#urban artefact

[aroomforarchitecture]

Reassessing Form and Content. Session 8: Aldo Rossi

Lineage of the title and the content of The Architecture and the city  Let us begin today’s lecture by linking the title of the book by Aldo Rossi, The Architecture of the City, which was published in Italian in the year 1966. I have repeated the following points several times in the duration of this course, but I think it is worth repeating the point once again, for clarifications sake. The…

[parallaxaview]

Hurghada Museum.

[probablybadrpgideas]

Bullshit villain plans by genre

Fantasy: Fuck it, this whole "manipulate adventurers into doing my bidding" sounds hard. I'm just ordering the cursed artefact that will let me dominate all life through Wizard Amazon. Sure, I'll agree to next day shipping. I'm evil.

Post-apocalypse: Villain who wants to destroy the world sad at having missed chance, trying to rebuild the world so they can destroy it a second time.

Sci-fi: Even the alien invaders aren't sure why they're invading earth rather then just mining asteroids, but they're too stuck in the sunk cost fallacy to leave now.

Horror: Tax evasion but spoooooky

Cyberpunk: Guy who wants to stop the megacorporations and has a fully ethical plan to do so, then remembered what genre they were in so quickly added five wildly immoral parts for no reason.

Superhero: Dr Devastation and his Doom Legions plotting to take over the world via a several decade gradual erosion of civil liberties and government regulation.

Comfy: Gonna brutally torture everyone to death but, you know, a low-stakes pastoral way.

Urban Fantasy: Learn the spell "summon gun" and use that to take all the other wizard's stuff by shooting them in the fucking face.

Espionage: Look, just pick any random news story and go with that one.

[blueiscoool]

Ancient Marble Statue Found During Greek Road Works

A stunning ancient Greek statue was discovered during work on the natural gas network in Athens near the Acropolis, the Greek Ministry of Culture announced on Monday, December 9.

According to the statement, the exceptionally well-preserved statue was found at the intersection of Erechtheion and Kallisperi streets in central Athens near the Herodion, which is beneath the Acropolis.

The statue of a nude male figure in the style of god Hermes Ludovisi was uncovered during construction for the expansion of the natural gas network in the Greek capital.

It was “discovered placed inside a structure built of rectangular bricks and was found in fairly good condition,” the Ministry of Culture’s statement noted.

The ministry explained that this southern side of the Acropolis was historically a district of exceptionally luxurious private residences and villas, suggesting that the statue may have been part of one of these buildings.

“In this area, to the south of the Acropolis, during imperial times between the 1st and 5th centuries AD, some of the most splendid urban mansions of Athens were built. These edifices are evidence of a city that was an object of admiration and attraction for wealthy and well-educated citizens. Their residences were richly decorated with mosaic floors and sculptures, which were works from famous Neo-Attic workshops,” the statement elaborated.

According to Greek authorities, the Ephorate of Antiquities of the City of Athens has completed documentation of this latest discovery and will ensure it is safely transported to conservation laboratories in Athens, where the statue will receive “necessary care.”

What is the Hermes Ludovisi statue that was found in Athens?

The statue found in Athens is of exceptional beauty. The Hermes Ludovisi is a remarkable example of the precision and artistry of Hellenistic marble sculptures.

This particular type celebrates the beauty of the Greek god Hermes in his role as a psychopomp, which refers to the celestial guide of souls to the afterlife, according to ancient Greek myths.

Such statues were typically crafted between the late 1st and early 2nd centuries AD and are generally Roman reproductions of an earlier Greek bronze original from the 5th century BC. Statues such as that of the particular Hermes one are believed to have been heavily influenced by the style of Phidias and his workshop.

The statue typically depicts a youthful, beardless Hermes with a thoughtful, almost sorrowful expression. It always portrays Hermes as a nude figure, encapsulating the idealized aesthetics of classical art and what the Greeks and Romans perceived as the ideal male body type.

The original Hermes Ludovisi statue was acquired by Cardinal Ludovico Ludovisi for the Ludovisi collection and is now on display at the Palazzo Altemps in Italy.

New finds Near the Odeon of Herodes Atticus

A torso of a second statue unearthed.

During the ongoing archaeological investigations of a rectangular structure at the junction of Erechtheiou and N. Kallisperi str., new findings came to light. As The Ministry of Culture reports, these are fragments of statues, hands and feet possibly linked to the already retrieved Hermes statue, a torso of yet another life-size statue also depicting a male figure, lying on its right side, fragments of a figurine and numerous lamps of the 5th c. AD.

