No one else. Just me, with my own blood and hands. If no one else is getting hurt, then why do you care so much?”

Madrigal “Madry” Hawke (“Snowflake” if you’re Varric) Champion of Kirkwall. Mostly Purple, kind of Red.

Genderfluid. Usually they/them, sometimes he/him or she/her. Pansexual demiromantic, polyamorous. 19 Solace, 9:14 Dragon. Lothering, Ferelden. Mage; Force and Blood magic.

Eyes: Golden amber. Hair: Pure, matte white. Smooth, slightly curly, down past the middle of their back. Shaved on the left side of their head eventually. Skin: Literally white as paper, and eerily free of any marks or scars. Height: 6'3" Build: Willowy, tall, and lean. Broadest at the shoulders, but still not particularly huge. Sort of a sinewy beanpole with a dancer’s build. Notable Details: Radiates magically-projected auras of ‘you aren’t sure why, but you find me sort of charming’ and ‘whatever I may be doing, I’m not your problem.’ their presence requires a wisdom saving throw Voice: J. Michael Tatum.

Positives: Open-minded to basically everyone except for Chantry folk. Willing to be pragmatic about second chances, even if they don’t necessarily like someone. Can see the big picture, hardworking; willing to handle the work they keep getting dragged into handling. Charismatic and well-spoken; they could probably talk you out of your favorite heirloom for the equivalent of 10 cents and a can of tuna and you would still come away thinking you got the better end of the deal. Patient and slow to anger, and generally fairly low-key even once they do get angry. Negatives: Manipulative and pushy, and fairly good at making it seem like their ideas are actually your ideas. They don’t go blatantly trampling over boundaries, but they nevertheless constantly broadcast a pair of magical glamors that alter perception. Something of a two-faced, catty shit heel. Generally anxious and feels as if they have no control over their life because they are perpetually being dragged into others’ problems; best described as ‘What anxiety? I have CHEEKBONES!’ Neutrals: Extroverted. Social. Chatty. Very flirtatious. Good actor. Calm. Low empathy. Pragmatic. Optimist vs. Pessimist: Optimistic, but willing to get their hands dirty to achieve it. Quirks: Astounding pain threshold. Very still most of the time; they move very deliberately with very few unnecessary gestures unless they’re putting on an act. They are convinced that they have a temper that they don’t actually have, and they are, without fail, mortified on the few occasions their feelings get away from them.

Religion: Atheist. Likes: Dogs. Horses. Clothing, fashion, textiles. Jewelry. Jewels, gems, shiny rocks in general. Flowers. Music. Feeling creative. Chocolate, sweets in general. Coffee. Dislikes: Feeling rushed or controlled. People immediately taking their flirting too seriously. Getting the whole ‘the Circle is good, all blood mages want is demons, all blood magic is evil’ spiel too many times over a short period. People they don’t know touching their hair. Most alcohol. Favorite Colors: Cobalt blue. Indigo. Iris purple. Wine red. Hobbies: Sewing, weaving, knitting, designing. Dancing. Cards. Gambling. Gardening.

Family: Leandra Hawke (mother, deceased). Malcolm Hawke (father, deceased). Bethany (sister, deceased). Carver (brother). Gamlen (uncle). Charade (cousin). Dog: Grim, shaggy mountain mabari. Other Critters: Kelpie, mare acquired post-DA2. Romance: Isabela. Friends: Merrill. Aveline. Varric. Note: Liked Anders and Fenris, but butted heads with them OFTEN. Loved Carver dearly, but they tended to hurt each others feelings by existing at each other. Thought Sebastian was a pompous blowhard. *everything in this sectioncan of course be tweaked or disregarded entirely for specific threads, if you’d rather.

#Cryptid Crossing [Madry] #darp #dragon age rp

[rulimaquina]

Delivering Some Friendship

A gift for @imbleedin-out

This is a canon divergence where Malcolm knew about Brahms. Set before the events of the movie.

There were two kinds of talk about the Heelshire family around town: the respectful talk, which always ended with people telling whoever was asking to not get in that elderly couple's business, that they were good people who'd gone through a loss impossible to get over because of an unfortunate series of events that led to a fire that took their beloved child's life; and the pub talk, where the rumors about a boy too weird even for the Heelshires' standards with an unhealthy fascination towards fire, or of parents who did the unthinkable to their child, spread like wildfire.

Malcolm knew the truth.

He knew about Brahms: a once boy now a man, isolated and beyond unsocialized; and Brahms knew that he knew, but Mrs and Mr. Heelshire didn't. Back when he'd found out by complete accident that the believed dead son of the Heelshire was actually alive, Malcolm had thought that keeping the secret would be hard, something that wouldn't let him sleep; but it was surprisingly easy, it wasn't like people around town asked about it, not after he'd made them lose hope of getting answers from him long before he'd stumbled head first in what he was certain was the Heelshire's biggest secret.

