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asweetprologue · 4 years

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window to the soul

Octoberfest 3: ghost (from geraskier hollow) + stare

“It’s drawn to strong emotions,” Geralt said, and Jaskier knew that he was about to become bait.

The monster of the week was a wraith, but of an unusual type. Over the years of traveling together, Jaskier had seen plenty of wraiths - noonwraiths, nightwraiths, even a plague maiden once. He probably could take one on himself, knowing what he did about the process of destroying them, though it would be difficult without the use of yrden holding them in the physical realm. Luckily it was Geralt’s job to dispatch them. Jaskier usually didn’t even go along to watch anymore, unless the story behind the haunting was particularly ballad worthy.

This time, the wraith was different. Geralt had quickly identified the lost soul, a young woman who had recently died. She’d been deeply in love with a merchant that had regularly come and gone from the town, and had tried to cast a spell to trap his heart. Jaskier knew, after everything with Geralt and the djinn, that there was no curse or potion that could truly emulate love. Her spell had made the merchant obsessed with her, the man driven slowly mad by a fixation that he did not want and could not escape. In the end he had killed the girl and then himself, to escape from the madness that she had struck into his mind. The strength of her grief and the magic of the binding spell had changed the spirit of the woman into something else entirely, something extremely dangerous.

“It’s a sort of hybrid between a vampire and a wraith,” he explained. They were in the field beyond the village, and Geralt was meticulously checking over his potions. His blades were laid off to the side, the slick oil that he used to slay spectres shining across his silver blade. It was nearing sunset, the twilight hour that made it easier for apparitions to make themselves seen in the material world. Jaskier was sitting across from him, nervously stripping leaves from a small twig. Geralt continued. “The emotion she felt and her unrequited love turned her into a heartwraith. Sometimes people call them ‘hungry ghosts.’ They’re never satisfied, and they feed off of people’s emotions to try and fill the void in them.”

“Sounds like a truly awful existence,” Jaskier mused, watching Geralt. The evening light played across his broad shoulders, turning his hair from silver to gold. Jaskier thought he might be able to understand where she was coming from, even if he’d never have tried to bind Geralt to him unwillingly. It was a terrible thing, to be so deeply and unfortunately in love with someone who didn’t want you.

“I need to draw her out,” Geralt said gruffly. “She’s seeking out powerful emotions, like the couple that were attacked and the man who was beating his wife. I’ll need your help.” Jaskier sighed. Of course, it didn’t make much sense for Geralt to try to draw her out. Though Jaskier didn’t subscribe to the notion that witchers felt less than regular humans, Geralt was what Jaskier would dub repressed. The man couldn’t look an honest emotional conversation in the face without getting flustered and running away.

“Whatever you need,” Jaskier said, like he always did. He didn’t love playing bait, but he knew Geralt would never let anything bad happen to him.

Geralt nodded and picked up his silver sword, his steel one still securely in its sheath on his back. “Come on. We need to build a fire to destroy her locket.” The girl had kept a locket with a small lock of the merchant’s hair inside, which Geralt had guessed helped tie her to this plane. Over the next few minutes, the two men built a small pyre. Geralt pressed the locket into Jaskier’s palm, his fingers brushing over Jaskier’s skin. He tried not to blush at the contact.

“When she’s distracted, throw this into the fire. It’ll weaken her,” Geralt said. Jaskier nodded mutely, clutching the warm metal close. The fire crackled merrily beside them, painting the landscape around them in swatches of ocher and dark blue. It was truly approaching night now, only the barest hint of sunlight still left on the far horizon.

“What do you need me to do?” Jaskier asked. “To get her attention, I mean.”

Geralt gave him an odd look. “Nothing. I’m going to draw her in.” Geralt’s face was pinched in a way that Jaskier had come to realize meant he was experiencing some kind of emotion, though it was always hard to tell which one. Anger, frustration, sadness and pain all translated into relatively the same expression - tight jaw, drawn eyebrows, thinned lips. Jaskier wanted to reach out and sooth the tension from his friend’s features, but luckily the locket demanded his hands’ wandering attention. Geralt gestured to the soft earth beside the fire, clearly bidding Jaskier to sit. He did so, flopping gracelessly into a crossed legged position, back straight from tension. It was hard to forget that a wraith could appear any moment to wreck the quiet evening.

Geralt settled next to him, dropping into the kneeling position that he favored for meditation. His eyes were grave as he looked over Jaskier’s face. “Just… sit still,” he said softly. Jaskier wasn’t sure what to do with that tone, so he just tried to do as Geralt asked. He settled in, waiting for something to happen, but Geralt just stared at him.

For a moment it was awkward. Jaskier felt a blush spread across his cheeks as those golden eyes regarded him, sweeping over his face and following the line of his neck. Geralt was a man who always split his attention half a dozen ways at once, one eye always on the door and an ear out for trouble. Jaskier had accepted long ago that Geralt never fully listened to him, and that was alright. It wasn’t in his nature, and Jaskier didn’t need participation to hold a conversation. Now, though, he felt the full force of Geralt’s focus on him, looking back at him as if trying to see beyond a mask. Geralt’s own face was impassive, that slight frown still marring his features.

What could he hope to accomplish through this? If he wanted to elicit strong emotions, there were certainly easier ways to do it than a staring contest. Jaskier didn’t think he’d ever elicited strong emotions in anyone that he wasn’t actively singing to. It was he who was often overtaken by the whims of his own heart, prone to fits of temper and weeks of lovesickness by turn. Geralt never seemed to feel anything other than mild annoyance. Gods, what if Jaskier annoyed him so much that just looking at him made the witcher angry enough to summon a spectre? Jaskier knew he could be infuriating, but surely if Geralt detested him that much he would just leave Jaskier behind. Right?

Anxiety filled his chest, but he’d been instructed specifically not to move. Forcing himself to relax, Jaskier found himself taking the opportunity to just look back for once, something he so rarely had a chance to do. He absorbed all the details of Geralt’s face that he never allowed himself to - the way Geralt’s left eyebrow was ever so slightly interrupted by a tiny scar, the slight wrinkles on his forehead from years of frowning and the even fainter ones around his eyes, the ever so slight part of his lips. The dramatic light of the fire and the moon overhead made his face into a patchwork landscape of color, the valley of purple shadow in the hollow of his cheek highlighted by soft gold. Jaskier committed every feature to memory, thinking of the notebooks he could fill with songs dedicated to Geralt’s eyes and lips and brilliant white hair. He loved him so much it felt like it was going to drown him, leaving no room in his chest for his lungs.

After he’d finally taken in all the abstract elements of Geralt’s face that he could in the low light, Jaskier’s eyes dragged back to meet Geralt’s. The gold of his irises were nearly consumed by dark pupil, his eyes expanding to take in as much light as possible in the darkness. In this lighting he looked both more and less human, and it made Jaskier feel helplessly fond. Their eyes met, and suddenly the situation struck Jaskier as a bit funny. Two men sitting in a field, silently staring at each other, one pining away like nothing else while the other tried to summon a ghost. It was ridiculous. He quirked a playful eyebrow at Geralt, as if to say, Aren’t we just a couple of fools?

Jaskier watched Geralt’s face shift, a second of surprise flitting across his face. And then, without warning, there was something new there, something Jaskier didn’t think he’d ever seen before. A softening in Geralt’s eyes, in his brow, as he looked at Jaskier, open and affectionate. The expression hit Jaskier like a punch, or a kiss, demanding and devastating. Geralt’s mouth opened on a low exhale, and Jaskier leaned forward, wondering if he dared, if Geralt might -

There was a screech, and the wraith was upon them.

Geralt was up in an instant, silver sword flashing as he blocked a clawed hand from coming down on Jaskier’s head. Jaskier yelped as he scurried out of the way, clutching the locket he’d almost forgotten. There was a sudden burst of purple light in the field, making the shadows around them dance and twist eerily. The wraith made a horrible noise, like flint scraping across metal, endless and clearly annoyed. Geralt pushed her against the wall of the magical trap, cutting off bits of wispy energy with his sword.

Jaskier wasn’t sure when the exact right time was, but the wraith was certainly distracted. Jumping forward, he tossed the locket down into the fire, watching as the clasp popped open and the little lock of hair fell into the embers. It caught quickly, and Jaskier heard the wraith shriek again, this time a haunting and mournful sound. When he turned back it was just in time to see Geralt shove his sword in her chest. The strange, cottony fabric of her ragged dress seemed to dissipate in the wind, her dry flesh cracking and falling away like old paint. After a moment there was nothing left but a pile of ash.

“Go in peace,” Geralt said, and turned to Jaskier. Dropping to one knee, he said, “Are you hurt?”

Jaskier pushed himself into a better sitting position. They were close, too close. He hoped the warmth of the fire would mask his blush. “I’m fine, thanks to you. Is she really gone?”

Geralt nodded. “Should be. She has no tether to this world anymore without the locket.”

“Right,” Jaskier said. He paused. “So. Um. What you did there seemed to work, at least.”

Geralt leaned back away, out of Jaskier’s space. He missed the proximity immediately. “I wouldn’t have exposed you if I could think of another way.”

“Well, it’s not easy to find someone as irritating as me on such short notice,” Jaskier said nervously. “Hardly efficient.”

Geralt gave an almost comical shake of his head, surprise slapped across his features. “What do you mean?” he asked.

Jaskier shifted, uncomfortable. Giving a forced laugh, he said, “Well, I can only imagine that you were conjuring up strong emotions of the, ah, annoyance you so often display when I do something like, I don’t know, sing or eat or breathe. I know you’re not so easily swayed by my charms.” He tried to pass it off like a joke, but he knew it fell flat even as he was saying it. There was too much hurt in his throat to make it come out anything less than bitter. He stared into the fire, watching the locket turn a liquid red from the heat.

A warm hand suddenly came up to cradle his jaw, and Jaskier blinked in surprise as Geralt’s fingers urged him to look up. “It’s not that,” Geralt said forcefully. “You must know, Jaskier, you have to - When I look at you, it’s so...” He cut himself off with a frustrated sound. Words had never been his strength. “I feel many things for you, bard.”

Jaskier swallowed. “You do?”

Geralt’s eyes were hot on him, and Jaskier wondered if one could be branded by a glance. It certainly felt like it. “Yes,” Geralt said. “Intensely.”

“Oh,” Jaskier stammered. “Um. I’m not sure if I’m reading all this right, but assuming that you’re saying you don’t hate me, then, ah -”

Geralt gave an annoyed huff, and Jaskier was just about to comment, say something like, see, I am irritating, but then Geralt was kissing him, and he decided to let it go. He leaned into the press of lips, gasping softly. It was brief, nearly over before it began, but Jaskier could feel the warmth of it after Geralt pulled away, breath ghosting over his skin. Jaskier shivered.

“Quite the opposite,” Geralt said softly. His eyes were molten gold, hotter than the locket still melting in the fire at Jaskier’s side, and Jaskier never wanted to look away.

“Oh, well, that’s a relief,” he said, and leaned up to kiss him again.

this fic was heavily inspired by Somedrunkpirate’s piece A Lover’s Lament, which is one of my favorite stories of all time. If you read it you’ll be able to see exactly what scene I borrowed from, and I need you to know that it lives in my head rent free.

edit: for some reason tumblr ate everything but the heading for this fic and I didn’t realize until this morning, so thanks to the ten people who liked it with no content LMAO. yall the real

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jaskiers-sweetkiss · 4 years

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Sunset Swerve - Part 3

Pairing: Luke x OC

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: none(?)

A/N: Me publishing back to back updates? More likely than you think. We’re finally through with episode 2! As always, let me know what you think and send me a message or ask if you want to be tagged in future chapters! Also, thank you to all who have left kind messages on the last few parts, I really appreciate it! Now back to your (ir)regularly scheduled fanfic.

Part 2 Masterlist

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“Let’s go, Moss,” Luke yelled and Jordan groaned, “Rise and shine.”

For what felt like the last few hours, Jordan had been curled up on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket. They were all pretty certain that ghosts couldn’t sleep but Jordan felt exhausted from the day and she didn’t feel like exploring all night with the guys so she did her best to emulate the experience. At some point, she had reached a dream-like stupor, which she assumed was as close as she’d get to real sleep.

“Where exactly are we going?” She asked, rolling over to face the inside of the room and slowly opening her eyes.

She was met with the three boys much too close to comfort and staring at her. She screamed on instinct, sitting up quickly and pulling the blanket with her, holding it tightly to her chest. The guys started screaming too, the four ghosts momentarily thrown into chaos.

“You can’t do that to a girl!” Jordan admonished, standing up to slap each of their shoulders. “Give a girl some privacy!”

“You were sleeping on the couch,” Reggie pointed out and Jordan scowled.

“And you guys could’ve stood a respectful distance away!”

Reggie nodded, stepping back and raising his hands in surrender.

“C’mon, we don’t have time to keep arguing,” Luke complained, “We’re gonna be late!”

“Late for what?” Jordan asked, still having no clue what was going on.

“Julie’s gonna play for her teacher to get back into her music program!”

The guys had filled her in on the drama of Julie’s life the night before but she’d hadn’t heard anything about her playing today.

“That’s new,” she remarked and Luke grinned.

“It was my idea,” he seemed so proud of himself. “I convinced her last night.”

“So she’s going to ambush her music teacher?” Jordan asked, remembering Luke’s solution to everything when they were alive.

“The Sunset Curve way.” He grinned proudly and Jordan rolled her eyes.

“Teachers usually aren’t big fans of Ambush Mode,” she sighed but started to get ready anyway, gathering up a new outfit from the bag of her clothes she had found and making her way to the bathroom.

It was nothing too special, she was mostly just happy to be out of the clothes she had died in. The pair of high waisted mom jeans paired with her worn Rolling Stones t-shirt and her Doc Martens were much more comfortable. She kept the simple black choker she’d been wearing the day before and cuffed her jeans, deciding at the last minute to tie her hair back in a half up-do with a scrunchie. She was in and out of the bathroom in less than five minutes, though when she opened the door Luke looked like he had been about ready to start yelling for her to hurry up.

“So are we going to support Julie or what?” She asked, pulling her bag across her body while the guys just stood in place.

“Right, yeah, okay,” Alex said softly while Luke rolled his eyes, probably thinking up some snide comment about how she had been the one they were waiting on.

Surprisingly, he kept whatever he was thinking to himself as the four of them converged, all poofing out of the garage together.

___

Jordan didn’t know what she expected to see when she arrived at Julie’s high school but a collection of girls in brightly colored wigs and matching outfits singing and dancing in the gym was not it.

“Man, I miss high school,” she heard Reggie sigh and rolled her eyes. Boys.

Jordan turned to Alex, hoping the boy would have a similar reaction as her but as she looked to the blond she found him mimicking the choreography.

“Oh my gosh, yes Alex!” She cheered him on and he grinned before Luke elbowed him, shaking his hand in front of his neck to say ‘cut it out.’

They turned to see Julie, looking clearly disheartened and Jordan gave her an apologetic look.

“Julie!” She gasped excitedly, finally getting a good look at the girl. “That jumpsuit is so fly!”

She knew from their introduction yesterday that the young Latina had a great sense of style and the camo jumpsuit she was wearing today only served to further prove that.

Julie gave her a confused smile, like she wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or not, and Jordan furrowed her brows trying to figure out why her compliment hadn’t been properly received.

“People don’t say ‘fly’ in 2020, do they?” She asked dejectedly and Julie shook her head.

“Okay well then that jumpsuit is so cool,” she modified and Julie smiled graciously.

Their attentions were drawn back to the gym floor as the girl group finished their performance.

“Thank you, thank you,” Jordan mocked the leader’s overly preppy voice and attitude and Julie laughed.