All finds unearthed up to now have been transported to the conservation laboratories of the Ephorate of Antiquities of the City of Athens, where preservation and restoration works will begin immediately. Parallel to that, investigations will carry on in order to rule out the possibility of more findings lying in the ground. The area and the circumstances under which these artefacts were disposed will also be fully documented. It is obvious that the unique finding, which sheds light to one of the most interesting chapters of history, i.e. the end of antiquity, calls for utmost care and undistracted work by the scientific personnel of the Ephorate, so that the survey and the restoration of the “cache” are completed as soon as possible.

[saphronethaleph]

Destined Trials

Link frowned, concentrating ferociously, and considered all the information he had available to him.

There had to be a weakness…

He glanced to his side, at Zelda, then glowered at Ganondorf… and, suddenly, he saw it.

Time slowed for a moment.

“What time did this take place?” Link asked.

“Oh, ah…” the Rito said, frowning to herself. “I suppose it was… yes, it was the day after the solstice. I remember I was very pleased with the balalaika my wife had got me. The window was closed when I went into my room, then I was playing the balalaika, and when I went into the room the next time it had been broken – I don’t know when.”

“The day after the solstice,” Link reiterated, looking up at Ganondorf. “And yet the previous witness said that my client was present for every meal during the solstice day celebrations, and for the three days afterwards. There simply wasn’t time for him to get all the way there and back during the time the crime was committed.”

“There are, of course, high speed connections between the cities,” Ganondorf said.

“Not during the day after the solstice,” Zelda spoke up. “That day is a nationwide public holiday and public transit is on a volunteer only basis. All long distance train travel on those dates is stop to stop only, which doesn’t leave enough time for the crime to be committed.”

Ganondorf glowered at them.

“Then who do you suggest was responsible?” he asked.

“That isn’t something we have to prove,” Link replied. “This is a trial of a person. It’s not a trial to punish someone, it’s a trial to determine if a specific person should be punished.”

Later, after the decision had been reached, Zelda approached Ganondorf with Link a pace behind.

“You knew the person you were prosecuting hadn’t done it,” she said, without preamble.

“That’s quite an accusation,” Ganondorf replied, urbanely. “If you intend to sue me over it, I can identify a very good prosecutor I suggest you use… of course, I’d need to be assigned a public defender team.”

He smirked. “And, besides, I’m a lawyer. My job is to argue in favour of my side. That’s it. When you’re defending someone, do you defend them any less well if you think they’re guilty?”

“It’s a lot harder to defend someone who’s guilty, but mostly because they did it,” Link contributed.

“Our job is to make sure that justice is served, and that means making sure you have to work for everyone who gets punished,” Zelda declared, then frowned slightly. “But… why are you a lawyer, exactly?”

She indicated the seven-and-a-half-foot, immensely strong man facing her. “I know it’s a bit off topic, but… you look like someone who should be a prize winning athlete.”

“Destined combat,” Ganondorf replied, blandly. “Make no mistake – you, and I, and the twink over there are destined to battle down the ages, again and again. The Princess, the Hero, and the Beast of Despair.”

Zelda and Link exchanged confused glances.

“But this time… I wasn’t feeling it,” Ganondorf continued. “Being slain is extremely painful, you know, and I didn’t much fancy being stabbed to death with eleven hundred arrows made of magic superlaser this time. I’d much rather do all the epic prophesied battle, then settle down to a retirement somewhere in the upper slopes of a mountain range overlooking Gerudopolis… and enjoy some wine, once in a while.”

“...so… you became a lawyer?” Zelda asked.

“Of course,” Ganondorf agreed. “Being stabbed to death with eleven hundred arrows made of magic superlaser is extremely rare in a courtroom, and I figured you two would end up following me anyway so being a prosecuting attorney seemed like the profession with the highest salary while involved in combat. Though do let me know what you think of the alternatives… I was wondering about archaeology, but that seemed to have entirely too high a risk of accidentally uncovering a magical artefact that would need to be destroyed and an epic non-metaphorical battle.”

His voice became distant. “Perhaps I should try a band, one of these lives. Ganon and the Dorfs. It might catch on…”

“Do you have any idea what he’s talking about?” Zelda whispered to Link. “Because if he’s trying to get me to question my life choices and why a royal princess is working in a public defender’s office, it’s kind of working.”

[novlr]

I’ve been reading some craft books and online posts about the world building because my story is an urban fantasy set in present day US, in a fictional town, and theres not a secondary world where the fantasy happens, it’s all in the real world, except the magic is a secret that only certain people know about, but all of the resources I find about world building only talk about fantastical worlds that exist by themselves and not the kind of more subtle world building that I’d have to do. Do you have any tips?