Brahms' survival was a secret his parents kept like a family heirloom, but Malcolm was his secret, one that not even his parents knew about. It was exciting to go against his parents' rules of not talking to anyone besides then; even now, as he heard Malcolm's car pull over at the entrance, a kind of adrenaline he hadn't felt ever before rushed through Brahms's veins, making his heart beat faster as he moved towards the kitchen.

His parents were in the backyard for their daily walk around, and Malcolm went into the house with the groceries, carrying a crate of fresh vegetables under one arm and a few bags of canned and bagged goods on the other, leaving them on the counter and beginning to empty the crate first, putting the vegetables in the sink to wash. When he opened the water, Brahms used the chance to emerge from the hidden door in the pantry, approaching with steps that were uncharacteristically light for someone his size. He had the entire house memorized, knew exactly where to step to avoid making the old wooden floor creak, and he used that ability to move closer managing to get close enough that he'd have touched Malcolm if he just reached out.

"Hello, Malcolm."

"Bloody hell!" Malcolm jumped, turning around and pressing his ass against the counter as he stared up at Brahms, one hand to his chest. He hated when Brahms did that. It wasn't the first time he crept up on him and used the 'creepy baby voice' —as Malcolm called it— to scare the shit out of him. "Brahms, you know I hate it when you do that."

Brahms laughed– a deep laugh, not the high pitched one that he tended to let out when he was using that creepy baby voice. He tilted his head, trying to look over Malcolm's shoulder at the bags he'd brought with him.

"You lost something?" Malcolm questioned, crossing his arms and raising a brow as a smile pulled at his lips. "Because you sure look like you're looking for something in the groceries."

"You said you'd bring me something," Brahms pointed out, demanding. "You promised–"

"And you promised that you wouldn't do that shite to me again," Malcolm retorted. "So I might as well just take back what I brought for you– hey!"

That was all the confirmation Brahms needed. He pushed Malcolm out of the way, not hard enough to hurt him but enough to make him stumble, and searched through the bars like a bloody raccoon raising a trash container for scraps. Malcolm, despite the promise, had predicted something like this would happen, and so he'd been a step ahead of his manners-lacking friend. With Brahms distracted, he reached into the crate where he'd kept the vegetables, pulling out the Cardbury Flake chocolate bar and purposely gripping it to make the package make noise.

Brahms's head snapped in his direction almost right away. The sight of the mask was one Malcolm was slowly getting used to– it lacked any kind of expression, but Brahms's usually intense gaze usually made up for that. Like right now, he looked like he would kill for that chocolate bar. Brahms gave a slow step forward, the another, like someone approaching a cornered animal, and Malcolm stood his ground, holding the treat out of reach when Brahms reached out for it.

"You promised," Brahms demanded, throwing the concept of personal space out the window as he stood right in front of Malcolm, frowning under the mask.

"We both made promises," Malcolm pointed, arching a brow. "You broke yours."

There was a minute of silence where both men just stared at each other, Malcolm gripped the chocolate, certain that Brahms was waiting for a moment of distraction to try and take it from him; he had no doubt he could, but that didn't mean he would just make it easy for him, just because he worked for his parents didn't mean he would let the rich brat walk all over him, especially not when Brahms's parents didn't know they knew each other.

"I'll be good," Brahms spoke, voice low and almost pleading.

It could have been enough, but Malcolm was feeling particularly mean today. "What's the magic word?" he questioned, a grin pulling at his lips, tone just slightly condescending. "Come in Brahms, it's easy."

There was no doubt by the look in Brahms's eyes that he wanted to tell Malcolm to piss off– or that's how Malcolm understood the way the taller man's eyes darkened and his breathing got slightly more labored, like he was holding himself back from doing something. Brahms's fingers flexed, but Malcolm didn't see that.

"Please..." Brahms said, pleading. Then again, breather and more demanding. "Please."

"That's better," Malcolm praised. "It wasn't so hard, was it?"

"Malcolm?" Mr. Heelshire's voice echoed down the hall and Malcolm's gaze snapped in that direction.

Before he could register it, the chocolate was snatched from his hand and when he looked back forward, Brahms was gone, the only sign that he'd even been there was the half open pantry door. Mr. Heelshire came into the kitchen then.

"Are you okay, son?" he asked, looking slightly concerned by finding Malcolm just standing there.

"Yeah, sir. Sorry," Malcolm was quick to say, shrugging. "I'm just distracted, that's all. I've got another big delivery to make today and I don't want to screw up."

"You're really responsible, Malcolm," Mr. Heelshire hummed. "A weird thing to find in young people nowadays."

Malcolm was tempted to ask how many young people could a man who barely left the house know, but he kept it to himself as a way to not be rude and, instead, finished putting everything away, said his goodbyes before and grabbed the crate, heading for the door. Brahms's eyes were on him the entire time, Malcolm's praise echoing in the hermit's min, making his tunnels feel hotter than usual and his pants tighter.

#the boy 2016 #slashers #brahms heelshire #the boy malcolm #brahms x malcolm #my writing #fandom work

[takemeawaytocamelot]

Red Jamie and the White Lady - Part 8

Here it is! Thanks for all of your encouragement and excitement about this story! @diversemediums and @outlandishchridhe are my amazing team that have been so much fun (and a fair amount of craziness) to work with. I couldn’t have made this chapter without them.