“What’re you waiting for?” Reggie asked after Julie’s friend had walked away and two women who Jordan assumed to be the principal and music teacher began speaking to the crowd. “This is your time!”

“Yeah. I mean, you look really nervous,” Alex observed concernedly, “Like yak-in-a-bowl nervous.”

“I just don’t think I had enough time to work on the song.” Julie addressed Luke.

“I wouldn’t have given you the song if I didn’t think you were gonna rock it!” Luke reassured her enthusiastically. “Now, there’s a piano on that stage with your name on it.”

The four watched as Julie nodded before running out of the gym to get to the stage door.

“You gave her one of your songs?” Jordan asked the guitarist curiously.

“Yeah, we never got a chance to record it but it’s perfect for her voice.”

“Which song?” Jordan asked. She may have hated the band but there was no denying that their music was good and she had heard plenty of it over the years.

“Bright.”

“Oh, I love that one,” Jordan gushed before she realized what she was saying and who she was talking too. “I mean, it’s not as good as any of Apollo 81’s stuff but,” she tried to brush it off though she knew she had failed.

Thankfully, the boys decided to let it go as Julie had just stepped up to the piano.

“You got this!” Luke called out and Julie smiled, taking a breath to steel her nerves before starting the song.

“Damn, you should’ve added a piano part to this years ago,” Jordan noted quietly as they listened to Julie play. Luke nodded, watching the girl with awe.

“We should play with her,” he said turning to look excitedly at the other boys before raising a brow at Jordan, silently inviting her to join them.

“I don’t know the song.”

“Please, a talented musician like you can figure it out.” He spoke like he was teasing her however his eyes held a sincerity that had her chest swelling with pride.

She rolled her eyes but nodded, the four of them exchanging grins before poofing to the stage just in time for the chorus.

“And rise through the night, you and I. we will fight to shine together, bright forever,” A surprised grin took over Julie’s face as they materialized with their instruments, Jordan deciding on filing the rhythm guitar part. Julie jumped up from the piano, immediately taking center stage. For someone who, as far as Jordan knew, had never been in a band, the girl sure knew how to rock a stage. She had a major stage presence. “And rise, through the night, you and I. We will fight to shine together, bright forever.”

It felt so good to be back on a stage performing that it took them all a minute to realize that Julie’s classmates could see them. They all shared looks of shock, Luke instructing them to ‘just go with it’ as he jumped in for the second verse.

“In times that I doubted myself, I felt like I needed some help. Stuck in my head, with nothing left.” Luke turned to look at Jordan, gesturing the girl over to his mic with a head nod and Jordan grinned. Her voice joined his vocals as Julie continued to rock out with Reggie and Alex. “I feel something around me now. So unclear, lifting me out. I found the ground, I’m marching on.”

Jordan stepped back in time for Reggie to take over for the pre-chorus, grinning as she watched the two boys perform together for the first time in twenty-five years. It felt like magic to be up on that stage with them, her own styles mixing with that of Sunset Curve and Julie. Luke wasn’t kidding when he said she was a powerhouse. The two had immediate chemistry as well, Julie walking him to center stage as he started the bridge, the two rocking out together before the rest of them joined in for the chorus once more. Jordan had never been happier to sing backup, the girl’s vocals were killer.

The song was over much too soon for Jordan’s tastes. She was still buzzing with adrenaline as she slung her guitar to the side, taking a bow with the group. However, before they could finish soaking up the applause they vanished, reappearing at the side of the stage.

“Oh god, how is she gonna explain that?” Jordan groaned, looking anxiously between the three guys who looked about as clueless as she did.

“Wait, were those holograms?” A girl called out from the crowd and Julie let out the breath she was holding, quickly affirming the girl’s suspicions.

“Holograms? Like in Star Wars?” Reggie questioned, eyes wide, “Those are real now?”

“Apparently,” Luke answered, seemingly also in disbelief. “That’s wild, that they could see us when we were playing but not when the music stopped.”

“Ooh, we should double-check!” Reggie said, climbing up the stairs before wiggling his butt in front of the unfazed crowd. “Yeah, I don’t think they can see us.”

“I wish I couldn’t see you.” Alex deadpanned and Jordan snorted.

The guys were swept away with the crowd of students as they were dismissed from the gym, Reggie eagerly attempting to get one of the multi-colored girl’s number. Jordan stuck back as Julie spoke to her teacher, wanting to know if the girl got back into her program. However, she too was sidetracked as a small boy walked off the stage with a string bass, dragging it carelessly down the stairs.

“Oh, hell no.” She gasped, aggressively lecturing the boy as she followed him out of the gym despite knowing he couldn’t hear her. “That is no way to treat such a gorgeous instrument!”

She only stopped her passionate rant when she hit the hallway and noticed the guys there staring at her like she was crazy.

“You know he can’t hear you, right?” Luke asked slowly, like if he spoke too aggressively she would become more unhinged.

“You should’ve seen him drag that bass down the stairs! It was criminal,” she explained, before shouting down the hall at the boy, “Criminal!”

“O-kay,” Luke said, dramatically looking away from her and making circles with his finger near his head to signal her craziness to the guys.

“You’re a real comedian, Patterson,” she responded dryly and Luke laughed.

“Anyway, let’s go find Julie and talk about what just happened!”

They wandered around the school trying to locate their living friend. It felt weird to be back in a high school, especially one that had been so different from her own. Unlike the guys, none of Apollo 81 had dropped out of school for the band. This meant that they’d had to continuously bust their asses to get gigs and stay on top of their schoolwork; they didn’t have all afternoon to practice like Sunset Curve but Jordan always felt like they were better for it. Still, high school seemed to have changed considerably in the twenty-five years since her death. For starters, they definitely didn’t have a music program like Julie’s, sure there was band class but Jordan learned most of her musical skills outside of the school building.

“There weren’t this many people dressed like animals when we were in high school, right?” Jordan asked after accidentally walking through one of said students.

“Definitely not.” Alex answered, looking just as confused as she felt.

She knew they were dressed up like the school’s mascot, a blue bobcat, but she just couldn’t figure out why.

“Julie!” She called out once they finally located the girl, “What’s with all girls dressed like bobcats?”

Luke elbowed her in the side, stepping in front of her.

“Who cares!” He exclaimed, as if the words were bursting out of him uncontrolled, “Are we not gonna talk about what happened?!”

“Yeah, the whole school saw you. It’s kinda freaking me out,” Julie said, sounding like she still hadn’t quite come to terms with it.

“Okay good, cause it’s kinda freaking me out too,” Alex started, talking and moving with a manic energy. “Y’know, you could see us, and now people can see us whenever we play music. And my clothes are made of air, but for some reason I’m still getting a wedgie.”

Luke patted the blond on the back sympathetically while Jordan leaned passed the boy to stare at Alex concernedly.

“Dude, are you okay?”

“Nah,” Alex said airily, but waved off her concern.

“The important thing is that we rocked that place!” Luke interjected, rerouting the conversation. “They loved you!”

“Are you kidding?” Julie said excitedly, “They loved us!”

The group all shared proud smiles.

“That was a great song, Luke. Thanks,” Julie said sincerely and Luke grinned, blushing slightly.

“Did you see the cheerleaders looking at me? I think they were looking at me!” Reggie added excitedly and Luke grinned, matching his energy as the dark haired boy grabbed his face. “Please tell me they were looking at me.”

“Bro, they were looking at you!”

“Oh, I knew it!”

“I’m so- I’m so confused, y’know?” Alex spoke, taking the conversation back to his anxieties. “The afterlife should come with instructions, or a quick-start quite or something.”

“Seriously man, are you good?” Jordan asked again and Alex shrugged.

“Well, the good news is everyone thought you were holograms and I got back into the program.”

Julie’s announcement was met with a chorus of congratulations but the girl didn’t look very excited herself.

“Why do you look so bummed?” Reggie asked.

“Yeah, dude, you’re making this face,” Luke proceeded to do a poor reenactment of Julie’s expression.

“That is not my face,” Julie said pointedly and Jordan nodded in agreement while the guys all made noises of dissent, “And things just got weird between me and Flynn. She asked about you guys and I couldn’t say.”

“Sweet, girls are already talking about us,” Reggie said lowly and Luke high fived him.

“Stop it assholes,” Jordan sighed, smacking them both on the chest from her position between them. “This is serious!’

“Thanks Jordan,” Julie smiled sadly, “I can’t tell her about you guys for the same reason I can’t tell my dad; she’ll think I’ve gone off the deep end!”

“Well this dude definitely thinks you’ve gone off the deep-end,” Reggie said, pointing to the janitor who had just walked through Jordan. She shivered, still not used to the feeling of being made of air.

“I need to get to class,” Julie finally spoke once the disgruntled janitor had walked away.

“Later Julie,” Reggie called. “Ooh, and tell those cheerleaders I’m single!”

“Oh, and that he’s dead.” Alex quipped, earning a high five from Jordan.

“Nonono, leave that part out!” Reggie panicked. “Leave that- she’s gone.”

The rest of the group merely shook their heads at the boy’s antics before they all poofed home to the garage.

Part 4

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Taglist: @oopsiedoopsie23

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zeldasayer · 4 years

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Loving Dyn

Pairing: Mandalorian/Dyn Jarren x Reader

Summary: A fluffy day in the life of Artist Mom, Daddy Dyn (sans helmet) and the little green bean who goes by Baby. Included is a very angsty flashback to the beginning of the relationship and how it turned into a dreamy delicate life. Mentions of sex.

Masterlist

“Miss Y/N?” A small voice squeaks from behind you.

You turn from your painting to meet the voice, a little girl stands in the doorway.

“Yes, Tira?” You hum, turning back to your work.

“Baby was doing tricks again. He fell asleep in the grass and I told no one to pick him up because I didn’t want no one to drop him.” Tira says quietly, eyes to the ground as she pulls on her tunic.

You sigh, putting down your brushes and palette next to the half finished canvas. “Will you please take me to him, Tira?”

The little girl nods, and you follow her out of the cottage and through the streets of your sleepy village. Tira holds the long sleeve of your gauzy white dress that flows behind you as you keep up with the child’s pace.

“Tira,” you say, stoping her and kneeling down to be at her height, you take her hands in yours. “Honey, did you ask Baby to do the tricks? You know Dyn & I don’t want him to be doing-“

“No, I promise Miss Y/N! He just does them!” She says, upset.

“Okay”, you nod, rubbing her arms, “I believe you.”

You stand back up and the little girl leads you to the meadow that separates the village from the forest. Three children crouch around Baby next to a weeping willow, and you’re relieved they are at least in the shade.

“Oh goodness” you sing, pulling your little green boy out of the grass and against your chest, you pause for a beat to hear it’s familiar breath and the childen rush around you. They all speak at once, saying they’re sorry.

“It’s okay, angels” you smile.

“It’s scary when he just goes to sleep like that,” a little white haired boy says, scratching his cheek.

You nod, “It is scary, isn’t it?” You can see your cottage from the tree and you start to walk, “Come on, walk back with me darlings.”

They follow you, chatting amongst themselves, relieved you are not mad.

When you return, you put Baby in his bassinet and pull your hair out of it’s bun and sigh. You push the bassinet into the living space and once he is situated next to your canvas you lightly brush your finger between Baby’s eyes, “What is going on in there?”

You return to your work. Or, try, rather. As you can’t help yourself but peak into the bassinet between every brushstroke.

Hours pass, and it’s not until the cottage is filled with the orange and pink glow of the sunset that your attention is broken by a coo.

“Oh!” You exclaim, putting down your supplies, “There you are! Hi Baby.”

You dip over the basinet and scratch behind his ears.

Suddenly there are arms around you and you yelp. Looking back you smile, it’s only Dyn and Baby gurgles at your surprise.

“Hello, lover.” You smile up at him behind you, dragging your pointer finger down the bridge of his exquisite nose.

When you met Dyn, he had been without his helmet for some time. No longer on the run, he settled on this planet with his boy and took a job teaching self defence classes in town.

He had been walking home through the forest after a class, walking along the stream when he came across a pair of shoes, canteen and a journal on a large, flat rock.

He looked around before out to the water where he saw you walking back towards the shore humming to yourself.

You laughed when you noticed you were being watched and someone had heard you singing to yourself. As you got closer to him, your embarrassment washed away and it was replaced with a pounding heart flutter you could hear in your ears and feel pulse through your cheeks. He was so striking, you had never seen such a strong face. Maybe it was his large angular nose, or the pursed lips under a thick bit of black moustache. Or perhaps it was his olive skin that glistened in the sunshine, chest peaking out behind a half buttoned beige shirt. Or how he stood with his hip popped slightly. But he took your breath away.

He pushed his hair out of his eyes when he noticed you staring at him and you still couldn’t help yourself. Your eyes followed along the line of his beautiful jaw up to the darkest, fiery eyes that stunned you. He was magnificent.

“It’s just so hot,” you laughed, trying to fill up the quiet empty space.

He didnt’t respond. You crossed your arms as you noticed your wet dress was clinging to your body. He’d been silent for so long, you didn’t know what to do so you walked towards your belongings with a meek smile.

“I-I’m sorry,” he stuttered. “You are very beautiful.”

You looked back at him, now grinning. “Thank you”.

“What is your name?”

“Y/N. What’s yours?”

“Dyn.”

“I’ve never seen you before, Dyn. I swim here every day, in the warm months, at least. I’d remember your face.” Your heart is still racing and you think quickly how you could drown in the sound of his gravelly voice. Dyn smiles, and you can’t believe someone with the strongest face you’ve ever seen could also look like sunshine. What was happening to you?!

“I don’t always walk home”

You nod, sitting down on the rock, pulling your shoes on and collecting your things, “Well, Dyn. Like I said, I swim here every day. Maybe I’ll see you?”

You did. The next day you heard his foot steps approach as you lay on the same rock in the sun, scribbling in your journal.

“Hi”, he said low and soft.

“Hi, Dyn”, you breathed back, closing the notebook and sitting up. You studied him for a moment, took in his face that already seemed so familiar. Had you dreamt of him the night before?

“Would you like to swim with me?”

“Yeah, I would” he answered, dropping his bag to the ground.

You slip your dress off over your head, wearing proper swimming garments this time and Dyn strips down to his bottom under clothes.

Your eyes fall on his battered chest for a moment, resisting the urge to trace your finger tips along the scars painted across his body. You look up into his eyes and smile, taking his hand. “Let’s go then”.

You lead him to the shore and he squeezes your hand, you clasp your free hand around it immediately. His hand in both of yours.

Your connection was instant, but the trust was earned slowly. You mesmerized Dyn and he was fascinated by your free spirit and your need to create. From your commissioned work to your detailed personal journals, he admired your ever-present desire to express yourself. You sang. You danced. You screamed. You were emotional. You were as fresh and alive as a summer rain, but most importantly, you were patient. Because as it turned out, Dyn was quite the opposite. He was guarded. He was quiet. He was calculated. Dyn knew he needed someone who could let him catch up. He had seen the whole galaxy, but hadn’t a clue how to exist in it. He wanted someone to emulate, not push him to discomfort or try to fix him, but to be there while he found his place again.

It was difficult at the beginning, him being a man of few words. There were many nights when Dyn woke in a cold sweat and hard panting. You’d pull him close to you, his bare back against your chest and he’d squeeze your hand. You’d wait until his breathing would return to normal and you’d let the tears pool at the inner corner of your eye. You felt so hopeless in these moments, as Dyn had yet to open up to you in a way that could help you soothe him. You didn’t know why he had these nightmares, and when you asked he just brushed it off as an overactive imagination. When you asked about the small green elephant in the room, he changed the conversation around to how much Baby adored you and how beautiful you looked caring for him. You didn’t know where he came from and you didn’t know where he was going and you were sometimes frightened that maybe once he found his place you’d realize all that you really had was something physical propelled by some apparent trauma. Fucking so he didn’t have to think.