Worldbuilding for urban fantasy is the perfect opportunity to explore the mix of the mundane and the magical. It involves crafting a universe where the impossible becomes possible, yet is grounded within the familiar settings of our own world. This requires a delicate balance—immersing readers in the fantastical without breaking the spell of believability. Here are some essential tips on worldbuilding for urban fantasy writers.

Understanding urban fantasy

Before delving into building your urban fantasy world, it’s crucial to understand what sets this subgenre apart from other forms of fantasy.

Recognise the defining traits of urban fantasy, which typically include a contemporary setting combined with supernatural elements.

Familiarise yourself with the genre’s common tropes and themes, like hidden magical societies, the coexistence of magical and non-magical beings, and the contrast between the ordinary and the extraordinary.

Critically read successful urban fantasy novels to see how other authors have balanced the real and the fantastical.

Consider reader expectations for the genre, and the flexibility it has for innovation and subversion of norms.

Determine the tone and mood you want for your setting, as this will influence all other aspects of your worldbuilding.

Creating your magical systems

The magical systems in your urban fantasy will offer a unique flavour to your world, determining the capabilities of your characters and the challenges they face.

Where does the magic in your world come from—is it drawn from nature, ancient artefacts, parallel dimensions, or something else?

Decide if magic is commonly known or if it’s a secret kept from the general populace. If it’s a secret, why? And what are the consequences if it becomes known?

Develop the limitations and costs of magic, as these constraints can drive conflict and plot development.

Invent magical organisations, guilds, or societies, detailing their roles, influence, and how they operate in your story world.

Create distinct magical phenomena that occur within your urban setting, which can become landmarks or points of interest in your narrative.

Consider how technology and magic interact; do they coexist harmoniously, or are they in constant contention?

Creating realism in your urban setting

Realism in urban fantasy is about making the reader recognise and connect with the world you have created as something that is both other and familiar.

Include lots of real-world details, including accurate descriptions of city life, technology, and culture. Make sure you research for accuracy.

Use sensory details to make the urban environment come alive—smells, sounds, textures, and tastes that the reader can relate to.

Include social and political issues that resonate with contemporary society, allowing readers to draw parallels with their own experiences.

Develop a diverse cast of characters whose life experiences and backgrounds reflect the complexity of a modern urban society.

Integrate authentic dialogue that mirrors the way people communicate in modern life, including local slang and mannerisms, both real-world accurate and unique to your setting.

Consider the logistics of an urban environment, like transportation, law enforcement, and the economy, and how these are affected by the presence of magic.

Character development in an urban fantasy

Characters are the heart of your story, and the way they react to fantasy elements in their real-world environments will drive a lot of your narrative.

Create protagonists and antagonists whose motivations are shaped by the intersection of the real and the magical in their lives.

Develop backstories for your characters that explain their relationship to the urban setting and the magical elements within it.

Design character arcs that reflect the challenges and growth that come with living in a world where fantasy is reality.

Introduce secondary characters that highlight the diversity of the urban fantasy landscape, from magical creatures to human allies and adversaries.

Explore the psychological impact of a dual-world existence on your characters, including the strain of keeping secrets and the wonder of discovering magic.

Use character relationships to explore the nuances and complexities of your urban fantasy world.

Plotting your urban fantasy

Your plot is the vehicle through which readers experience your story world. Urban fantasy requires careful attention to pacing to give both elements equal weight.

Construct a plot that intertwines the urban and the fantastical, using the unique aspects of your setting to drive the story forward, rather than relying on the mundane.

Introduce conflicts that arise from the overlap of the magical and the mundane, be they societal, personal, or existential.

Use the setting itself as a character, with its own moods, secrets, and evolving role in the narrative.

Create set pieces that showcase the extraordinary within the ordinary—magical battles on the rooftops, secret meetings in subways, or enchanted parks hidden in plain sight.

Develop a pace that balances the exploration of your urban world with the unfolding of magical elements and plot progression.

Consider the use of multiple viewpoints to give a broader perspective on how the urban fantasy elements affect different characters and society at large.

Blending the real and magical

The key to urban fantasy is making the reader believe that magic could exist in their own world, interwoven with the everyday.

Introduce the fantastic elements gradually, allowing the real world to serve as an anchor for the reader’s suspension of disbelief.

Develop a set of rules for how magic operates in your world to maintain consistency and a sense of order.

Use recognisable landmarks and urban elements as grounding points, then twist them with your fantasy elements.

Establish the history of magic in your world and how (or if) it has shaped society and its infrastructure.