Important note: The ever amazing @diversemediums wrote a sort of companion ficlet that goes along with this story and is referenced within this chapter. You can read that HERE.

The previous chapter, which takes place before the Legend of the Faerie Wife, can be found HERE.

Jamie woke slowly, his head fuzzy after the vision. He shuddered at the thought of what that vision had been. No. He would not dwell on it, not now. Not ever. Something squirmed in his bed and he looked down to see Claire curled up beside him. She’d rested her head on his chest and his arm was around her, like she fit there.

She would die because of him.

She could not stay with him, could not be his friend or anything more. Not if he wanted to avoid that thing he’d seen. A frantic voice, yelling Scottish curses, drew Jamie’s attention. Claire stirred and sat up.

“Hey,” she said in a soft, kind voice. “How’s your head feeling?”

“Better, thank you,” he answered, trying to figure out how to pull his arm back without seeming rude.

He didn’t want to take his arm back, he liked how she felt against him. But he couldn’t let himself feel that, not when it put her life in danger.

“JAMES ALEXANDER MALCOLM MACKENZIE FRASER!” Murtagh blurted, storming to the foot of the bed. “What in the bloody hell did ye think ye were doing, eh? Coming to the bloody hospital?! Have ye lost yer mind?”

"No, I haven't,” Jamie said testily, wincing at the loud voice. “But if you want me to lose my hearing you're doing a fine job."

Claire slid carefully off the bed and righted her clothes, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Murtagh. I’m afraid this is my fault. I went to check on him and he…” she dropped her voice, looking around her. “Got a migraine. And a nosebleed. I didn’t know what else to do.”

Murtagh’s chest was still heaving, but he lowered his voice.

“Ye should have called me,” he said harshly. “We need to get him home. Now.”

Jamie signed the papers allowing his release and they all got into Murtagh’s car. He closed his eyes, avoiding Claire's concerned glances.

“I’ll drop ye off at home, Claire,” Murtagh said. “And I’ll make sure Jamie’s alright.”

Taking directions from her, they arrived at her flat shortly. She hesitated, but wished them well and disappeared into her building.

“And will ye tell me,” Murtagh started as soon as she was out of sight.

“No. I willna,” Jamie hissed back.

On the ride over, Jamie had pretended his head still ached. It was the only thing he could do to avoid looking at her.

“I’m no’ askin’ about being in hospital. I’m askin’ why she was in yer bed.”

Jamie’s breath caught as they pulled away. How could he explain what he Saw? The look in Claire’s eyes as her life’s blood left her. Jame exhaled, resting the back of his head against the seat rest again. If anyone would understand what he felt after Seeing that, it would be his godfather.

"Because I was scairt. I’ve never had pain like that and she was there and frightened and.." he stopped, swallowing. "Did… Did Da ever bleed?”

Murtagh’s hands tightened on the wheel.

“Aye,” he finally said. “No’ verra often, mind. But he did. Yer mam helped wi’ it a few times.”

“So it’s no’ a sign that… That they’re gettin’ worse?”

“That’s no’ a sign, no. The fact that ye had to be put in hospital because of the migraine…”

Jamie took a long breath.

“We need to relocate again. Send word to Jenny.”

“Aye,” Murtagh nodded slowly. “It’ll take a day or two for me to get everything set up. While I do that, ye canna leave the flat. No’ for anything. And Claire needs to ken what’s happening.”

“No,” Jamie said sadly. “No I’ll need to leave once. Claire willna be coming wi’ us.”

The car had come to a stop and Jamie hadn’t noticed. Murtagh turned to him.

“I’ll no’ let ye torture yerself because ye willna tell the woman what she is!”

“It’s my choice, Murtagh. My mind’s made up. Just… find us somewhere safe and we’ll make do, aye?”

Inside, Murtagh set about making phone calls and Jamie went upstairs to pack up his own things. They’d made this move so many times they’d gotten used to it. His entire room, all of the material possessions that meant something to him, could be packed and ready for transport in an hour.

Sitting on his bed, he stared down at his hand as he pressed it against the rust colored stain on his sheets. Flashes of his vision came back to him and he remembered what his hands had looked like covered in blood. Claire’s blood.

She was a brave woman, and strong too. If he told her he was moving and they’d not see each other again, it wouldn’t be enough. She’d be determined to find him again and he was sure she’d be successful. No, he had to sever this tie permanently.

Leaving his cell phone on his bed so he wouldn’t call her, he began packing up the few books he kept in his room. One was a book his father had left for him, one was a favorite classic he read from time to time when the visions kept him up at night. The last was a family heirloom, a book that was, according to legend, the story of how the Fraser clan got its Gifts.

If Murtagh stuck to his habits, they’d have a temporary place for a short time while a panic room was being installed in a new place. This flat would sell with most of the furniture in it and wherever they moved would be furnished already. The last time Jamie could remember choosing something for his own room had been back at Lallybroch, before he’d lost everything.