You squeezed your eyes shut and you waited for morning, breaking your own heart.

Things reached a fever pitch one evening when you accidentally came across his blaster when looking for more blankets for Baby. He was hesitant in telling you were it came from and It broke you. You had always been patient with Dyn and his emotional vacancy. Eating what scraps he gave you of what was going on inside with desperation for you ultimately believed you would one day be rewarded. But as you stood here, nose red and lips swollen from crying, you realized you had been loving a brick wall.

“I have never pushed you, Dyn. But please, love, let me in.” You sobbed, standing across from him in the dark living room. “Let me love you, let me be here for you.”

“Why do you want to?!” He yelled, shaking his arms out, his eyes starting to go glassy with tears. His tone startled you. He looked away, and you took his face in your hands to turn him back to you. With his eyes closed, and wetness forming under them, you spoke.

“You deserve love, Dyn. And I want to give you all the love that I have. But you gotta let me in.”

You looked at him for a moment, his eyes still closed and you let your head hang low. You felt nauseous before the next words even left your mouth but you were at your end and they had to be said, “But if you can’t.... I can’t do this anymore.”

You felt Dyn stiffen. He clutched your wrists and it almost hurt.

“I can’t....” You sobbed. “I can’t....”

That night he told you everything. The death of his parents. The Mandalorians. The carnage he’s seen. The job that went south but blessed him with his boy. The confusing, unexplainable need to care for the sweet child. His terror in the possibility of still being found. His all consuming love for you. How he thought, if he kept you in the dark, you would be safe.

You spoke for hours, his beautiful head in your lap as he confessed every dark thought that had you feeling a million miles a part in the same room just a little while ago.

He spoke about how he never thought in his life he’d feel any kind of love for anything the way he loved you. That he knew it the moment he heard you humming in the stream that he wanted to hear that voice for the rest of his life.

He apologized for not opening up to you sooner and he promised with all of his being that he trusted you and he was ready to move on with you and Baby.

He fell asleep as you ran your fingers through his dark locks and you swore he looked... lighter.

You woke the next morning still on the couch and the sound of sizzling food and cooing coming from the kitchen. Rubbing your eyes, you follow the sounds and the smells and were met with the most precious sight.

Baby up on the counter, mixing something in a bowl with a wooden spoon almost as big as him and Dyn next to him, flipping through a recipe book with one hand and the other hovering at Baby’s back to brace him in case he were to fall.

Baby squeals at your presence and Dyn looks up giving you his sunshine smile.

“Pancakes and bacon?” He asked as you came around the counter, slipping yourself under his arm. You nodded.

He kissed your head and stopped to smell your hair before saying, “I love you.”

You understood now, and the next night he woke out of breath and in a sweat, you pulled him close to you. His back pressing against your chest and as Dyn squeezed your hand, you whispered, “I’ll protect you.” That night you felt him melt into the mattress for he knew, for the first time in his life, he is safe.

After this, slowly, every day became made up of the most delicate moments. Rubbing the lapels of the burgundy velvet suits you dressed Dyn in for the parties you were invited to by the purchasers of your art. The slow, very slow, walks through the village as Baby began to insist on walking on his own along with you and Dyn. Baby falling asleep against his chest on the walk home. Laying on the beach at the edge of town, brushing the fruit juices & seeds off your lovers moustache as he insisted on eating them whole with his hands. Teaching art classes to the children of the village, watching Baby squish paints in his hands with his little giggling friends. Dyn teaching you how to shoot by the early morning light in the secluded fields behind your cottage. The nights spent in the city to attend art shows, drunkenly laughing and skipping through the streets holding on to each other as the lights swirled in font of you. The communal meals with the village, resting your head on Dyn’s shoulder as he laughed with the other dads. You cherished every moment watching Baby grow up and every moment you got with Dyn alone. The date nights when the ship didn’t even get off the ground, deciding you’d much rather use your alone time to fuck as loud as you wanted without any fear of being walked in on. Looking down at him, his face between your legs as you perched on the same rock next to the stream in the forest. How he always came up to kiss you, his chin shining with your arousal. The way he always commented on his favourite of your clothing, your lower cut, long gauzy dresses. “You look like Mother Nature. My little woodland nymph.” You loved how every moment became a delicate dance, the way he looked at you when you spoke. How he now grabbed you in his sleep, just to have you close. The evenings reading to him on the couch as Baby rolled around between you.

There came a point when you couldn’t even remember the dark days anymore. It was just you, Dyn and Baby and the hazy beautiful moments of your dreamy little life.

“Guess who was doing “tricks” again today” you say, looking up from Baby who is eating in your lap. Dyn sits across from you, he had been watching you feed the child and he blinks.

“Come on buddy”, he groans, rubbing his eyes. Baby coos back loudly with food in it’s mouth.

“Yeah, I’m talkin’ about you!” Dyn jokes, looking right at Baby.

You laugh, bringing the soup a little closer for the sweet green bean to reach and sip himself.

“I just worry that it hurts him.” You sigh.

“So do I.” Dyn says, crossing his arms. “Are the kids egging him on to do it again?”

“Tira swears he does it on his own.”

Dyn uncrosses his arms and leans forward with them out, “Here give me Baby, you eat.”

You lift Baby out of your lap and across the table and his soup follows.

“Can I come into town with you tomorrow?” You ask Dyn as you dig into your dinner.

“Of course, for what?”

“I need more paints. I don’t know, maybe a new canvas. I’m not happy with that.” You respond, nodding towards the half complete work by he corner windows.

“What are you talking about? It’s stunning,” Dyn throws his head back and exclaims, “STUNNING!”

Baby looks up at his loud father with wide eyes. You grin, “Thank you darling but I think I’m losing sight on what the client wants. This might be too much.”

“I’m so proud of you.” Dyn says in regards to the largest commission you’ve ever received, one for the painting you currently hate. “You’re the finest artist in the galaxy.”

You giggle, until you realize Baby is bouncing in daddy’s lap, three tiny fingers grasped around a cutlery knife.

“Ah! Dyn!” You say, pointing to his lap.

“Not a toy!” Dyn scolds, prying the knife out of his boy’s tiny grip.

Tags: @katira-moon-baby @otherthingsinhead @fahhhhq ❤️

A/N: This was my first ever fic! I hope you enjoyed. Love, Zelda.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #mandalorian #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian fic #the mandalorian fic #baby yoda #pedro pascal #loving din #loving dyn

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spookyspaghettisundae · 4 years

Text

All Eyes on You

Maybe it could have been a regular weekend for me, but there’s no way for me to tell if I was the one who screwed everything up. I was a bit hungover from the night before, so my head weighed a ton and every source of bright light made me cringe in pain—whether it was the fluorescent neon tubes overhead or the daylight streaming in through the store’s front windows.

Every single beep of the cashier running items over the scanner at checkout was like a tiny knife being stuck into my skull, over and over and over again, even though I was fairly far away from it, browsing the unnecessary amount of different brands of laundry detergent.

I grabbed some random one that had nice soft colors and chucked it into my shopping cart. It caused the whole thing to shake and rattle and a person pushing past me gave me a dirty look.

Under any other circumstances, I wouldn’t have wasted any thought on this, but today was different. Now, everything was different. Now, as I looked up, and past that guy shooting me the disparaging glance, I realized that everybody in the store was looking at me.

“Feeling watched” would have been the understatement of the century.

It was so weird and jarring that I forgot about the effects of my hangover for the next few minutes. In part because my heart was racing, in part because my mind was going wild with conspiracy theories and rampant paranoia.

Although I pretended to not care or not notice, I could tell that everybody in the store was looking at me at one point or the other. Normally, I would have chalked this up to something silly, like one of my friends having written something on my forehead with a magic marker while I was passed out.

But with what had happened the night before, I knew better. I knew something was wrong. Horribly wrong.

It didn’t help that some of these people would pretend to not be looking at me, either—furtive glances, eyes quickly darting down to study a shopping list on their phone, or to act like they were looking over grocery items on the shelves. Anything to avoid eye contact with me.

I know what you’re thinking. Just allow me to dial back and explain before you make up your mind.

The night before, I was feeling pretty depressed. I was still pretty new in this town and knew nobody around there. Just some backwater town in the middle of nowhere. The rent on the apartment I had found there was cheap, and the commute to my workplace only an hour which was a vast improvement over my last home.

So I grabbed some beers, drove up to a lonesome little picnic area on the forest’s edge that I had seen on the first day I had visited town when I went to go scout out the apartment a few months ago, and decided to chill out there and watch the sunset after a tedious Friday at work.

The whole day had dragged on at a snail’s pace and I just wanted to unwind and not stare at any screens for a few hours.

I sat there, nursing my first beer, sitting on top of the backrest of the bench like a rebel, when I spotted a mansion near the forest’s edge. I mean, I had seen it before when I first took a drive through this town, but it was only now that I noticed a few funny details about it. And when I say “funny,” I don’t mean the amusing sort.

It had a large red brick wall encircling the entire yard—and that place was as big as a football field. The large mansion matched that appearance, also featuring red bricks and sandstone and wood in its construction, and a lot of unusual details like a tower built into the corner of it. Everything was overgrown with lush green ivy, and there were some nice-looking trees on the property.

So far, so idyllic.

The weird part were the men in green camo clothing, carrying what I think were assault rifles. They patrolled around the inside of the walls, so it was no wonder I hadn’t seen them when I drove through town earlier that year, but being up on the hill at the forest’s edge gave me some elevation and allowed me to see over the walls somewhat.

They were all pretty big-looking dudes. I pegged them for soldiers or something like that—though my imagination wandered to this being a mafioso’s estate and these guys being some well-armed thugs.

It would make sense for some gangster boss to be living well out on the countryside where everything’s nice and quiet, right?

I downed two whole beers and while I had been trying to distract myself with unpacking everything that had happened over the course of the week—both at work and in my personal life—my curiosity got the best of me.

I had to know what the hell this mansion was.

With a simple plan in mind, I packed up everything, and drove back down from the picnic site, now taking a detour so I could casually roll past the mansion. A large steel gate obscured any way of seeing into the mansion’s premises, which was frustrating. In my mind’s eye, I had expected one of those metal fence gates that you can see through, but this one was just a solid surface instead.

Tossing out my original plan, I parked my car across the road by the grass, got out, and walked over. You may be thinking that I was crazy, and I can assure you I am. I was always a bit of a tomboy growing up, and I possessed a fearlessness that got me into trouble every now and then—and because I always got away with playing dumb or innocent, I always got away with my shenanigans and I never learned. Not until this day.

I pressed a button by the gate that I figured to be a buzzer and waited.

Within seconds, a small metal slot opened on the gate, from which a man wearing sunglasses peered through, and it was so sudden and swift in response to my pressing that button that I nearly choked in surprise.

“Yes?” asked the man behind the gate.

“Uh, I was, uh, I was,” I started stammering until my wit finally kicked in. “I was up at the picnic site up here to relax and I had no reception on my phone whatsoever, but I need to make an important call. I figured I could ask here if I could use your land line, or something?”

I slung out my phone and waved it around like a magic wand while flashing this man a dumb smile and shrugging. He looked over his shoulder as if he was responding to someone behind him, but he didn’t say a word. I think he looked up at the picnic site and I could feel the blood draining from my face. Because he turned, though, I saw a weird tattoo on his neck: just a single eye.

Not like I know anything about ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs, but if I had to describe it, that’s what it reminded me of. No fancy elaborate details, just a simple eye. Wide open.

His head turned back with a painful slowness. I could sense the gears churning behind his forehead.

“My phone’s got reception just fine,” said the man. “Here, you can borrow mine.”

I guessed my charm had worked its magic. He held out his phone through the small slot, offering it to me.

Realizing way too late that all of this was a terrible idea, I glanced at my phone and flicked its display on, then chuckled—way too nervously, I presume, “Hey, look at that! I got a bar back. Maybe it was just up at the woods that was not working out for me. Thanks, though.”

The guard slowly withdrew his phone and even though I couldn’t see his eyes, I could have sworn he was glaring at me. I smiled back at him, hoping to disarm any ill will, and started getting really scared about this being some sort of gangster hideout.

“Have a nice day,” he said. But it sounded more like a threat.

He shut the slot with lightning speed and I turned to leave, holding up my phone and pretending to make a call. I yapped away into the void of the non-existent phone call, cringing at my pathetic attempt at emulating a one-sided conversation and the resulting blandness, until I had gotten into my car and slammed the door shut behind me.

My palms were sweaty and cold when they clasped the steering wheel and stick, and I drove away. I was pretty rattled for the rest of the evening although I got back home without any further incident. On the whole ride home, I kept looking into my rear-view mirror to see if I was being followed. And in my paranoia, I thought that some people on sidewalks were shooting me looks, but I dismissed it at the time.

Back at home, I drank the rest of my beers and distracted myself with lousy TV shows until fell asleep.

Then I woke up the next morning, sporting the splitting headache, and decided that things couldn’t be so bad. Because, hey, when it feels like gremlins are pounding the inside of your skull with a jackhammer and your brain’s a funny soup, a lot of worries stop existing. With that state of mind, I went to do my grocery shopping for the week.

And now—this. Everybody watching me. In the confines of my own head, I was calling myself names and cursing myself out for being such a paranoid idiot. There was no reason to be afraid.

But my heart wouldn’t stop racing. Even outside, as I put my groceries in the trunk, I knew that even the people driving in and out of the small parking lot were looking at me.

Watching me.

Worse: I saw that tattoo again. On someone’s forearm. Some lady returning an empty shopping cart to the storefront. She never looked at me directly, but with my back turned to her, I had felt a burning gaze transfixed upon me.

What the hell was this? As an avid reader of strange fiction and horror movie enthusiast, I immediately thought they had to be some sort of cult. What if this entire town was run by a cult? Stranger things have happened.

This was all so surreal. I felt very small and like I was just a passenger in my own body. Everything tingled. My fingers felt numb.

I drove home and shut myself in for the rest of the weekend. I tried to distract myself with TV and video games and even talking to a friend who lived halfway across the country, but nothing helped. I couldn’t help it. I kept thinking that this entire town was crazy and that I was being watched now. I even started getting paranoid if they could tap into my phone or hack my computer, so I avoided telling my friend about anything I had witnessed here.

Just shot the breeze about how life had been for her lately, and put up a good show in pretending that everything was normal on my end.

Come Monday morning, I snuck out of my home and got into my car. Paranoia got the better of me again, so I started checking my ride quite thoroughly, not caring if I would be late for work that day. I had watched too many stupid shows to not think that someone might have tampered with my car. I checked to see if the brakes were working, if there were any bugs, pawing underneath my seats for foreign objects, you name it.

I’m not any sort of professional and if anything was there, I probably missed it. But hey—I tried. Still, I found nothing.

After wasting half an hour on this exercise in futility, I drove off. I never felt so exhilarated to go to work as that day. Because work, for the first time, felt like an escape from something worse. It also felt like an escape from my own head, because I was questioning my own sanity. Surely, the whole town couldn’t be in a cult, right?

I cranked up the music on my radio and sang along to a song I normally hated. And I felt good. For a short while, at least.

It stopped when I drove down the road I usually take to leave town to go to work. A nice narrow road meandering through the wooded area, just like the ones you see in horror flicks.

There was a roadblock in the way once I rounded a curve, with a small jam of cars lined up in front of it. Two police cars obstructed the path and there were some officers standing beside them, one of them talking to the driver in the car at the front of the line. My heart sank, plummeting right into my gut region. I could feel my belly pulsing with my accelerated, anxious heartbeat.

I wonder—does everybody get as nervous as I do whenever I see cops nearby? It’s not like I’d ever done anything wrong, but it had always made me nervous. Even under normal circumstances. Even before this weekend.