Consider the impact of magical events or beings on the everyday lives of both your characters and the city’s unsuspecting inhabitants.

Intertwine the real and the fantastic so that they feel inseparable, each substantiating the other’s existence.

[goblincow]

401% FUNDED | ONLY 5 DAYS TO GO!!

Field Agent Handbooks: Observancy Dept. 1924–28

Sharpen your ESP skills and seek out suspicious activity as a pendulum-dowsing Field Agent

This set of four Field Agent Handbooks are an always-on solo RPG/LARP to play with when out and about. They’re created as in-world artefacts from the 1920s, made for you to note your observations about the world around you through a lens of suspicion. 

1924 – Revolution

We suspect the animal kingdom of plotting a revolution and you are here to help us understand their devices.

Our mission in the Observancy Department is to spot any such behaviour or signs of suspicious activity, note them down, and draw our conclusions.

Additional pages include:

Blank map with grid references

Table of potential signs of revolutionary activity

List of weather types and symbols for notation

1925 – Leviathan

The age of flight may still be in its infancy but we have heard worrying reports from our aeroplane and dirigible pilots of glimpses of giant beasts roaming the aether, just out of sight.

Our fresh mission is to observe the clouds, look for unusual shadows & formations, and attempt to discern the activity and anatomy of these sky-bound leviathan.

Additional pages include:

Common anatomy of leviathan (hypothesised)

Illustrated chart with types of clouds and symbols for notation

Illustrated chart for estimating distance to horizon

Table to identify the Beaufort Number for the wind

List of weather types and symbols for notation

1926 – Communication

While we looked upward, we didn't think to concern ourselves with the growing cacophony in our very own gardens, forests, and fields.

Our mission turns to our leafy neighbours to see if we can understand their speech and intuit their meaning throughout each season.

Additional pages include: 

Signs and shapes to look out for

Size estimation chart

List of weather types and symbols for notation

1928 – Giants

From the landscape sprung the flowers, but who formed the landscape? Newly uncovered texts indicate the folklore might be true and giants may have indeed roamed and shaped the earth.

Our mission is to lower our gaze to the ground to identify oddly shaped mounds, mimetoliths (rocks resembling faces), gouged earth, and suspicious urban planning decisions. Under the hills there may be sleeping colossus.

Additional pages include:

Signs to look out for

Common rock types

How to draw landforms & rocks in an isometric fashion

I wanted to shine a light on this project because I met Luke at Dragonmeet in December '23 and fell in love with the way he thinks about RPGs, graphic design and play/ritual/thinking-the-world in his games!

I can't recommend this project enough and I've been waiting excitedly to support it and see it succeed! It really represents everything I think is special about RPGs and the things I also want to explore in this design space *and art movement* and if you have any interest in TTRPGs beyond the scope of dungeon games, Luke is making some of the freshest and most evocative design you can find in the entire medium.

Everything you see here is directly from the kickstarter. Go back it! I promise you'll be glad you did, there are few more unique and inspiring things you could spend your money on in TTRPGs right now!

[sarcasticscribbles]

Hello, TimSasha person, I was wondering if you had any thoughts about how Sasha learns about Danny.

I may have a little theory:

Slowly and gradually.

Tim has his walls up when it comes to Danny. He began working in research just a few months after Danny's death, determined to use the Institute's resources to investigate Danny's case while maintaining a facade for his coworkers. I think Tim wanted to keep to himself, but he's very bad at it; he is naturally drawn to people and thrives in company. He fits seamlessly into crowds and can put on whatever mask the people around him are comfortable with. I think Jon was his first victim. Since Jon lost his grandma a year prior, there was a mutual understanding.

Tim kept his research to himself, but as the months went by, he never found out what he was even looking for.

He met Sasha a few months after starting. They had drinks after work with coworkers, eventually ending up alone at the pub. Sasha wasn’t working in Artefact any more, but she shared stories that piqued Tim’s interest. She couldn’t give him access to the Storage, but she was fun to be around and knew a lot about the Institute. Sasha believes everyone’s here for a fucked-up reason, and that they wouldn’t work with horrific and paranormal research if they weren’t already familiar with it. She knows everyone’s wearing a mask, and she doesn’t blame them, as that’s what we as humans are taught to do to avoid isolation.

She knows he’s doing some independent research, but he denies it when she asks. Sasha first comes across Danny after finding a silly picture of Tim and him at a bar and joking about Tim’s outdated haircut. She asks, “You never told me that you have a brother,” and Tim stiffly corrects her with “had.” Sasha drops the subject after a silent apology.