With most of his things packed up, he began combing the flat for other things they’d need to take with them. Absently he wondered how Jenny was. Ian was a good match for her, helped keep her sane. Had they had their first child yet? For all Jamie knew, they were onto their second already. He smiled to himself as he boxed up the books all over the flat. Jenny would be a good mam.

Murtagh got everything set up and joined Jamie in the packing. By the time they sat down for a small dinner, the whole flat was ready to move.

“Ye said ye’d need to leave just once,” Murtagh said, sitting back in his chair.

“Aye. I… I need to speak wi’ Claire.”

“If yer no’ gonna tell her what she is, what the hell will ye tell her?”

Jamie’s fingers drummed on his thigh.

“That’s no’ your concern. I’ll tell her what I need to and then we’ll leave, aye?”

“Aye. I do.”

“Good.”

Jamie stood, prepared to head up to his room and try to sleep.

“Thank you, Murtagh,” he said, pausing in the doorway. “For constantly uprooting yer life for me.”

Murtagh nodded at him.

“If I could take some of the burden of this Gift from ye, I would. But I canna, so I keep ye as safe as I can.”

“I ken, Murtagh.”

***

Claire picked up her phone and put it down a dozen times, pacing her room and fidgeting. Finally she lay herself down and tried to force herself to sleep. Right, like that would ever work. She rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling.

Why had she climbed into bed with another man? More than that, why had it felt so right? She huffed, rolling over again and stared at the cell phone on the table. Opening yourself to someone, letting them see that bit of you no one else saw, left you open to misery. Damn Geillis Duncan and this path she'd set her on! The idea of True Love terrified her, but was a comfortable, uneventful life any better than that, when there could be more?

Did she want more?

No matter how many nights she’d spent with Frank, she’d never felt as wholly content as she had with Jamie. They fit together, like pieces of a puzzle; mind, body, and… something else? Was that the feeling other couples had?

She nearly fell out of her bed when her phone began to buzz. Looking down at it, she saw it was Jamie. A small smile came to her lips when she answered.

“How’s the head?”

“It’s fine. Are you busy tomorrow?”

“Not in the afternoon, why?”

Claire sat up.

“I have a few things that I need to tell you, but it should be in person. Would you be able to meet me if I texted you the location?”

“Of course. What time?”

“Give me a ring when you’re free.”

"Will…” she hesitated. "Will Murtagh be there?" "No. I wanted to speak with you alone." Claire's stomach turned over.

“Oh, um, alright. Try and get some rest, okay?”

The line was quiet.

“Thank you, Sa- Claire.”

Setting her phone down on the table beside her bed, Claire lay down once more. Jamie’s voice had sounded wrong, no trace of his usual warmth. He’d almost sounded mechanical, and it worried her. Perhaps he could explain why when she met up with him the following afternoon.

This place was unfamiliar. The darkness surrounded her, adding to her fear. She almost couldn’t breathe. What if this didn’t work? It had to, this had to work. It was Jamie. Her Jamie.

The vision seemed to skip.

“I said I would, didn’t I?” she hissed, turning to face the speaker.

Eyes, which felt vaguely familiar, narrowed at her.

“We’re risking our necks for this. You will hold up your end of the bargain.”

Gritting her teeth, she nodded. Dougal waved a hand and she watched as the plan was set in motion.

“Just come back to me, Jamie,” she breathed as the chaos began.

***

Jamie hung up his phone and stared at it for a moment. He could hear Murtagh puttering about, getting things ready to move. After changing the sheets on his bed, he crawled into it and closed his eyes. Tomorrow would be the hardest day of his life.

“Tell me!”

“N-n-no!”

“If you just Look, just See what’s coming, all this will stop.”

Something warm and wet was running down his face, down his back, down his legs. Was he bleeding? The pain suggested he was bleeding from several wounds.

“I will not do as you ask,” he muttered, spitting blood.

“You’ve been hiding long enough, Mr. Fraser. You’re the last of your kind. And we will learn who you care about.”

“Your threats will not make me Look.”

White hot pain shot through him and his body shook. A voice was screaming Gaelic curses, echoing around the small room. Was that his voice?

“We know where your sister is. With her family. Just tell us what you See, what we need to know, and you’ll be just fine. She’ll go on living her life never knowing we exist.

Hands on his shoulders woke him up. His vision was filled with Murtagh’s harried and worried face. Before he could say anything, he clutched at his head, screaming. The pain was the worst he’d ever felt, causing black spots in his sight.

“Jamie, breathe, lad. In and out, slow. Aye, that’s it. I ken it hurts, but ye’re doing alright.”

Half an hour later, Jamie was finally able to see straight. Murtagh had his thumbs pressed against Jamie’s temples, trying to help relieve the pain.

“He’ll get me,” Jamie breathed.

“No, lad. He’ll no’ get ye.”

“Aye, Murtagh. I’ve Seen it. He’ll find me. I dinna ken how, but…”

Murtagh swore.