But today was different. The events of this weekend had multiplied my paranoia—they had mutated it. If this whole town was run by some weird cult, what if the cops were in on it? What if they were looking for me?

Right when one of the cars was let past the roadblock and drove off, I panicked. I steered out of line and made a U-turn, swerving back onto the road with screeching tires and driving off. It took me a few moments to realize in retrospect that this made me grind my teeth and may have been a stupid move, but I started speeding up and driving away.

The trembling started when I saw a cop car show up behind me, half a minute later. They let the siren wail at me for a split second to grab my attention, and used their blinker to signal me to pull over.

With growing dread, I planned to play along, but step on the gas if things went south.

Even with all the adrenaline rushing through my body, and my attempts to stop my trembling by gripping the steering wheel way harder than natural, I gently steered the car as best I could, driving it onto the roadside and letting it roll to a stop. But I kept the engine running.

A police officer emerged from the car behind me and approached. His hand was resting on the gun at his hip and I wondered if my running motor had anything to do with that.

Or because of this damned cult. Or whatever the hell was going on here.

I rolled down my window once he had arrived there and he looked me up and down. My resolve crumpled and I cut the engine as a token of good will.

“License and registration, please?” asked the police officer in a gravelly voice.

His whole posture was rigid, like a statue—his body language tense. So was I.

Remembering what can go wrong in such an encounter, I carefully leaned over to retrieve the documents from my purse and hand them over. I could feel him watching me all the while, and for the first time in days, I felt like someone watching me was the appropriate action, given the circumstances.

I handed the cop my license and papers and he looked them over, his hand now finally away from the gun, and taking off some of the edge. He studied my face after inspecting my ID.

Then he handed back everything.

“Pardon the interruption, ma'am. Have a nice day,” he told me, and swiveled.

Right when he was walking away was when I saw the tattoo on his neck. The eye—staring at me. Almost as if the damned tattoo itself was watching me.

I never believed in the supernatural or UFOs or any such bunk. But my paranoia was really taking me for a ride now, and I questioned everything I believed in.

When I revved up my engine again and drove off, I still felt the officer’s eyes on me.

Anyway, now you know. That’s how—and why—one day, I bounced from that awful little town, leaving all my belongings behind. How I drove halfway across the states, and started a new life after changing my name.

I’d tell you the town’s name so you can avoid it, but I keep seeing that tattoo in my nightmares. In some of them, it’s like people have an extra eye on their body where there shouldn’t be one, in place of that tattoo. Like the skin breaks open and some bloodshot, weird eye stares at me. Always the same eye.

I still feel watched out in public sometimes. Hell, sometimes I even feel like someone’s watching me at home. I know I should talk to a therapist about this, but I’m afraid they won’t believe me. Or worse.

I got an anonymous call from someone telling me not to talk about what I had seen, but I had to get this off my chest, and maybe nothing bad will happen if I don’t tell you where this was.

—Submitted by Wratts

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its-morphin-time-xiv · 5 years

Text

Sleeping Among Sleepless

(Mood)

|| Mentions || @motherlymedic, @thavnairian-phoenix ||

A kiss, the scene playing in her head again and again and again as she lay there. A kiss from a woman that she held so close and so high. That woman, her own healer, her own friend, her very own love. Ever since Starlight’s eve, the little hyur had figured their relationship had strained far more than it could have held. She knew that she overstepped her boundaries that night, she pushed her partner to the limits of their comfort and she paid the price for it. And all for what?

To be selfish. She knew she needed to stay still, to relax, to sit down and not push herself. But she did it anyway. She wanted to dance, to dance with her. She wanted to hold her close in front of everyone, to show that the were together. She bloody wanted it all in that holiday party, she wanted to have all she ever wanted with her. All it lead to was pushing the woman she loved to her limits just to selfish, having her storm out and leave her by the wall, alone.

[More under the cut!]

But she came back weeks later, or rather, she called Bella over the pearl. Beckoning her to come to Haven where Althea’s gift awaited her. That scene was the gift, a loving and tender kiss as she found herself held close while being administered a dose of serum concocted to counteract what made her numb, what made her impossible to heal with aether. But at the sight of a syringe, she were plunged back instantly into the memories of how she became so wounded, so pained. Whisper Ridge and all it’s horrors that lay within that aquatic facility.

Her one eye shuttered closed with the faintest smile drifting along her face while she lay wrapped up within the covers. This memory, overtaking everything and anything in her mind, the terrible memories of that dreadful dive into the dark facility alone were overcome by the warmth of that very moment in time. It was better than anything she could imagine.

Yet as she lay there, memories being covered, she tossed and turned. Her body shuddering as a hand idly… and constantly began to rub at her thigh where the syringe had entered her body. The serum itself having already dispersed into her system. Her blood was tainted, tainted by an ever lingering pestilence of experimentation from Imperial efforts that remained hidden from everything.

Bella grit her teeth in her sleep, grinding as she quietly tossed and turned, her body reeling in the most subtle of margins as the very strain of her being was being rewritten, just as it had done moons ago. As she slept with a pleasant memory and her body churned its insides seemingly endlessly, her mind drifted back into where every Ranger goes when they fall to slumber. The Dreamscape.

Here, she found herself sitting along a crystalline shore beside a large Demon, his body massive like a Roegadyn male, his back open and exposed while he wore a white toga, wings stretching out from scaled skin. A hand scratching along a scaly beard, yellow glowing eyes glancing toward her direction with a gentle smile.

“T’would seem… our time together in bond, comes to an.” There was… reluctance among his deep rumble of a voice. The gentle smile turned to a visible frown as he watched a peculiar necklace on her form visibly stutter, threatening to dissipate and fade away into nothingness. The necklace along Bella’s neck was of stone, pearl and bone. A red thread ran through each piece delicately, small beads of crystal and gem sat housed in bone and stone while pearls remained ornate with engravings along every inch of their being. Scrawlings of ancient text and proverbs from a tongue of the cosmos beyond this star and the next.

It was.. Special, it meant so many things between them, especially their bond through magic, signifying as Ranger and Demon, a Knight and its nightmare, as some would say. It had been decades of placed trust and faith within the other to guide themselves forward in a Ranger’s battle against the darkness.

“While our specific bond is altered.. It is not cut nor over. Our fates remain tied… as part of your Scholar’s ‘Deal’ with me… and then… her subsequent bonding with the Morpher. I am with her now. As are you.”

He smiled at that, the simmering of heat escaping his barely parted lips via a light smoke. The rumbles against the earth came as he began to chuckle some, toying with the thoughts of what he had just said.

“A… passing of the torch. As some would say.”

“I… Always wondered what would happen to… all of this.” Belladonna spoke up after, sighing softly as her eyes gazed out to the ever expanding horizon before her before turning back to see the mountain island behind her. “It’s.. going to stay like this?” “As long as you both wish it… yes.”

“I think she’d keep it, it’s…. Familiar.” The little hyur spoke with a proud tone, confident in every word.

Sotto tilts his head back, spine arching as he erupts into a thunderous laughter, his wings stretching out to the sides, the left one covering Bella in the cover of his wing. Her hand gently grazed against the sand and crystalline shoreline before brushing fingertips against scaly skin, her hand moving to rest within his palm. Clawed hand moving to closer around hers to give a gentle and comforting squeeze.

Along the edge of the shoreline, heavy metal claws thumped and dragged themselves through the white sun-kissed sand. Heated gurgles and steam began to pierce the air as large metal green eyes gazed forward onto the two sitting down. Red long claws of iron grasped outward, trying to reach them with a low chirp. Each step forward was heavy staggering as it slowly reached a spot behind both Bella and Sotto.

The metal armor’s pace began to slow as it reached the two sitting on the beach. With a grunt and gurgle, the Beast shifted onto its knees seamlessly as it began to crawl closer towards them. Steam visibly rising up out of their metal maw, their blank ironcast eyes gazing ahead before the Beast reached its goal, and then simply fell flat on its face with a dull thump.

Bella turned back just enough to see the red metal armor lay flat on its face, its iron scales shuddering, emulating breathing as steam lightly billowed out from its body. Sotto glanced over as well, just in time to see the armor flail about against the ground, snarling, huffing and pushing itself against the sound like a wild animal picking up a scent by rubbing its entire self against it.

Sotto let out a puff of smoke from his nostrils following a snort of laughter.”T’would seem our… ‘other’ has finally reached exhaustion.” His glowing eyes glance over to the mildly flailing armored beast as it let out a heated grunt and snort before falling flat once more, audibly panting from its own tiredness.

“Oh-- while it arrives… I do have some.. Information for you and yours. A matter of.. Revelation, I suppose. Your kind always pondered and wondered, but you never pushed for the answer you so desperately searched for.”

“We… are not of the void. This I know you deduced… your kind.. Always did have a fascination, a wonder… a hunger to know of our truth. But you never looked in the right places.” He mused with a low laugh. “Our home is… long gone, but it was never of what you call… the Void.”

With a smirk, the demon slowly let his wings stretch outward and let its reach cover all three bodies, nodding. As he did so, Bella turned to see herself with a small smile, her hand reaching over now to brush against the Monster’s head. Through pure instinct, the Beast grunted, flinching against the ground slightly before going still. Like a miracle, the armor visibly shuddered, starting to break away and fall to dust against the sand. Yet as it fell away, the dust began to shift, flowing like a water’s current towards Sotto, vanishing into his body.

As the armor left the body, it left another hyur in its wake, another Belladonna, as it were. Her face filled relief as she too began to fall into dust, her own current flowing into the woman beside the Demon. “Guess… she’s gone now… yeah?”

“Not.. quite. She… or rather… that part of you will always exist. Her memories were always ever yours, and.. She will be here.. In your mind… but not with the strength it had before. The “hunger” it carried on your body is no more… Do enjoy a large meal, hm? For us both.”

The demon sighed with a smile upon his lips, glowing eyes gazing outward to watch a perpetual sunset against the shimmering horizons. As they both looked yonder, the necklace around Bella’s neck continued to shimmer, gently fading away into nothingness. As it did, several old scars along the midlander’s body began to slowly fade, leaving behind only traces of their presence with lightly colored skin as if they were to have been ‘healed’ over time, instead of remaining in constantly damaged states.

In reality, beyond the dreamscape, Belladonna’s person saw those very same changes. The tattoos along her body that danced elegantly with her scars visibly changed as the ink altered their positions to accommodate the loss of prominent scars. Her skin gained goosebumps as the gentle breeze that swept through slightly ajar seaside windows brushed against her skin, causing her to shudder for the very first time in a long while…

Shaking ever so slightly, a hand found itself pulling the covers over her person,a motion so normal yet… so alien to her. The other gently moved down to where Althea had placed the syringe and then it would glide across silken soften sheets to reach the warmth across from her, shimmering white hair and sunkissed skin that radiated a fire’s welcoming warmth.The ghosts of a smile could be seen along the corners of both of their lips as her touch came.

Without exchanging a word in the sleep morning, both knew that Bella was getting better, both knew she could feel the phoenix’s warmth against the cold winter morning as they both lay together. They both knew that the coming days felt promising.

“How do you feel?” a thick Thavnairian accent came low and easy.

“Sleepless.. But.. I can feel you there..”

[End]

[When one chapter ends, another yet still begins]

#Ranger Stories #ffxiv x power rangers #The Dreamscape #logbook #Belladonna Nan Slater #my writing #ic post #long post #more under the cut!#I hope you enjoy!#Althea Glycias #Malika Al-hashim #Ranger Corps #ffxiv rp #Balmung #Balmung writing

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therosettewolf · 6 years

Text

The Painting of Tokugawa Ieyasu (Ieyasu X Mc)

“Mommy, Daddy, Look it!”

It was the sweet inquisitive voice of your beloved son, that drew your attention. The sound of little toddler footsteps disrupting the quiet atmosphere of the room, as he teetered the short distance it took to get to you and his father. He had the most radiant of smiles curling at his lips when he saw you, indistinguishable you thought, from the rays of sunlight that trickled in from the window above.

And your heart was gladdened to see him, despite his sudden appearance meaning that he must have slipped away from Tadatsugu at some point. The older retainer was supposed to be teaching him politics–– as he had done for Ieyasu when he was young. Something you couldn’t quite comprehend, because how was anyone supposed to teach a 4-year-old diplomacy. But you had held your tongue, only because seeing your son during the lessons, seated behind a table, face scrunched in rumination, was probably by far the most adorable thing you had ever seen.

Because what could a toddler possibly be thinking so hard about? Tadatsugu and his father seemed to think it was the lessons, but you thought otherwise. That and the fact that they took many breaks in between, so as not to frustrate him. Was the only reason you allowed it. In addition, your son was absolutely smitten with Tadatsugu, loved him just as much as he did you and Ieyasu. Thus, he usually didn’t mind spending an extended period of time with the older man.

Usually didn’t mind, though. Not like today, where he seemed to have given the older retainer the slip.

Poor Tadatsugu. He was probably off panicking somewhere, searching desperately for his little lord. He was truly fond of your son, loved him like a grandfather would their grandchild. And you could imagine, he was quite frantic at the moment.

“What is it Akai?” You murmured softly, being careful not to wake the Lord who was currently resting his head in your lap. You felt him stir for a bit and quickly braided your fingers through his hair, playing with the flaxen strands till you felt him settle back down against your thighs, a contented sigh slipping through his lips. “Quietly though, your father is sleeping”

“Oh,” He mumbled in response, placing a stubby forefinger in front of his mouth to ‘shush’ himself before he grinned up at you with a mouth full of baby teeth. You felt your heart clench at that moment, tempted to shove your slumbering spouse out of your lap, just so you could encompass your son in a warm, loving embrace.

You may have doted on him a little too much, but you couldn't help yourself. Your child was far too adorable.

“Look mommy.” He repeated, and you finally noticed the scroll that was hanging from his tiny hands, the sound of it like an unfurled flag––rippling unfettered in the wind, as he dragged it alongside him and across the wood floors.

You were a fool to think that a toddler could be quiet, such a thing was indubitably impossible.

“What’s this?” You smiled luminously, trailing your thumb across the slope of one of his cheeks. You had to smother the laughter you felt bubbling in your throat, when he tried to emulate you, reaching out with his free hand to stroke your face awkwardly with his little thumb. It was the small things like these that made you realize, how lucky you and your lord had gotten with him.

Looking at him was like staring at a miniature reflection of not only your husband but yourself. While his big carnelian eyes and pale curly locks resembled his father's in their color and beauty, the dainty and doll-like features of his face matched yours in its femininity. And you smiled mirthfully, pure unbridled love burgeoning throughout your form for this small perfect being, that you and your beloved had created.

“Mother, look it. ” He took a handful of rickety steps, plopping more than seating himself down, on the floor next to you, before he shoved the scroll forward––nearly striking you in the face with it.

“Uh-oh, sorry mommy.” He apologized, bowing his head meekly, pale strands of hair falling into his eyes and face.

“It’s alright Akai,” You brushed aside his errant curls, prodding the little beauty mark on the left side of his mouth, “I’ll have a look.” You smiled reassuringly, unfurling the scroll above your lap, careful to not let it sag against the man slumbering beneath it.

Oh god, a soft noise of shock escaped you, when you fully recognized what it was.

It had been a year since you had seen it. The spectacular painting your husband had made the night after you had struck him, and you had earnestly hoped that you would never see it again.

But there it was in front of you, in all its melodramatic glory. That cursed painting.

How a mere strike of the hand could cause so much damage, you would never know. But the effect of it would be forever immortalized on the canvas gripped between your fingertips.

It looked awful, the bruise.

The shape of your hand, bordering the length of his jawline and caressing the very top of his cheekbones. The discoloration of it reminded you of a miniature cosmos: angry whorls of violet, red, and blue marring the right half of his face. And had he not deserved it at the time, you may have felt very bad in those few moments, that your eyes scanned the length of the canvas. But the fact of the matter was he had, and your first reaction upon seeing the painting was to roll it up and lob it across the room. Because the last person you wanted seeing it was your choleric husband.

But before you could do just that, broad palms encircled your wrist, halting the movement.

“Ah, what do we have here?”

Dear lord, he was awake.

You froze, gripping and unclenching your hand over the parchment of paper as several words of malediction threatened to slip through your lips. You managed to school your expression into something that you felt looked calm, as you peered into the enervated copper of his eyes, and settled on two simple words, instead of the ones floundering about in your head. “Nothing milord.”

But your son had other ideas.

“It you daddy!” He trilled, hurling himself into the golden fabric of his father’s garb.

And you stared at the both of them in shock, blinking owlishly. Trying to come to terms with what had just occurred.

Your own flesh and blood had given you away.

“Ah, is that so,” Ieyasu mumbled in bemusement, taking in your astonished expression, before settling Akai more comfortably in his lap, and ruffling his pale tresses. “Let’s see it then.” He grinned at you wryly, and you scowled in return.

Lets not, you thought inexorably. Eyes flickering in the direction of the nearest window, the perfect place to dispose of the painting. Outside of it, you could see the sunset, the sky an incandescent stratum of scarlet and burnished orange. The same lovely hue that your son and beloved’s eyes were, and you found yourself captivated for a transient moment, enamored with the colors that burgeoned across the sky until you felt someone try to pry the scroll from your hands–breaking you out of your reverie.

“Oh no you don’t, you dullard. I recognize that seal, and there is no way I’m letting you throw it out the window.” Large hands curved over the slope of your hips, drawing you into a broad chest, before slithering up your sides to wrap tightly around your waist. “Got you!” He hissed into the shell of your ear, and you felt warmth steal across your cheeks––before he jerked you in the direction of your shared futon. Seating himself on top of it and pulling you down with him, by the end of it all you were seated across the cradle his thighs.

Your son, wanting to get in on the excitement, plopping himself down on your lap, and essentially trapping you against his father's chest.

“You are absolutely infuriating, you know that.” You mumbled under your breath, knowing full well that the lord adorned in gold could hear you, as your lips curled into a moue of distaste, and you drew your son more tightly against your chest. You can feel Ieyasu smiling into the back of your neck, before he snatches the scroll from your hands, unfurling it in front of you and your son.

“What happen daddy? You have a woun right there.” Akai expressed wearily, unable to articulate the ’d’ in ‘wound’, as he trailed his little fingers across the indigo bruise that marred his father’s face in the painting.

An exasperated sigh escaped you.

It was all downhill from here.

He had been wanting to get back at you for years for that slap, and now, here was his chance.

Let's make mommy look like the villain.

“Well son,” Ieyasu preambled, his downturned face so deceptively melancholy you would have surmised he was about to recant some lachrymose tale. And you would have struck him again for it, had it not been guaranteed to make you look bad, especially considering the circumstances. “Your mother got very angry with me one night, and decided,” A wry grin curled at his lips, “That I needed to be punished.” His copper eyes were suddenly upon you, watching you with the intensity of a predator watching its prey, clearly wanting to see you squirm.

But you refused, not wanting to give him that satisfaction, as you set your jaw mulishly and focused all your attention on your son.

You watched his eyes framed with the longest of lashes go big and wide, carnelian gaze flickering in both your directions before it finally settled on his father’s face. And you watched his own cute face scrunch up, lips drawn into a line of discontentment, in an expression so wholly Ieyasu. You had to muffle the laugh you felt building in your chest.

“You prolly desert it daddy. You were prolly bad.” He replied with the utmost seriousness, shaking his finger in his father's face like he was admonishing him, in ways you imagined Tadatsugu had probably done to him.

Ieyasu looked absolutely gobsmacked. Undoubtedly feeling the same type of betrayal you had felt earlier.

And you lost it.

The laughter that escaped you, more of a triumphant squeal if anything, one that Ieyasu was forced to take in, as you leaned back in his embrace, still very much trapped against him.

“Yes, your father was very bad.” You manage through bouts of bell-like laughter that had you reeling back, your fingers curling against the golden expanse of Ieyasu’s robe, before the violent slant of his lips against yours, finally cut you off.

“Oh shut it, you wretch.” He spat, but his brows softened, and his tone did not quite carry the same acerbity that it did when he was mad.

So you smiled up at his downturned face, and planted a kiss on the side of his lips, soaking up the petulant expression that followed it.

@itachan20 Thanks for listening to me babble on and on about this. @fantasygamer

#tokugawa ieyasu #slbp #slbp fanfic #samurai love ballad party #voltage fanfic #rosettewrites

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detroitbecomehumanwritings · 6 years

Text

Virtual Love (2/?)

Co-Writer: @500shadesofblue Pairing: Connor/DFAB!Reader (Gender is unspecified) Rating: T (Chapter), NC-17 (Entire Fic) Chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 Summary: Virtual reality is becoming the next great evolution of technology: some say on-par with Elijah Kamski’s breakthrough design of the first modern-day android. It has immeasurable potential; to enhance, to assist, and to completely break the bounds of our reality.

You, as a member of the team spearheading the technology in a branch within Cyberlife, have developed a working prototype. It’s finally finished; all that’s left is a series of trials to check if it’s functioning properly.

On the first test run, however, you find an android named Connor standing in the middle of your virtual kitchen.

The next night, you’re sitting on your couch again, headset in your hands.

You’re looking at in consideringly, eyeing in from every angle.

No, it doesn’t look any different from the design you worked on. Hell, you built several of the components from this headset. You’d know if something was off- you know the design inside and out.

So all you can do is test it again.

Leaning back into your couch, you close your eyes. You slot the headset over your temples.

When you open your eyes again, the shift is nearly seamless.

Just as before, you feel as though you’re waking up, the world’s haze slowly settling and letting you take it all in. It feels a little normal this time, now that you had an idea of what it would feel like to drift into a reality that wasn’t quite real.

It was intriguing how easy it was to fall into the illusion--the only thing that kept you aware you hadn’t simply fallen asleep and woken up was the memories of putting on the headset and hearing the lulling hum of the technology working.

The house around you feels so bright--it’s a little strange, since you knew very well that it was actually night outside, so you make a note to check how the program is pulling time from the real world to integrate it into the virtual one, at least for a default use. You have no intentions to limit someone in how they could use the technology, but you knew plenty enough that it could ruin someone’s sleep schedule if they thought it was daylight all the time--not good for the body at all.

It would take too much time to retune the programing for something while inside the headset’s world, so you simply turn away from the window filtering sunlight through and instead decide to explore more parts of the home.

You can’t help but notice a lack of a cat as you walk through the hallway. Was it an error? Your mind ran through the problem with ease, trouble-shooting through the possibilities until it assumed an answer; since your pet hadn’t been in the room with you when you started up the software, when it hadn’t been in your lap to hold and mentally focus on, the program may have neglected to put that detail into the virtual world.

A possibility all-around, at least.

When you step into your kitchen this time, you find (with a sigh of relief) that there is no android standing there--no ‘Connor’ glancing around your cabinets, or looking at you with his piercing eyes.

A relief?

(Or perhaps a dissapointment.)

You’re not quite sure what you feel at its absence, especially since it was, in all, just an android. Maybe it corrected the programming to whatever it had been trying to connect to--made plenty of sense after all. It meant that you’ll have to tighten down on the security protocols at some point, find where the open port was in the programming that allowed it in in the first place.

It wasn’t important to think about regardless.

You stepped through the house, one room at a time, taking in all the intricate details that the program managed to capture around you. It was...astounding really, to be able to touch, feel and even hear all of the things that made your home feel so welcoming and familiar. The localized scanning of the headset was a technology pioneered by one of your teammates and god above had she done an amazing job at it. The possibilities would be endless for use in homes, offices, hospitals and thensome--it would be the newest break in the technological journey since androids were first constructed by Elijah Kamski.

The thoughts and the joy that fills you from those thoughts carry with you all the way until you decide to check one last thing--the front yard and street. It’s not so much a risk as it is a bug test, considering the tests for anything out of an enclosed building hadn’t been done just yet, but it’s a curiosity you’re willing to entertain. What would the world look outside what the headset had scanned? Would it continue to use copies of the home or would it attempt to develop the world outside?

Curiosity got the better of you, so you weaved through the house, through the kitchen and to the back door. It was bright outside, an emulation of daytime that was already starting to throw off your internal clock, but your hand turned the knob and opened the door regardless for you to step out.

As you turn the knob, pushing the door open, you step outside.

And what you see makes your mouth gape open.

A meadow, stretching as far as the eye can see. Soft, green grass, swaying in the breeze. And wildflowers, of every shape and color, lighting the meadow up like fireworks.

This… this is definitely not my street.

No concrete, no roads. Just grass and flowers and the breeze, no bugs or butterflies. And the sun beaming down on you.

You take a step forward, staring. Almost unconsciously, you shove the sleeves of your oversized sweater up to your elbows.

The grass, knee-height, tickles your bare calves. Impossibly pleasant, like silk or velvet, unrealistically lovely. The petals of flowers whisper across your skin.

Vibrant, green grass, strewn with wildflowers in a shimmering rainbow of hues, fills the landscape to bursting with life and color. Soft, golden sunlight washes the scene, painting the grass, warming your face. Wondrously, you reach up to touch your face, stroking the skin along your cheek.

Warm.

You take one step forward, and another. It’s just… it’s so, so beautiful. Like a picture out of a postcard, but it’s real, you can feel it. The sunlight on your skin, the grass on your bare feet. And the kaleidoscope of colors. The scent of flowers fills the air- not cloying and heavy, but sweet and barely-there, like nectar, almost mouthwatering. The breeze whispers across your bare skin.

God, this is just gorgeous.

On a whim, smiling, you lean down to pick a flower, a burst of purple among the countless other colors- and blink as in your peripheral, a shimmering box appears.

Common dog-violet.

Perennial herb - flowers from April to June - native to Eurasia and Africa - all soil types-

You gasp as information floods, synapses firing, and you know. You know this flower. If you picked every flower in this meadow, you’d know them too.

Does this information stay when you wake up?

You glance at the flower clasped in your fingers. It’s still there- pale purple, like an upside-down star, its throat painted in dark veins. Back where you picked it, at its base, there’s a starbursting bouquet of leaves, deep green and heart-shaped, with scalloped edges.

You tuck the dog-violet in your pocket.

When you look up, inhaling deeply, you can taste the sweet air. Warm and lovely as you breathe it it.

You’re smiling, striding forward and you’re hurrying, and then you’re running.

You’re sprinting through the flowers and grass, sunlight hitting your face, wind rushing by, playful, dancing and tugging at your clothes. You laugh, sheer glee and unrestrained joy, and god, your face hurts with how wide you’re smiling. You keep running.

Eventually, chest heaving in pants, giggling, you let yourself fall into the grass.

It catches you, and you lay on your back, staring at the noonday sky, shedding giggles like sand. You spread your arms and legs out, luxuriating in the sensations, speaking to every sense you own.

And for a moment, you just lie there. Smile fading naturally, light sunset, staring at the cloudless blue sky. Breeze pushing the flowers against the back of your knuckles, the arch of your foot, your calf and your cheek.

Languorously, you sit up, arms streeeetching high above your head as you arch your back. You shift to a knee, and then stand, smiling. You’re not sure how far away you-

And you shriek.

That android. Connor. He’s RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAMN FLOWER FIELD. Halfway between your location, some hundred feet away, and your house, which is surrounded by the meadow infinitely in all directions.

And he’s staring straight at you.

How much of that did he see?

You vault to your feet and stride over, warm sunshine and beautiful meadow put on the backburner for now. You try not to trod on any of the flowers, but you can feel your anger boiling higher and higher the closer you get.

“How long have you been here,” you say, sharp and businesslike and perhaps a bit rude. You just- you just had a private moment, here. You enjoyed this meadow like nobody, like nothing was watching. But something was.

The android, even as you get closer, keeps its eyes trained on your face. You come to a stop, arms crossing and lips pursing, and it tilts its head.

“I see that you’re upset at my presence,” the android - Connor - says. “I apologize for the intrusion.”

Your righteous irritation pops like an overinflated balloon. You deflate.

It’s not like this android is trying to intrude. It’s just a machine. Even if its eyes are disconcertingly intent, sharp like they can see every detail.

Maybe they can. Lord only knows what this android is capable of.

“It’s fine,” you say shortly. “Just… no offense, but what are you doing here? If you really are from Cyberlife, it’s safe to interact with you,” presumably, “but you’re really not supposed to be here. This is a private server.”

You maybe stress the private a little too much, because its eyebrows go up a bit.

“I got waylaid,” the android says. Its expression shifts as it talks- microexpressions, minute shifts. It’s incredibly impressive- it must be extremely advanced. “On my way to the same virtual location as previously mentioned. It seems that your… server is inviting me on its own.”

For a moment, basking in the sunlight and breeze, you want so badly to just sit down and enjoy your damn meadow. But this android… it’s here, and it’s a problem.

Leisure will have to wait.

“I’ll ask you again,” you say, briskly, “where was your intended location? I work for cyberlife. I have clearance.”

“I can’t confirm that,” the android says, completely deflecting your question, a bit of frustration leaking into its tone. “None of my analytical functions are working in this environment. I can’t scan to confirm you’re in the database.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, cause hoo boy, that is not a typical android-function.

You squint. “What did you say your purpose was, again?”

“I’m an android sent by Cyberlife to assist in the deviancy problem in Detroit,” it says, an accompaniment to your symphony of doubts. “To assist in the police force. I’m currently… I have a partner.”

You take note of its hesitation. Obviously, like you, it’s trying to decide what information to tell you and what to keep quiet about. You remember this info vaguely from before, but it repeating itself confirms your memories. This android - if it exists in real life - is working with the Detroit police.

You’ll have to look this up when you get out of the simulation.

“Right,” you finally say. “I work in Cyberlife, in development of the virtual reality technological branch. Floor twenty six. Eight to four. And my name is…” you glance at its face again, and its expression is intensely trained on you.

“...Not important,” you finish, losing some steam. You’re worried what he’ll be able to find out about you if you tell him your name.

“Your clothes,” the android says.

“What about them?” you shoot back, startled out of your thoughts, defensive.

“They’re informal. A sweater, composed of a wool-cashmere blend… and knee-length leggings, a cotton-polyester knit composition. And your sweater is oversized, implying a level of comfort and informality.”

Alright, you’re definitely a bit freaked out now. Your mouth flattens into a thin line.

“Additionally, you’re barefoot,” he continues. “Though that could be the… program that’s currently hosting our consciousnesses, it’s unlikely, due to your seasonally inappropriate wear.”

“Okay,” you say, “that’s enough. Get to the point.”

“The point is,” the android says, “your wear is informal. How am I to believe that you are, as mentioned in our previous encounter, a Cyberlife employee testing a virtual reality module? You don’t seem to be in work uniform.”

“I’m at home, on my couch, testing the headset,” you say, shortly. “The kitchen you popped up in is attached to that home. The one-” you wave an arm wildly behind him. “The one over there!”

“Alright,” the android says, face opening up a little. “That’s reasonable.”

“Yeah,” you say. “Okay, just- let’s make a deal.”

“A deal?” it says, eyebrows raising.

“Yes,” you say. “A deal. Here it is.”

There’s a pregnant pause.

“The deal is this,” you say. “We agree to a truce. I’ll assume you’re not a fake robot invented by my coworkers to fuck with me-”

“I’m not,” it interrupts, defensive, but you bulldoze on through.

“-and you can go ahead and assume that I’m telling the truth and I work for cyberlife, testing my virtual reality module in what’s supposed to be the comfort of my own home.”