“Tomorrow. I need to get ye out o’ here tomorrow.”

“I have to meet wi’ Claire first.”

Jamie saw his godfather glance at the phone beside his bed.

“If ye’ve got that migraine back, perhaps I should call her o’er.”

“No. Dinna call Claire. I’ll see her tomorrow and send her away. Then I’ll go wherever ye need to put me.”

Murtagh headed out of Jamie’s room, muttering something about ‘stubborn as rocks’ as he went down the stairs. Jamie rolled over, wincing as his head pounded with every beat of his heart, feeling hot and clammy all at once. Unable to sleep, he stared at the now empty book case. It was a long time until morning.

***

Near 2 in the afternoon, Claire slowed as the blinking dot on her GPS neared the turn off. Parking her car in the small lot, got out and looked around, taking in the emerald Scottish landscape.

“Thank you for coming,” Jamie said, pushing himself off the car he’d been leaning against.

“You asked me to, and it sounded serious. Are you alright? Your head?”

“Yes, thank you. Would you like to come with me?”

As they started for the trail, she looked him over. Dark circles under his eyes told her that he hadn’t been sleeping well. After the ordeal he’d had, she didn’t blame him. But it felt like there was more weighing on his shoulders than his sudden migraine and severe nose bleed. Memory of the vision flashes she’d had in the ambulance sent a shiver down her spine.

“Jamie,” she said, starting to make a grab for his arm to stop him, only to have him sidestep out of her reach. “What’s wrong? You’re worrying me.”

He gave her a polite smile and nodded at the trail.

“I’ll tell you along the way. Harder to overhear if we keep moving.”

She looked pointedly around them, sighed and followed his long stride. They were quiet for a few minutes, until he seemed to gather his thoughts.

“This is Craigh Na Dun, sometimes called the Faerie Hill. I’m not sure what Murtagh’s told you about the Fraser history but, according to the legends, this is where it started.”

“Really? This is where the Fraser Gifts began?”

Jamie nodded, but fell silent again. It wasn’t until they crested the hill and looked at the circle of standing stones that he spoke up again. Her thoughts from the night before came back to her then, how she’d been instinctively comfortable with Jamie. Perhaps Jamie wasn’t the only one with things to say.

The wind whipped around them and dead leaves swirled amongst the stones in an eerie dance. Jamie approached the tallest stone in the center of the circle and touched it. He turned his gaze on her again, face blank but eyes in turmoil. Usually his eyes seemed to shift subtly into different shades of blue in no discernible pattern. But now, they seemed to roil, darker shades raging against the lighter. It was an intimidating gaze to meet.

“Jamie…” Claire started hesitantly, gazing at the central stone. “Why are we here?”

“According to the legends it was here the Fraser man laid down his life to shield his faerie wife, over two hundred years ago. Ever since then, violence and death has followed the Fraser line.”

Claire tore her eyes away from the massive stone in the center of the circle, not liking the tone of Jamie’s voice.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you’re not safe around me, Claire, and I will not put your life in danger.”

Watching his exhausted face, she reached out for him, but he took a step back, keeping just out of her reach. Her patience finally snapped.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Then his expression changed into something she’d never seen before. He wore the emotionless mask so well that not even his eyes gave anything away.

“It means that you and I will never see each other again after today. It means you’ll go home and forget you ever met me. You’ll live a safe life with… Frank,” he said, nearly choking on the word. “There is nothing for you here, with me, save violence and danger.”

A tightness in her chest nearly stopped her breathing. She’d known that she cared about Jamie, but she didn’t think his words would hurt so much.

“You… You’re leaving?”

“Yes. And I won’t tell you where we’re going, neither will Murtagh. I promise you will never see me again, but you’ll be safe.”

“You really expect me to believe you don’t want to see me again?”

His jaw clenched and she thought she caught a hint of pain and anger in his eyes.

“It doesn’t matter what you believe, Miss Beauchamp. The fact is I will disappear and it will be as if we’d never met. The only reason I’m standing here with you now is because I want you to have closure and live your life in peace.”

“What about what I want? Or doesn’t that matter?” Claire replied, voice higher than normal, her heartbeat racing.

“You have a life,” he said slowly. “Friends, a career, a man who loves you. I will not be the reason you are taken from them. Please, don’t come looking for me. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to disappear and you won’t find me.”

He was serious, his expression becoming hard and unmovable. As fond as she’d become of him, she thought he might be right. Knowing how he’d lost most of his family, she knew that even being friends with him was dangerous for her. She didn’t know him well enough to be sure she was comfortable with that kind of danger. Yet, here she was, trying to convince him to let her stay.

“Claire, you don’t want this… this life. You never have. You did your duty by me as a physician and have kept your word. I owe you more than can be repaid, but… we both Saw what’s coming and my Gift should not be your Curse.”

Claire’s breath hitched, the images of blood and darkness playing through her mind. Jamie watched her closely, reading her face.

“I want you to leave. Live your life. Forget about me. I never want to see you again.”

Heaviness settled on her heart as she took him in. She was rooted to the spot, wordless. He stood tall; broad shoulders set in decision, looking very much like the Highlander he was forced to disguise.

Suddenly he held something out to her, unable to meet her eyes.

“Your uncle was an archeologist,” he said softly. “A great lover of legend and myth. I thought you might like to add this to the small collection of books you have; the ones he gave you.”

Taking the book from him, she looked at the worn leather cover and read the title, blinking back tears.

“History of Clan Fraser”

“This is beautiful,” she said, holding it reverently.

When she looked up at him, his mask faltered. He bowed his head and began for the path down the hill.

“Good day, Miss Beauchamp. I hope your life is a happy one.”

He strode down the uneven hill as if he walked down a smooth paved road, not looking back. Claire opened the book and stared in shock at the old writings. In that moment, she knew his words to her had been a lie.

Continue to Part 9

#outlander #outlander fanfic #jamie x claire #also featuring: murtagh #also featuring: frank #takemeawaytocamelot #red jamie and the white lady au

[nofomoartworld]

Hyperallergic: How the GOP’s Tax Reform Could Hurt Art Institutions

President Donald J. Trump delivers remarks on tax reform, September 27, 2017 (Official White House Photo by Shealah Craighead)

Two key provisions in President Trump’s plan to overhaul the tax code could diminish art museums’ ability to acquire new work.

On Thursday, Congress unveiled a tax reform bill following President Trump’s recommendations to slash the corporate tax rate, lower taxes on profits of pass-through businesses, and curtailing a tax on the assets of multimillionaires in its first significant rewrite since 1986. That latter measure, which has already become a sticking point in negotiations, is a proposal to repeal the estate tax — a 40% levy on the accumulated property of the super-rich whose assets total above $5.49 million per person or $10.8 million per couple upon their death. For context: that only applies to about one half of one percent of U.S taxpayers.

President Trump pitched its removal in a speech in Indianapolis in September, claiming it would “protect millions of small businesses and the American farmer,” although his Treasury secretary Steve Mnuchin conceded its elimination would “disproportionately help rich people.” In the first draft of the bill, congressional Republicans want to double the estate tax exemption to about $11 million per person before phasing it out entirely in six years.

Administration officials have not addressed who its disappearance might hurt — philanthropic and cultural institutions who receive valuable treasures from wealthy benefactors. The families of prosperous patrons may not be forced to give away or sell their prized Picassos to museums and auction houses if they didn’t have to pay a steep tax on their inheritance, experts say.

“There is a tremendous burden on an estate where some of its assets are art, therefore people look to alleviate that burden by donating art to charitable institutions or creating trusts and foundations to carry on their legacy after their death without paying a tax,” said Malcolm Taub, an art law expert and partner at Davidoff Hutcher & Citron.“I’m not saying it’s eliminating all donations but it is eliminating one motivating force that might prompt the donation of art to museums and nonprofits.”

Unlike real estate and even other heirlooms, artwork is a liquid asset whose value is tremendously volatile and can change depending on how other works sell on the market. That means it can be sold quickly — at a price sometimes far lower than its actual value — or bequeathed to museums that  wouldn’t otherwise have the means to obtain a super-expensive work.

“Every piece of artwork is a unique piece of work, even those in a series,” Taub said. “The value of photograph, or print in a series changes, as the series goes higher in the series, as the series is outstanding.”

Robert Rauschenberg, “Satellite,” (1955) at the Whitney Museum of American Art (photo by Candy Mar via Flickr)

Families with large collections of priceless works often set up trusts during estate planning that can be converted into a foundation to avoid the grubby hands of the IRS. Collectors also enhance the value of their work over time by loaning them to museums and creating literature references to each pieces.

All of Robert Rauschenberg’s works, for example (his estate was valued at $800 million), were put into trusts, which became the Robert Rauschenberg Foundation after his death, according to Taub, who advised his family.

“It eliminated the estate tax, which would have been an enormous burden,” Taub said. “Anything remaining in the estate would have been totally wiped out.”

The heirs of art dealer Leana Sonnabend weren’t as fortunate. The family had to sell $600 million worth of her $1 billion collection that included works by Jeff Koons, Roy Lichtenstein, Andy Warhol, and Cy Twombly, to pay down a $471 million state and federal tax bill after she died in 2007.

Andy Warhol, “Campbell’s Soup Cans” (detail) (1962), synthetic polymer paint on 32 canvases, each 20 x 16″ , from MOMA Exhibition Andy Warhol: Campbell’s Soup Cans and Other Works, 1953–1967 (April 25–October 18, 2015) (image via Flickr)

One practice that patrons use to upgrade their collections could be ending soon with the proposed elimination of a tax loophole called the like-kind exchange. Investors had used the tactic to put off or avoid paying capital gains taxes on sales on works by trading in their Rodin for a Koons, but Congress may only limit the tax break to apply to property.