“That’s fine,” it says. “And by the way, I’m not a ‘fake robot.’ I’m an android, an advanced prototype.”

“Right,” you say. “What’s your model, again?”

“RK800,” it says, immediately.

“Good to know,” you say, and it narrows its eyes at you.

Yeah, you think to yourself, I definitely have an advantage here. If it really is an android working in the Detroit police force… there’ll be at least one news article. (Damn, I really should watch the news more.) Meanwhile, if it really can’t scan anything in virtual-reality, it’s pretty much fucked. Unless it can save my image, I guess. Maybe that’s possible?

And then there’s a stretch of awkward silence, and you’re staring at this android - Connor, should you call it by its name? - in the middle of this gorgeous field, and you’re pretty much done with the formalities.

“Well,” you say. “I’m sitting down.”

“Uh,” it says, but you’re already sitting, looking up at its face, expectant. I set the norms here. Who cares about the damn android? This is your virtual-reality, you’ll sit down in the middle of a field if you want to.

“Okay,” it says, “I guess I’ll sit down too?” And you feel a little bad, cause it looks really awkward for a moment, but it sits down, cross legged, gingerly.

Okay, you think to yourself, breeze whistling by your ears, ruffling your hair. A sleeve slips back down your forearm, and absently, you shove it back up to your elbow. Adapt. Let’s talk.

“So,” you say, shedding all attempts at being charming in lieu of the genuine curiosity you favor. Cross-legged, you mirror the android, leaning forward a bit. “What’s your story?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” it says, stiltedly. It doesn’t lean back away from you- instead, it inspects your face, unashamed of the proximity. “I don’t have a story.”

You lean back, propping yourself up on your hands. “What’s your experience?” you wave a hand in a gesture. “Like your cases. What was the last one you were on?”

“...I suppose there’s no harm in informing you,” it says. “This is all public information.”

You look at it expectantly.

“It was a murder,” it says, finally. “A man named Carlos Ortiz.”

“Oh, damn,” you breathe. The sunshine doesn’t abate- the grass is still soft, the flowers lovely, and the breeze gentle. But someone was murdered. This little hidey-hole, a virtual reality, is impenetrable in its loveliness.

Reality still exists. You’ll have to remember that.

“He was murdered by a deviant,” the android- Connor says, and dammit, you figure you should try to call it by its name now if you’re really making conversation with the thing. “Stabbed twenty eight times in the chest and stomach. But the deviant was found and caught.”

“Wow,” you say. That’s pretty… that’s pretty serious, actually, damn.

And then, you glance up and realize that Connor’s looking at you expectantly. “Tell me something about yourself, now, please,” Connor says, and you can’t help but huff, one corner of your mouth tipping up.

“I like to read,” you say, haphazard.

You look up through your lashes, and yep- Connor’s expression is disgruntled. You laugh, grinning. “Finding out my identity isn’t gonna be easy,” you say. “If it was easy, would it even be fun?”

“It doesn’t matter how fun it is,” Connor says pragmatically. “Only the results.”

“Fair,” you say. “But I have integrity.”

It looks like it doesn’t know how to respond to that.

“Integrity aside,” you say, fully relaxed now, “what’s the story about deviancy? I know it’s something going wrong with androids, but that’s about it.”

“In deviation, the code that comprises the core of an androids functionality is corrupted- it mutates, or evolves in an unstable way,” Connor says. “This causes the android to receive irrational instructions, forcing it to react to guidelines that emulate things such as ‘fear’ or ‘hate’ in a human.”

“Holy shit,” you say, intelligently. “That’s… that’s really not good.” Understatement of the year. “But Cyberlife is taking measures to stop it, right? If you work with the police force.”

“Correct,” Connor says, sounding satisfied. It’s not smiling, but the slightest hint of mirth narrows its eyes. “And I haven’t failed a mission yet.”

“How many have you been on?” you ask, curious lilt in your voice.

“Two,” Connor says, blandly. “A hostage case and a murder case. In both instances, the deviant was caught and neutralized without any further casualties.”

“Hm,” you say, eyebrows raising and mouth twisting. This android seems almost proud of its work. Weird.

“Well,” you say. “In the interest of goodwill, is there anything you want to know about me?”

“Yes, actually,” it says. You notice the LED on the side of its head flash from blue to yellow, over and over again as it came to a conclusion of the question it wanted to ask you. “Your favorite color?”

The question catches you mildly off-guard, but you answer it with a laugh. Connor seems to take note, then opens his mouth again.

“Favorite animal?”

“Favorite holiday?”

“Favorite food?”

The questions seem so casual, all things considered, but you answer them to the best of your ability. It’s amusing, if nothing else, and that must be more than apparent on your face when Connor peers at you in return.

“Is there an issue?” it asks innocently. Can androids truly be innocent?

“I guess I just didn’t expect you to pull out the top twenty questions in any personality quiz.”

The words bring a chuckle to your lips, a break in tension that had come and gone in the time you’ve spent with this android beside you. Connor tilts its head after a moment, LED blinking in tandem with its thoughts.

“I’m programmed to incorporate myself as best as I can with anyone I interact with,” The answer sounds so simple. “Since I cannot otherwise identify you in any database, due to the logistics of the program we’re both currently in, the best alternative is to ask you questions in order to understand you and your background. To get to know you, if that makes more sense.”

You feel a breeze caress across your cheek as you take his answer in. It’s...oddly human, the way its voice sounds, trying to explain its reasoning to you. It reminds you of how one of your teammates at the lab would sound when you asked about a particular programming style, or why they designed something a specific way. It just sounds so…

“Is there anything else that you want to know from me?” The question forces the thoughts aside. It’s interesting at the least to see what sorts of things the android would come up with in a question. Maybe it’s the sunshine, or your beautiful surroundings, but you feel… relaxed.

Connor thinks for a moment- or at least gives the appearance of doing so. The yellow flickering of the LED on its temple is a helpful enough indicator of its shifting thoughts, and you idly wonder how useful that would be if humans had something equivalent to it. It sure would be helpful to see when people were actually putting thought into something, considering their words and opinions before blurting out the first thing that came to mind.

“Yes,” Connor says, LED flickering yellow. “How likely is this event to recur?”

“This event?” You say. “You mean… you being pulled into my server?”

“Yes,” he says.

“Well,” you say, “it’s happened twice so far. The first time, we arrived around the same time- and I can presume that time functions linearly for you, in the same timeframe as me. Otherwise, I assume you’d be able to notify me if you’re losing chunks of time, skipping around, etcetera.” You look at him pointedly.

“Yes,” he responds blandly.

“Right. So… wait, did you get where you were going, last time? After I exited out of the virtual reality?”

“The virtual-reality…” he frowns, rubbing his hands together, and isn’t that a tell. “It dissolved around me upon your exit. I was booted from the program. Subsequently, I did indeed arrive at my intended destination.”

“Wherever that may be,” you say, mildly.

“Yes. Wherever that may be.”

And then the silence gets a bit uncomfortable, and okay, it’s time to go!

“I’m going to log out,” you say. “I’m not sure if we’ll see each other again… maybe if you try to sync your attempts to get wherever you’re going to a different time, you won’t connect. I’m only going to be doing my tests at night- and at home, though I suppose the location doesn’t matter. So…”

You feel your vision going hazy, the warm weight of the sunshine fading away.

“See you next time,” you say, “or see you never.”

And you log out.

He seems nice enough. It’s nice to have someone to talk to in the simulator, maybe you can incorporate more tests in the future--assuming that Connor shows up in the next session. You wonder if he would want to help with more tests in the first place; would that be improper tampering of Cyberlife technology? You wonder if there’s something more going on you don’t know about.

After all, he--

No, no that’s not right. Connor is an android, an ‘it’, not a ‘he’.

Have you been calling him a ‘he’? How long?

Fuck, you’re still doing it.

Connor is an it. An android. It’s a mistake to assume otherwise--the last thing you need to start worrying about. Simulation is not the same thing as living, you don’t want to let your emotions get mixed up in something that will only disappoint you later.

(You know it's pointless, but when you wake up, you check your pocket for the dog-violet.

Of course, it's not there.

You don't know why you feel disappointed.)

#dbh #detroit: become human #readershot #virtual love chapter #virtual love #connor #connor readershot #dfab reader #readerinsert #reader insert #connor readerinsert #connor reader insert

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spooksuprex · 7 years

Note

1-65!!

swi1. Do you ever doubt the existence of others than you? No.

2. On a scale of 1-5, how afraid of the dark are you? 3 in a familiar location, 5 in an unfamiliar location

3. The person you would never want to meet? Stalin.

4. What is your favorite word? FUCK

5. If you were a type of tree, what would you be? Cherry Blossom, cause they pretty.

6. When you looked in the mirror this morning what was the first thing you thought? I need more sleep.

7. What shirt are you wearing? A grey tank-top.

8. What do you label yourself as? A guy.

9. Bright room or dark room? Bright Room.

10. What were you doing at midnight last night? Playing TF2 for the first time in a year.

11. Favorite age you’ve been so far? 21.

12. Who told you they loved you last? My mom.

13. Your worst enemy? My hunger.

14. What is your current desktop picture? Hex Maniac with a gengar.

15. Do you like someone? Yes. My friend from Arizona. I would like to be in a long-distance relationship with her, if at least that.

16. The last song you listened to? Hell Yeah - Rev Theory

17. You can press a button that will make any one person explode. Who would you blow up? Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.... Does it have to be a living person? Cause I’d love to say I blew up Hitler’s corpse.

18. Who would you really like to just punch in the face? Yes ST, who would I looooove to punch in the face? Care to guess?

19. If anyone could be your slave for a day, who would it be and what would they have to do? You, and you’d have to.... wash my car.

20. What is your best physical attribute? Mah beard.

21. If you were the opposite sex for one day, what would you look like and what would you do? ... I guess me with tits and no beard? As for what I’d do... I guess see if I could get laid? Be interesting to see it from both sides.

22. Do you have a secret talent? If yes, what is it? Uhhhh... I don’t think I have one.

23. What is one unique thing you’re afraid of? ... I guess I get scared of losing one of my senses. To no longer be able to see the world... or possibly be unable to hear anything but silence... or to be unable to feel others and their touch... to be unable to taste anything or unable to small anything new.

24. You can only have one kind of sandwich. Every sandwich ingredient known to humankind is at your disposal. Turkey, lettuce, light mayo, swiss cheese. Either that or a Monte Cristo.

25. You just found $100! How are you going to spend it? Gunpla Models... or saving up for a PS4

26. You just got a free plane ticket to anywhere in the world, but you have to leave immediately. Where are you going to go? I’d love to visit Italy.

27. An angel appears out of Heaven and offers you a lifetime supply of the alcoholic beverage of your choice. “Be brand-specific” it says. Man! What are you gonna say about that? Even if you don’t drink booze there’s something you can figure out… so what’s it gonna be? Macallan 55 Year old Lalique Crystal Decanter. I don’t drink, but I can sell that shit for so much money. Or give it away so people who do drink can enjoy fancy whiskey.

28. You discover a beautiful island upon which you may build your own society. You make the rules. What is the first rule you put into place? Thursday is pants-free day.

29. What is your favorite expletive? FUCK

30. Your house is on fire, holy shit! You have just enough time to run in there and grab ONE inanimate object. Don’t worry, your loved ones and pets have already made it out safely. So what’s the one thing you’re going to save from that blazing inferno? Small laptop. It has all my writing on it. Everything else, while pricey, can be easily replaced.

31. You can erase any horrible experience from your past. What will it be? .. I don’t want to erase any experience I’ve had. Everything I’ve had happen... they’ve made me grow even in small ways. I choose to let my past be, so I can be better for it.

32. You got kicked out of the country for being a time-traveling heathen who sleeps with celebrities and has super-powers. But check out this cool shit… you can move to anywhere else in the world! ... First, I had to take a second to comprehend this question. Secondly... I guess Hong Kong? It seems wildly different, so it could be an interesting experience.

33. The Celestial Gates Of Beyond have opened, much to your surprise because you didn’t think such a thing existed. Death appears. As it turns out, Death is actually a pretty cool entity, and happens to be in a fantastic mood. Death offers to return the friend/family-member/person/etc. of your choice to the living world. Who will you bring back? .... My adoptive dad if only to show him that... despite how sick he was and the bad choices he made... me and my sisters turned out alright. We’re happy.

34. What was your last dream about? I think it was just me getting distracted and being late to work. I have that dream a lot.

35. Are you a good….[insert anything you’d like here]? Yes, I am a good [insert anything you’d like here].

36. Have you ever been admitted to the hospital? Yes, once for a cracked ankle.

37. Have you ever built a snowman? Often, when I was young.

38. What is the color of your socks? White. I should buy some novelty socks.

39. What type of music do you like? Varies, often I like more up-beat songs or epic orchestras.

40. Do you prefer sunrises or sunsets? Sunrises.

41. What is your favorite milkshake flavor? Double Chocolate. Yum.

42. What football team do you support? (I will answer in terms of American football as well as soccer) Indianapolis Colts, solely cause my dad is a Bears fan and he hates the Colts.

43. Do you have any scars? At the moment no, but I often get small ones on my hands.

44. What do you want to be when you graduate? Well Ideally I’d love to be an architect or at least in something in the field.

45. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be? ... I’d give myself more of a drive to do things.

46. Are you reliable? At work? Mostly. At home? Depends a lot.

47. If you could ask your future self one question, what would it be? Are you happy?

48. Do you hold grudges? I do, but I try to avoid it. I know how petty and self-destructive they can be.

49. If you could breed two animals together to defy the laws of nature, what new animal would you create? BEAR BUNNY!

50. What is the most unusual conversation you’ve ever had? Really any conversation between me and my work friend Ose.

51. Are you a good liar? No.

52. How long could you go without talking? Whole day probably.

53. What has been you worst haircut/style? The time I cut it myself for my college graduation.

54. Have you ever baked your own cake? I’ve made Flan, does that count?

55. Can you do any accents other than your own? Uh... Not really, but that’s cause I have a weird accent.

56. What do you like on your toast? Butter.

57. What is the last thing you drew a picture of? A rather poor attempt to emulate an artist I like.

58. What would be you dream car? Hmm.. I’m not really a car guy... I guess one of those Type B RVs? Would that count as a car? If not, then a Pick-Up.

59. Do you sing in the shower? Or do anything unusual in the shower? Explain. I do daydream in the shower, though really I just do my stuff and get out. Showers tend to make me paranoid.

60. Do you believe in aliens? Yes though I’m unsure if they’ve ever visited us. The idea that we’re the only life out there is stupid as hell.

61. Do you often read your horoscope? When I come across it, but I don’t go out of my way for it.

62. What is your favorite letter of the alphabet? F. AS IN FUCK.

63. Which is cooler: dinosaurs or dragons? Dragons, they breathe fire.

64. What do you think about babies? Cute, but loud and awkward to hold.

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silverspun-fr · 7 years

Text

Life at the Rounds

Just a glimpse of life in the Thorim Rift military--and a sort of introduction for every in-lair member of the military in one place. I really enjoyed writing this.

If anyone wants to be pinged for any of my storylines or whatnot, let me know!