Another provision in the tax code that art institutions are following closely is the charitable tax deduction — a substantial write-off taxpayers claim for making donations to nonprofit groups. Congress also proposed doubling the standard deduction — which could have a side effect of reducing charitable giving by up to $13 billion or 4.6 percent according to one estimate.

That could have wide-ranging effects on the bottom lines of not only museums, but the entire nonprofit sector. Arts and culture charities received $18.21 billion in charitable donations last year, and charitable giving represents between 30 and 60 percent of a typical arts group’s budget, according to Americans for the Arts.

The group is opposing any provision that “remove incentives for charitable giving or limit the full scope and value of the tax deduction” and is advocating for a universal charitable tax deduction for all U.S. taxpayers.

The art world, like everyone else, is waiting to see what Congress does.

  The post How the GOP’s Tax Reform Could Hurt Art Institutions appeared first on Hyperallergic.

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[nedsecondline]

Seed Saving is the Original Sharing Economy

At first glance, the three women hunched over tomato starts in a garden behind St. Stephen’s Church in the Northern California town of Sebastopol don’t look like revolutionaries. They’re not bearded and stoic like Che Guevara. They’re not bespectacled with a dramatic flair for oration like Malcolm X. And they’re not rousing a crowd of thousands at the People’s Climate March like Bill McKibben or Naomi Klein.

But, take a closer look and you’ll see that these women are engaged in a quiet, often unrecognized, form of revolution: the act of propagating and preserving locally grown and adapted seeds with an eye towards food security for the surrounding community and future generations.

“We’re like the grandmothers, protecting the seed,” says Sara McCamant, who in her early 50s is the youngest of the three. McCamant is one of 10 core volunteers at the Community Seed Exchange, an all-volunteer organization dedicated to growing and giving away locally grown, open-pollinated seeds. Seeds, these grassroots activists say, are an overlooked link to building a resilient local food system.

For the last eight years, the seed exchange has steadily grown both as a repository of seed and a seed-saving network. They do this through work parties, workshops, and a library that offers—for free—about 200 varieties of 100 percent locally grown, open-pollinated seeds.

Sarah McCamant (left) and Liz Brown (right), founding volunteers with the Community Seed Exchange. (Photo credit: Michelle Feileacan)

On a recent visit, the shelves of the seed library are filled with jars of flower, vegetable, legume, and grain seeds, from bachelor’s buttons to barley. “These are all free?” one visitor asks, eyes flush with excitement as they portion palmfuls of Mayan lettuce and fennel seeds into small envelopes. It’s so against the norm in America—where anything that can be sold usually is—as to seem unreal.

“All free. This is the real sharing economy,” says McCamant.

The only requirement is that you take only what you need and leave behind plenty for the next person. It doesn’t surprise McCamant—or, for that matter, any other seed savers who’ve been at this for a long time—that free seeds astonish amateur backyard gardeners who’ve become accustomed to buying pretty seed packets from the store.

“We believe that seed is part of the commons,” says McCamant, taking down a jar of quinoa. “This quinoa is not something that I grew and is mine. This quinoa goes back 7,000 years and was developed by people in Peru and Bolivia. It’s not something I have any right to own.”

Everything grown in the seed garden is open-pollinated: Cascadia Sugar Snap Peas, Red Venture Celery, Detroit Red Beets, Cascade Corn, Ruby Valentine lettuce, Sonora White Wheat. The plants are selected for a host of reasons. The celery is a good producer and comes from Frank Morton, a famous Pacific Northwest plant breeder and staunch advocate for open-pollinated seeds and open-source seeds; the wheat is the oldest in California and grown for its historical significance; the lettuce is a heirloom sold by one small seed company and it stands a good chance of being lost if not cultivated. Eventually, these seeds will be harvested, sorted, cleaned, and added to the library’s inventory.

The one thing you won’t find in the Community Seed Garden are hybrid seeds. These are the seeds favored by Monsanto and other big agri-businesses in which one plant is crossed with another to create a whole new organism. Hybrids may guarantee higher yields and hardy plants for one season, but good luck saving the seed and planting them again next year. The seed will revert back to the traits of its parents, meaning you have no idea what you’re going to get or how it’s going to taste. In this way, the big seed companies have become more like landlords of seeds, renting to farmers and other growers year after year, and making billions in profit.

“If we really care about our local food system, then we really need to look at where our seed is coming from,” says McCamant. “If it’s being controlled by large corporations that are growing seed all over the world, then it’s like the food link to the food system is really missing. The question becomes: How do we localize it?”

That question is finding some answers with Steve Peters, a research and outreach associate for the Organic Seed Alliance (OSA), a Port Townsend, Washington-based nonprofit that is working to develop and improve seed production and marketing opportunities for seed growers. In the past, Peters has consulted with Bohemian Seeds, a small open-source seed business out of Occidental (you can find their seeds at the Sebastopol Farmers’ Market) and Eric George, a young farmer in Petaluma.

OSA recently launched a pilot project in California to build local seed hubs—for cleaning, processing, and storing seeds, and where growers can connect with commercial farmers. U.S. backyard gardeners, with their varied choices, are going to be okay, according to Peters. The true challenge lies in finding good quality, open source seeds that are worthy of the physical traits and germination needs desired by commercial growers.

“The goal is bring seed back to the forefront in agriculture because it’s been, in many ways, forgotten about,” says Peters. “A hundred years ago most farmers saved their seed and now very few do because it’s become a very specialized part of agriculture. That’s fine when you have a lot of choices and accessibility to material, but in the last 10 to 15 years, the industry has really consolidated. Very few people are actually growing seed. There are a lot of seed savers, but the commercial market is almost completely dominated by a few major players.”

With consolidation comes less choice. Plus, since the business model is to own the material you sell, severe patent restrictions have been placed on the products, meaning farmers can’t legally save seed and they definitely can’t use patented varieties to develop their own locally adapted versions. Still, modern hybrid varieties draw farmers in with their high, reliable yields. The problem arrives when they aren’t adapted to changing conditions and those record yields turn to nothing. “You’re really in trouble then,” says Peters.

And yet, locally adapted and resilient plant material are integral to handling a changing climate and the resulting floods, droughts, salinization, and viruses that are already happening or soon to arrive. “Many times, it’s the older varieties that have been held by communities for millennia,” says Peters. “Open-pollinated breeding allows the whole population to intermix so that you can choose the best, most resilient individuals out of the progeny. It really focuses on the future, on each subsequent generation, and continues to improve.”

In Petaluma, seedsman and farmer Eric George has been growing produce for projects that support the Open Source Seed Initiative (OSSI), a national organization dedicated to the cause of “freeing the seeds.” Originally developed for computer software, the open source model makes intellectual property— whether computer code or seeds—freely available for use and provides a way for that material to stay freely available in perpetuity.

Seed breeders that sign the OSSI pledge vow to keep their seeds free of patents, licenses, and other restrictions on freedom of use. OSSI stores a database of crop varieties that have been pledged as what they call “freed seed” and provides links on its website to where those seeds can be purchased, whether from seed companies or individual breeders and seed growers. They also build awareness of the importance of keeping seeds unencumbered from legal restrictions and free to be used, shared, saved, bred, and sold.

In 2015, George was invited to join OSSI’s partnership committee. At the age of 28, he’s the committee’s youngest member. Recently, George launched a new seed company, Coast Range Seeds. He first started thinking seriously about the power of seeds after reading First the Seed: The Political Economy of Plant Biotechnology by Jack Kloppenburg. Inspired by the U.C. Berkeley agroecology program and from campesino field days in 2011 and 2012 with seedsmen in Nicaragua, he moved north to train in western Oregon, a modern epicenter for organic and open-source seed. He enrolled in the Rogue Farm Corps, apprenticed with seed producers, and in 2013 helped form the Southern Oregon Seed Growers Association.

Two years ago, George returned to the North Bay and dove into the consumer end of the supply chain, selling vegetables as a floor worker at Good Earth Natural Foods in Marin. He says it was a chance to observe the workings of the organic vegetable trade, tune in to what resonates with customers, and soak up the experience of a veteran produce team. He also began to notice opportunities to bring OSSI seeds and produce sales together. Now, as a seedsman, he’s working to bridge the two. Last year, he and Bolinas farmer Caymin Ackerman of Big Mesa Farm grew and delivered OSSI varieties “Candystick Dessert Delicata” and “Magma” mustard, to Good Earth, which, in turn, represented these crops to their customers.

George adds that doing a good job selling OSSI produce doesn’t just mean using the food as a vehicle for seeds awareness and education. Going full circle with “seed-to-shelf” produce asks how—without reinventing our normal food economy and shopping patterns—more food dollars might strengthen the economic viability of seed growing and breeding. “Done right, these breeders can continue to invest themselves in their work, and hopefully our region can create the kind of opportunities that attract and sustain the next generation, too.”

Back at the Community Seed Exchange, the biggest goal is to get home gardeners to think about where their seeds come from. On the last Saturday of the month, the volunteers open up the seed library to the public. They also host a work party in the seed garden, which offers an opportunity to get your hands dirty, and they offer free classes monthly on topics like seedsaving basics, wet and dry seed processing, and how to grow milkweed and nectar plants to lure monarchs to your garden. They’re always looking for more volunteers to spread the word about locally pollinated seeds versus their globe-trotting industrially farmed hybrid cousins.

“We tend to go in and look at a rack of packets in the store and say, ‘Oh, that looks cool!’ without thinking of the footprint of the seed,” says Sara McCamant. “If it’s not organic, then it’s been grown with tons of chemicals—seeds don’t have the same rules as food crops. Most likely they’ve been in the ground longer and double-dosed with chemicals. And you really don’t know where they’re coming from. If conventional, then probably the international market. Sometimes from Monsanto, which owns one of the biggest vegetable seed companies in the world. People don’t realize seed has its own footprint.”

This article originally appeared in Made Local Magazine and is reprinted with permission. All photos © Michelle Feileacan.

The post Seed Saving is the Original Sharing Economy appeared first on Civil Eats.

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