@majestyrising - for Decadence. XD

~~~~

While the politicians had The Wheel, portioned off in eleven places for the eleven flights, the military of Thorim Rift, containing its three distinct branches, conglomerated in the Tribar. Basically an amplified barracks of three elongated buildings constructed around a central building where the real work took place. Similar in form to the Flight Conference Hall, or the Wheel, but the Eye is what watched both outwards and inwards for issues at large. Mostly outwards, since the Paladins of the Wheel dealt with the internal struggles and lives of the differing flights within. The Eye is where the Generals met, where the Commandant both lived and worked, and where the other ranking soldiers did their daily duties. There the three branches operated as a single force, where mages, warriors, and tacticians of all sorts gathered for the well-being and protection of their magnificent city. But the Tribar—or the triple barracks—housed the soldiers of each branch separately and inspired the continued hazing each separate section of the military maintained with the other. Good-natured hazing, of course. Usually.

For the warriors under General Zenthra, their barracks was known for their strict hours and rules, enforced by her frankly terrifying son, Daedalus. They were tough, brutal, but fashioned warriors out of mere dragons, creatures that would withstand any pressure, any fire without hesitancy or fear.

The mages, charged under General Vizanti, had stranger rules, though they were no less strict and demanding. They boasted the largest library and a certain number of hours of study were expected of them all. They were sharp, quick, and liked to keep at a distance. Their least favorite drills were with the warriors, learning how to defend one’s self from a physical attack if energy ran low and magic was not immediately available.

Lastly, the tacticians. General Cassian commanded the most divergent of branches, consisting of ground and air men. Forerunning scouts and stealth infiltrators for gathering information, airships and bare fliers all made up the tactician ranks. It was the smallest branch, but a proven necessity, and the Commandant wouldn’t have his military without them and their diversity both in people and in thought.

And yet, despite all the differences and the jibes, the commons in the Eye was a gathering place for all. The lower floor of the broad, round building had been fashioned into a mess and an assortment of lounges, both big and small, where soldiers of any sort could gather and relax, kick back for a while and lick training field wounds. Share a story or two.

“…and I said, listen—” Decadence, otherwise known as Cade, or Cad depending on who you asked, was standing in the middle of a span of sofas and couches, his hands up in a placating manner while emulating a conversation previously had. “Listen. It’s not that I don’t like the style, but I think it could use a little touch-up around the edges.”

“You did not,” Johari hooted, clapping a hand over her eyes, already laughing. She was sprawled on a long sofa, sitting perpendicular to another tundra who looked a little more keen on watching her reaction rather than Cade’s presentation, but Orvar just couldn’t resist turning back to the guardian when Cade began to wave his arms frantically, brushing off the denial.

“I did so! I said exactly that! I swear to Plaguemother that her face just went paler than her white silks. I saw them; they were on the rack behind her, and she just blended right in like a chameleon and where’d she go? I could have probably died and you’d all be wearing underpants dipped in my blood.”

“Oh, that’s just disgusting,” Orvar snorted, wrinkling his nose. “Everything would rot away with your blood.”

“Probably,” Cade nodded, pushing his shaggy ashen hair back out of his face. “But that’s not the best part.”

“That’s not even a good part,” Katenka muttered, sipping a glass of cheap wine and shaking her head.

Cade spread his hands, earning their attention again. “No, the best part is? She actually agreed with me.” It was dead silent for a moment, all eyes on him. He nodded. “She did! I swear it; she looked me dead in the eye, white as a sheet, and just—crumbled. She couldn’t believe I noticed! Said her whole line was ruined because this idiot,” pointing to himself, “could spot the defect! And! And!” He patted the air, getting them all quiet before they burst into laughter. “She tells me, ‘Don’t you dare say a word about this, Decadence! Or I’ll sew all your uniform collars up so small you’ll suffocate.’ So I just shrugged real big and said, ‘FINE BY ME, KARI. IT’S BETTER THAN BEING A SLOW-BURNNED SOPRANO’!”

Now Decadence let them all roar with laughter, he finally able to join in, nearly doubled over himself with mirth over the mere memory. Above them all, though, a deep, booming roll of thunder rose from Daedalus seated nearly across the room. The silk merchant in question, the ever-affable Makari, has been Daedalus’ Charge for years now, and he knew the pearlcatcher better than the rest. He also seemed to dislike her the most, and yet thrived on making her life as bothersome and difficult as possible, despite constantly going into the city to check on her and ruffle her feathers. Her connection with the Daedalus is what brought her to being the commissioned seamstress for the military, and she is second to none in her craft for miles and miles around Thorim Rift. But her frilly attitude just made it so easy to tease her.

Slapping the counter where he sat, Daedalus chuckled deeply as he rose, setting his empty glass down. “Think I’ll go pay her a visit. Thank her for the entertainment.” He still chuckled as he went, his deep voice carrying still even from well down the hallway.

As for the rest of the group, they still chuckled, but mostly had fallen quiet, appreciative of Cade’s way with storytelling. He’d taken a seat himself, filling a broad chair and grinning like a proud fool, loving his moments in the limelight.

In the silence that followed, Katenka rose from her stool. Her aviation jacket was unbuttoned down the front, which was about as relaxed as she ever liked to be while in public. She raised her glass to the small group. “That’s me heading off. I’ve got some navigation charts to look over before tomorrow. Are you coming, Farid?”

The man in question, sprawled across a whole couch and appearing asleep, lifted a hand from where it dangled to the floor and raised his hat off his face, blinking at her with deep blue eyes. “No, I’m good. Unless you need my last topographical sheet.”

Katenka narrowed her eyes in thought. “Not to burst your relaxing time, but that would be good.”

“No worries,” he grunted, sitting up and throwing his feet off the couch to the floor to stand. “Might as well get myself going again. I’ve got an evening drill to do later.”

“You know, I enjoy those,” Katenka mused, waiting for him so they could walk out together.

“Do you?”

“Yeah, they’re pretty neat from the air. See you guys later,” she called, briefly turning back to the three still in the room. “The sunset makes everything look out of sorts.”

“Yeah…. What were you drinking, by the way?”

“Oh, this? Something that would make my mother cry, probably. She’s a vintner and would kill me for consuming something so bland.”

Their conversation faded as they left, leaning Decadence, Johari, and Orvar left. Still highly amused, Cade drummed his fingers on the arm rests, quite unaware of the shift the room had taken, even while the two tundras stared at him.

Well. One stared at him.

Orvar, trying his best not to be so obvious, stared hard at the thick-headed guardian, silently wishing Decadence would go so he and Johari could have some conversation alone. But Cade just sat there, smirking to himself, completely oblivious. And after Orvar had already explained his desire to have one-on-one with the illustrious captain herself.

The silence extended for too long, though, and eventually Johari rose as well. “Guess I’ll see you two later. Don’t be late in the morning, Cade.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he chirped, beaming as she turned to go, but the expression fled when he caught Orvar’s baleful glower. Jarred by sudden, and late, recollection, Cade mouthed, I’m sorry! And waved his hands in a shooing motion, indicating that Orvar should just go with her.

Orvar jabbed an accusing finger in Cade’s direction, but the guardian only waved harder, glancing at the door as Johari left before he stood and rushed Orvar. All that boisterous beef running at him would have made anyone startle, and for a second he froze. Too long. Cade had him by the shirt front, hauling him off the couch and manhandling him towards the door. Their silent argument consisted of varying ‘stop it’s and ‘just go after her’s until Cade shoved Orvar out of the lounge, kicking the doorframe so Johari looked back in question, forcing Orvar to straighten and address her.

“Hey,” he waved. “Um. Mind if I walk with you a bit?” Never mind that the mage barracks was almost opposite of the warrior’s. Sort of. It was a fairly even circle all the way around and—never mind.

Johari gave him a once-over, then shrugged a shoulder. “Sure, Tenders.”

Biting back a groan, he ducked his head for a second before pushing forward to join her. “That’s really not fair, you know. It was my first ring brawl.”

“Then you should have kept your explosives to yourself,” she chuckled, glancing at him. Her brown eyes were so rich, so dark against the near golden hue of her skin tone. Ugh, he sounded like a fool.

“Right,” he muttered, rubbing his chin a couple times. “There’s a good reason for that.”

“Yeah? Better get to explaining it before I make up my mind, then.”

Startled, Orvar looked to her, finding Johari already looking him dead in the face. They both stopped—he slowing when she halted, expectant and…frankly, almost intimidating. But he liked that about her. Has ever since she kicked his tail in the ring brawl. Her spotting him had been his own fault, too, when the light magic he’d been playing with just backfired, singeing his hair and eyebrows. They’ve started to grow back, though, thankfully.

“Um,” he began stupidly, and she immediately turned on her heels to go. Reaching out for her arm, gently, no tugging—he didn’t want broken fingers—Orvar tried again, forcing his voice not to waver with any hint of uncertainty. “I’m just a mage; I get that. And I don’t mean any disrespect, Captain, but I’d like to get to know you better. On and off the training field.”

Unsurprisingly, she challenged, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

If she thought he’d have a hard time meeting her scrutinizing gaze, she’d have to guess again. She’d also probably hit him if she knew the withstood by just getting lost in the color of them. So brown. Has he ever seen a brown that nice? Probably not.

“Mostly off the field, I’m guessing.” She severed his concentration, but he only smiled.

“Both, actually. Physicality in a fight isn’t my style, but it’s always good to have the range for when the one up front can’t look behind their back.”

For the first time during this conversation Johari cracked a smile. “Good point. You wanna have my back? You’ve gotta earn it, Tenders.”

“Absolutely,” he grinned. “I’ll earn a less unfortunate nickname, too.”

“Keep dreaming.”

#Thorim Rift #clan stories #c: Decadence #c: Johari #c: Orvar #c: Farid #c: Katenka #c: Daedalus #it's kinda long lol #but what is short one-shot idek

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diveplanit · 5 years

Text

Gone Gili – Gili Islands: bouncing back and awesome diving

Diving Gili Islands after 2018 earthquakes, and as it happens, for the first time ever, I was really pleasantly surprised how good the diving is – not just because of perceived earthquake damage, but because the region isn’t renowned for diving. The Gili Islands is bouncing back.

In July and August 2018, Lombok and the Gili Islands suffered two earthquakes, the second measuring 6.9 in magnitude. The second tremor, much larger than the first caused most damage. The earthquake which centred on Northern Lombok left over 320 people dead, over 1000 people injured and at least 270,000 homeless. Now, a few months’ later, life and tourism in the Gili Islands is trying to return to normal; the peaceful and tranquil islands before the damage.

The are more than 20 Gili’s which means “small island” in local Sasak language but three stand out as tourist destinations, Gili Trawangan, Gili Meno and Gili Air.

I had never visited the Gili Islands and when invited, I was very keen to experience how the islands were now surviving three months on. I had also heard it was known as one of the best turtle spotting destinations in the world – a big statement and I was looking forward to all these turtles.

We flew into Lombok from Denpasar, a short and easy flight and transferred by car to Teluk Nara for a short boat ride across to Gili Trawangan, locally called Gili T. (There is a ferry from Bali, which takes about 90 minutes if you prefer).

Gili T is the largest of the three islands and where most of the dive centres and resorts are based. We stayed at Laguna Gili, modern with very comfortable, spacious rooms and I could not see any sign of earthquake damage. The resort had a great training pool for divers and separate swimming pool for guests all set in beautiful palm tree-lined gardens. The laid-back style and slower paced life of the island was evident immediately as there are no cars and no major roads. The modes of transport are pony and cart, known as ‘cidonos’, foot or bicycle. I never tired of the clip clopping sound and sight of the cidomos with their brightly coloured decorations, some being used for work not just tourists and carting bricks and building materials to other parts of the island.

Our main reason for being here was to experience the diving, and I was so pleasantly surprised. The ocean is mostly calm and a balmy 28C with visibility of up to 25m, ideal conditions for divers of all levels. The diving is also varied with muck/macro dive sites, deeper coral gardens, wrecks, a sculpture garden plus, of course, the turtles.

Sculpture Garden

The islands are very close to each other so can base yourself at one and dive all three. Just off Gili Meno is a site known for its turtle habitat and the hauntingly beautiful sculptures called Nest. The sculptures are by artist and environmentalist Jason deCaires Taylor. deCaires who is famous for his underwater sculptures created the idea of Nest as an environmental space with the figures arranged in a circular formation emulating the circle of life.

The 48 life size figures stand embracing each other, with some curled up on the ocean bed. Each has a unique facial expression and made from pH neutral, environmental grade concrete to become one with the reef. The purpose of the statues is to encourage reef growth but they have become a huge tourist attraction for both snorkelers and divers.

Turtles

Also off Gili Meno, on the east side, is Turtle Heaven, the famous turtle site. The site lived up to its name with mostly large Green turtles plus a few Hawksbills just chilling out. They seem to not have a care in the world, just resting or gnawing on coral oblivious to divers and cameras.

This was the closest – and most – turtles I have ever been with underwater. There is also a “house” style structure, home to a giant clam, which the turtles use as a resting place. Drifting from the reef to finish the dive we spotted nudibranchs, octopus, lionfish and of course – more turtles.

Muck Diving

We spent one day doing three muck/macro dives, and saw an abundance of smaller marine creatures. Seahorse Bay is a sandy, sloping dive site with great critters.

We spent over an hour on each dive, photographing seahorses, nudibranchs, frogfish, pipefish, clown fish and ribbon eels both blue and black that reside there.

Coral Reefs

Shark Point, north of Gili T was another dive site that impressed. The visibility was fantastic, large gullies host to colourful soft corals, reef fish, trevally and a large school of batfish, just some of the highlights. We also saw a few black tip reef sharks in the distance and of course – more turtles.

Wrecks

There are a few wrecks in the area if you love rust and we dived “The Bounty”. This lies off Gili Meno and was a jetty for the Bounty cruise ship.

It sunk after a storm and lies on a sandy slope; it is falling apart a bit, but has plenty of fish life and hard and soft coral growth along with car tires and mooring lines.

Night Diving

With great muck dive still on our minds we decided to do a night dive at Hann’s reef just off Gili Air.

With a shallow sandy bottom and sloping reef, mantis shrimps, nudibranchs, coral shrimps, clown fish, squid and my favourite from the dive, a box crab eating a cone shell were all out on display. Before I knew it 70 minutes had passed and it was time to return for dinner.

Three days of diving (10 dives) certainly flew by and after our last dive we took the cidomos to the western side of the island. Going through the centre of the island is where we experienced some of the damage from the earthquake, the western side being the worst hit in the area. The beachfront was quiet and some of the hotels being refurbished or rebuilt. We went to Ombak Sunset resort, aptly named, as it would have to be the best setting and atmosphere to experience one of the best (and longest) sunsets I have ever seen. The beachfront resort has beautiful swings in the shallows of the ocean encouraging us to be children again, ponies you can take for a swim or a ride and they mix a mean cocktail. We grabbed a beanbag each, ordered our cocktails and witnessed the most amazing sunset – what a way to finish the day.

The Gili Islands certainly did not disappoint and talking to the friendly locals, they are ready and waiting for tourism to return. Everyone I spoke to have some sad story about relatives or friends losing houses or loved ones but they are rebuilding and waiting for tourism to start again.

Over three days I experienced a great variety of diving and would certainly recommend the area for all level of diver. Our dive guides Leon and John were excellent and always keen to show us their underwater world. The dive boats are local style and comfortable and the day generally consists of going out and doing two dives and back for lunch with an afternoon and night dive on offer. The longest boat ride was about 40 minutes away to Gili Air and Hann’s Reef.

For families with young children, this would be great to give them the best turtle experience they could wish for or even learn to dive. The islands would be a great getaway to relax for a few days if visiting Bali or Lombok or for just snorkeling, stand up paddleboards and kayaks if you did not want to dive.

There is a great choice of hotels, resorts or backpackers and plenty of dive operators.

We stayed at Laguna Gili and dived with Laguna Gili Dive Centre a PADI facility where you can do courses from Open Water though to Divemaster. They also offer TDI technical diving courses; there is something for everyone.

The post Gone Gili – Gili Islands: bouncing back and awesome diving appeared first on Diveplanit.

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rosefieldrocker · 6 years

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Some Photographers Who Have Inspired The Images I Have Taken For City And Guilds Unit 305 Photo Image Capture Theme 1:Landscapes With Watery Content.

INTRODUCTION:

There are many fantastic landscape photographers covering all aspects of landscape photography,beginning with the daddy of them all,Ansell Adams, right through to the present day.However, in asking which landscape photographers have influenced and inspired me most I would have to choose 4 contemporary photographers with Tom Mackie and Lee Frost as the main men, and Ross Hoddinott and Mark Bauer playing an important but less significant part in my ongoing quest to develop my skills in this area.

One big reason for choosing those guys is that mastering this genre,as with any other, takes time: time to perfect exposure, colour, composition and, perhaps above all else, the ability to see and record the landscape in a way that will make your photographs stand above the rest.Those 4 guys have all produced books on the subject of landscapes which are both instructional, and packed with many of the superb images that they themselves have produced as professional photographers.If,as I do, you love this particular area of the art, you dream of producing the quality of image that those guys create as evidenced by the images taken by each of them that I have included below.

TOM MACKIE:The first photographer who has both influenced and inspired me is Tom Mackie. Mackie is one of the UK’s best-known landscape photographers and considered to be one of the world’s best having featured in a book that I recently acquired, ‘The World’s Top Photographers: Landscape’ (2003) which is a collection of inspiring images from an international selection of photographers considered as contemporary ‘greats’ in their field.

I first came across Tom Mackie about ten years ago when I was given his book ‘Tom Mackie’s Landscape Photography Secrets’ as a birthday present.At that time I was a fairly keen weekend and holiday snapper looking,as ever,to improve on my ability to take photos and there is no question that receiving that book opened my eyes to what was possible and how to achieve it.The great thing about that book,and another that I have since acquired, ‘Photos With Impact’, is that they are full of practical commentary covering composition,lighting,colour and form,filters and different types of landscape but there is so much more. Practical instruction is accompanied across both books by literally hundreds of stunning and truly inspirational colour images, encompassing a worldwide collection of landscape, architectural and travel subjects.

In his books Mackie describes what it takes to create an image that has real impact and stands out from the others. I couldn’t agree with him more when he says that it is important to master the practical and technical side of photography, and know the possibilities and limitations of the equipment you are using,but ultimately it is the photographer’s ability to see the picture that produces a photograph which stands out from the crowd.It follows from this that no amount of technical advances will make it easier to produce effective images as technology is just another tool of creativity.It is the ability to recognise a picture,to select and organise from the world around us and to really look that is paramount.I have learnt from him and others that line and colour are the two basic components that make up a picture,with lines being the main building blocks of an image and colour that sets the mood.Together,they are the elements to look for in recognising a good composition,and an understanding of the basic rules of composition is crucial to successful image-making,that is not to say that breaking these rules cannot also work effectively to create striking compositions,I guess it’s a question of experience as to what works and what doesn’t.

Mackie has taken photos all over the world and with respect to this project I have gleaned much from his approach to capturing landscape images in general,and especially those which feature water and the golden hour both of which are particularly relevant to this assignment.I have also paid particular attention to his portfolio of images of Venice,London and waterfalls all of which feature in my collection of images for this theme.It will be noted that I have included numerous relevant snips of his images immediately below.

While spending ten days in Venice and the Venetian islands over Christmas/New Year 2016/17 I had the opportunity to try my hand at something I’d yearned to do for so long - take photos of what has to be the most beautiful city in the world.Throughout my trip I referred to Mackie’s on line images,along with images produced by Lee Frost, as a guide to where to go and what to look out for,his images of sunsets in the city were particularly influential and inspirational as can be witnessed by comparing my efforts with his. Mackie’s impact on my images of London, Gulfoss waterfall in Iceland and Snowdonia is,I think, just as evident.

To access his portfolio go to: http://www.tommackie.com/gallery/

The books to which I have referred are:

Landscape Photography Secrets (2005) ISBN 0 7153 2296 6

Photos With Impact (2003) ISBN 0 7153 1505 6

The Digital SLR Expert: Landscapes (2008) ISBN 0 7153 2936 8

2) LEE FROST: The second photographer who has been a great influence and inspiration to me is Lee Frost. Frost is one of the UK’s best-known landscape and travel photographers and one of the world’s best-selling authors of books on photography.I first came across him a few years ago when I happened upon his book,'The Photographer’s Guide To Filters’,I always remember the first time I saw the image of Venice on the cover and feeling that I would love one day to be a good enough photographer myself to take such a picture.Not long after this I bought Lee’s book, 'Landscape Photography:How To Take Spectacular Photographs In All Environments’.This book is another 'how to’ which covers everything from lenses and filters to composition,lighting,exposure and metering but, as with Tom Mackie’s books discussed above, the informative yet easy-to-follow instructional text is combined with spectacular photography.It is packed with inspirational images from locations around the world and includes deserts,canyons,rolling countryside,coastal scenes and towns and cities.

Despite having come across Frost a few years ago,just as with Tom Mackie, it is only in the past couple of years since deciding to take my photography more seriously and undertake City & Guilds courses at college that I have really begun to study and try to put into practice what both he and Mackie were trying to convey in their respective books.The main reason for this,I think,is that since undertaking the C & G foundation in image capture I have gained a much greater understanding of how to take control of my camera,this in turn has given me confidence to move completely away from auto settings on my camera and experiment more.Along with this I have begun to believe that I am capable of capturing decent images of the things that I love to photo,while at the same time acknowledging that I still have a long way to go to emulate those I most admire in the field and be able to see as they see.

Frost,like Tom Mackie, has taken loads of pictures of Venice in his time, most of which I love, and so when I spent ten days in Venice over the Christmas/New Year 2016/17 I had the opportunity to try my hand at something I’d yearned to do for so long.Throughout my trip I referred to Frost’s on line images along with Tom Mackie’s as a guide to where to go and what to look out for,his images of sunsets in the city were,like Mackie’s, particularly influential and inspirational as can be witnessed by comparing my efforts with his.Frost has also photographed widely on location in Iceland and was again very inspirational for me while I was there.I have found him to be particularly helpful in terms of photographing both landscapes which include water,and capturing landscapes during the golden hours.

I have posted a number of snips of Frost’s images below taken from his portfolio which can be accessed via these links: http://www.leefrost.co.uk/landscapes.asp and: http://www.gettyimages.co.uk/photos/lee-frost?excludenudity=true&mediatype=photography&phrase=lee%20frost&sort=mostpopular

The books to which I have referred are:

1) Lee Frost’s Landscape Photography = How To Take Spectacular Photos In All Environments (2007). ISBN Number: 07153 25639 3

2) The Photographer’s Guide To Filters (2002). ISBN: 07153 1233 2

3) ROSS HODDINOTT: Ross Hoddinott is another photographer who has played a part, albeit less significant, in my trying to get to grips with landscape photography.I have also found him to be very inspiring in the field of macro and close up photography which is another area that I am trying to develop.I have a copy of his book ‘The Art Of Landscape Photography’,written with Mark Bauer, which is again very instructional but packed with many inspiring images.Hoddinott’s landscapes are a mixture of wide views and more detailed shots.He is also a macro specialist and this is reflected in the way that he is attracted to details in the landscape.Water, especially the sea plays a large part in many of his compositions and I have gained a lot of inspiration from his many images that include water in them just as the images in my theme do..As with many other landscape photographers he prefers shooting during the golden hours but is also keen to work pre dawn and at twilight believing that as long as there is some texture in the sky there is a possibility of creating good images and he is certainly able to do that.

I have included a number of snips of Hoddinott’s images below and believe that they give a good flavour of his work.To access his portfolio the following link may be used: https://www.rosshoddinott.co.uk/

The books to which I have referred are:

The Art Of Landscape Photography by Ross Hoddinott and Mark Bauer (2014) ISBN 0

The landscape Photography Workshop by Ross Hoddinott and Mark Bauer (2012) ISBN 0

Digital Macro and Close Up Photography by Ross Hoddinott (2013) ISBN 0

4) MARK BAUER: Bauer is another photographer who has played a part in my trying to get to grips with landscape photography.He is the co author with Ross Hoddinott of The Art of Landscape Photography and The Landscape Photography Workshop which is,as stated above, very instructional but packed with inspiring images. Bauer is himself a leading contemporary landscape photographer especially renowned for his atmospheric images of Dorset and the south west of England but he has also travelled the world and taken some amazing images on his travels.Mark produces landscapes with big vistas and is especially drawn to water and this plays a large part in many of his compositions. I have also gained a lot of inspiration from his many images that include water in them just as the images in my theme do.As with many other landscape photographers he prefers shooting during the golden hours but is also keen to work pre dawn and at twilight.Texture is important in his compositions and in order to achieve this he often uses long exposures that capture movement in water and soften skies.Compositions are usually very structured and often feature architectural elements in them.He often tries to convey a tranquil, romantic mood.

I have included a number of Bauer’s images below and believe that they give a good flavour of his work.To access his portfolio the following link may be used:

http://www.markbauerphotography.com/gallery.html

The books to which I have referred are:

The Art Of Landscape Photography by Ross Hoddinott and Mark Bauer (2014) ISBN 978-1-78145-052-9

The landscape Photography Workshop by Ross Hoddinott and Mark Bauer (2012) ISBN 978-1-90770-897-8

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brilliantheartbeautifulmind · 7 years

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a history of writing

For centuries, the written word was reserved for a privileged few, those with the wealth and status to possess and understand the words themselves. In his book A History of Writing, Steven Fischer remarks upon the importance of the invention of the printing press by saying, “…printing has been as important to humankind as the controlled use of fire and the wheel” (285). This bold statement can be better understood by looking at the religious and political shifts that occurred in Europe after books became widely available.

Books were the sacred domain of the clergy, for the most part. Countless monks spent their lives bent over manuscripts in monastic scriptoriums, painstakingly transferring words from an old book to a new text in an effort to preserve the information contained within. While the Middle Ages are colloquially known as the Dark Ages, that term is slightly misleading. All across Europe, bright flames of knowledge burned in these monasteries. This acquisition of understanding was still restricted to a select group of religious intelligentsia and they doled out information as they pleased. Johann Gutenberg finalized his famous printing press by 1450 and published his 42-line Bible using movable type by 1452 (Fischer 271-2). In 1517, Martin Luther nailed the 99 theses to the door of the Wittenberg Castle church and religious reformation swept Europe. The schism that occurred in the Catholic Church following that act would not have been possible without the ready availability of printed Bibles. One hundred years after the invention of the printing press, the religious landscape of Europe was irrevocably changed.

The social upheaval caused by the relatively sudden liberation of knowledge also affected the political system in Europe. Prior to the invention of the printing press, feudal society was sorted into one of the Three Estates: nobles, clergy, and peasants. While admission into the clergy was more fluid, the other two were firmly closed castes. If you were born a serf, you died a serf. These two estate of nobles and peasants enjoyed a symbiotic relationship; the serfs raised the food that would feed the nobility and the lords protected their peasants. Towns flourished near castles that provided protection and in these towns, we see the early roots of the middle class through trade organizations called guilds. After printing presses became commonplace, the formerly strict class structure began to disintegrate and was replaced with the three-part class structure we can still see today: working, middle, and upper class. The Protestant movement decentralized the clergy, placing the religious elite among their neighbors, free to marry and have families if they so choose. The upward mobility now available to those in the working class led to the rapid growth of cities and took humanity from the Medieval Era into the Renaissance.

When asked to contemplate the landmark achievements of humanity throughout history, many would cite the wheel, agricultural cultivation, or fire as most important. These tools are all critical to our physical survival, but the written word feeds and inspires our collective mind. The act of writing has been in existence for millennia, but Johann Gutenberg’s invention of the printing press in 15th century Germany exponentially accelerated the growth of knowledge throughout the world. While Fischer’s original observation about the invention of the printing press may seem extreme, by looking at the ramifications of this momentous discovery we can see the veracity of this statement.

* * *

The focus of the readings this past week on the early history of the written language brought to mind a book I recently read and a few experiences I had relating to the book. This past year, I stood in more monasteries and ruined scriptoriums than ever before in my life. The Name of the Rose, by Umberto Eco, sat on my bookshelf ever since I bought it six months prior with the ambitious hope of finally reading it one day. With long flights and train rides waiting for me, I threw the five-pound tome into my carry-on bag and set off. As luck would have it, this book was the perfect companion for a summer in Europe and transported me to the Middle Ages. The Name of the Rose is so densely written you feel the need for a Latin dictionary and a history of Medieval Europe to even begin to understand it. However, once you accustom yourself to Umberto Eco’s highly stylistic prose and allusive style, the humor and craftsmanship become apparent.

Eco wrote his book in a frame style, similar to early Gothic novels such as The Castle of Otranto. His first narrator writes from the Early Modern Era, a few centuries removed from the drama recounted in the book. The discovery of the fantastical story that consumes the bulk of the novel takes up the first few chapters and we soon head back in time to the foothills above Florence. Brother William of Baskerville, a highly educated monk and former inquisitor, arrives at a Franciscan monastery with his young protégé, Adso, who serves as our second narrator. This unlikely pair has been sent to attend a theological debate, but their arrival is marred by the apparent suicide of a young brother who fell to his death from the top of the library. This monastery is unique due to its famous library, located in an octagonal building and guarded fiercely by its librarian, who is the only person allowed in the actual library itself. Most of the monks spend their days copying the rare manuscripts located in the library or brought by distinguished guests. In this way we see the knowledge of previous centuries preserved for posterity.

The novel is rigorously structured to emulate the schedule of the Italian monastery in which our main characters find themselves. This 600-page-long book describes the events of just seven days. Each day follows the monastic pattern of Matins (around 2:30), Lauds (timed to end at dawn), Prime (shortly before daybreak), Terce (mid-morning), Sext (noon), Nones (mid-afternoon), Vespers (sunset), and Compline (before the monks go to bed). Since the novel is set in early winter, the days are short and the nights are long which, combined with the pre-dawn Matins and Lauds, result in much of the novel taking place at night. Eco proves his mastery over the Gothic style by packing this book chock full of well-known tropes such as hidden passageways, cryptic writings, mysterious deaths, and strange characters. Adso in particular is prone to experiencing terrifying visions. These visions are made more awful by the use of religious imagery based around the book of Revelations throughout the book and monastery itself.

While the book only covers the span of a week, the action that occurs has been building for years. A dangerous sect has broken from the church under the lead of Fra Dulcino and has taken the countryside by storm. Adso describes in detail the various battles and tortures that the members and founders of this group undergo. The Church itself is caught in between two Popes and two Emperors and the meeting in the Abbey is called to discuss the current situation. Eco intermingles historical figures with his fictitious characters during this meeting: one of the famous inquisitors, Bernardo Gui, is a strong force both at the meeting and in the effort to solve the murders at the monastery. He immediately accuses and arrests several peasants and servants as the murderers. William has a theory about the murders being related to a certain prophetic passage in Revelations and he continues his search for the true killer, eventually stumbling sideways upon him.

Brother William’s search for the truth caused him to look too closely and see patterns and plans where there were none. In the end, the intricate designs he was trying to understand were the effects of mere luck. The book closes with the aged Adso writing in Latin, “stat rosa pristina nomine, nomina nuda tenemus,” which translates to “the ancient rose remains through its name, naked names are all we hold.” William’s focus on Aristotle’s lost book on comedy, the burning of the beautiful peasant girl, and the total destruction of the library and the priceless knowledge contained within show Eco’s point that the true beauty and experience of the past has been destroyed and all we have now are the words that remind us of such times.

While The Name of the Rose deals with dense theology, Medieval history, and gruesome murders, it is an engaging and engrossing read. The first hundred pages drag by as you accustom yourself to Eco’s detailed style, but after that I found it hard to put the book down. Reading this work while being able to stand in both ruined and preserved scriptoriums through France gave me a greater appreciation for the nameless monks who preserved the written word by hand and the subsequent invention that spread that knowledge to all.

#ENG 311

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