When nearly a year has passed since the incident, he gets more fixated on his research, staying late and shutting people out. Sasha tries to help, but she doesn’t know what he’s looking for. He forgets one folder, and Sasha picks it up to give it back while Tim’s anxiously looking for it. “Who’s Danny?” she asks, as it’s the name written on top of the folder. He admits it’s his brother and goes back behind his walls to continue his research. Sasha doesn’t push, but she’s naturally curious. She sticks by him, since Tim thrives in company.

Eventually, it’s the anniversary of Danny’s death, and Tim has almost worked a year at the Institute with no progress at all. He wonders why he is even here; if he had just stayed with Danny in the living room that night, or stopped him from going to Covent Garden Theatre alone, or told him how stupid of a hobby urban exploration was-!

 Not that Danny ever listened to him anyway, but all the “what if’s” haunt him to no end.

Sasha finds him in the library; they are about to lock up, and they should probably leave. Tim can’t return home, even if he threw out the armchair he found Danny in, the empty spot in the living room is too much for him at the moment. She doesn’t understand, but offers her place if he needs somewhere else to go. She knows: 1) everyone’s here because of a fucked-up reason, 2) Tim had a brother, 3) his name was Danny, and 4) now he’s here.

She packs up his papers, folders, and books, respecting his boundaries by not looking through them. Tim is an empty shell of a man and doesn’t note the period between the Institute and Sasha’s couch. She doesn’t ask which Tim appreciates. She makes them tea and stays with him, talking about nothing until silence comforts them, and it’s not until the next day that Tim opens up to her.

Although it’s a strange story to tell and harder to believe, Sasha listens. She doesn’t understand it all, but she doesn’t have to. She believes him; why else would he work at The Magnus Institute?

[fox-guardian]

time for some assorted stoker swap au excerpts in no particular order because i need to share this thing in some capacity so bad. i might've shared some of these before but i Don't Care it's been months anyway

[ID: A series of snippets of a google doc in dark mode.

"Bone app-the-tea,"

After much hesitation involving pacing his room and making jokingly threatening faces and gestures at the screen and quoting vines at it to calm his nerves, he finally pressed the apply button with a yelp.

Two hours and one dramatic reading of some awful werewolf fiction later,

He was surprised. He was delighted. He was very likely fucked.

Danny looked up at him guiltily with the bucket of popcorn resting on his stomach. ".... I have good news and bad news." Tim's face fell as he straightened up. "What have you done?" "Good news and arguably bad news, depending on your personal thoughts on it," he elaborated, standing up, still holding his popcorn. "I repeat," Tim said, pressing his palms together and pointing at him, "what have you done?"

"Either way, I can't imagine the whole staff is wearing corsets and hoop skirts." ".... That'd be pretty cool though." "It would be, actually."

A resting bitch face is all it was, that's alright. He lived with a guy with a resting bitch face, this was fine.

Danny thought for a moment. "I.... have a background in urban exploration. Would that be useful?" Jon and Sasha looked at each other, and then looked at him. "That would be very useful," Jon said, with an air of curiosity to his tone. "Very, very useful," Sasha added, grinning mischievously. "Hey, he's my partner now," Jon said, jabbing a finger at her. "I get to go out in the field with him first."

"Sounds like I didn't die in Artefact Storage," Sasha replied.

"I'm an adult," Danny said, sipping from his novelty beehive mug.

Next thing he knew his back was hurting and he was upside down on the floor

".... Danny, did you-" "I might've gotten some light carbon monoxide poisoning in the attic." "Danny!" Tim sat upright, setting his mug down.

"Then fuck 'em,"

"Then, I repeat, fuck 'em."

"You all deserve it~" Danny said, blending his natural nerves into the false face of a fidgety fanatic.

"Yeah.... " Danny says, forever changed.

Danny tried to dream up as much mental eyebleach as possible. Kitty cats and puppy doges and bees half stuck in flowers, kitty cats and puppy dogs and bees half stuck in flowers. This was going to be fun to tell Tim about tonight.

end ID]

~~~~

also the current working titles for the chapters i have so far!

1 - some wednesday night in august 2013 2 - how to ace a job interview 3 - *spongebob voice* IM READY IM READY 4 - field work 5 - another day another dollar 6 - stakeout!

this update isn't much but i thought it'd be fun to share some stuff out of context :) and hopefully it motivates me to write even more lol

[lyannatropes]

I'm actually a relatively new follower, are there any blorbos in particular you want to show off?

I have many a blorbos that I actually don't show off enough, so here is some of them!

My secret obsession and awful woman I think about all the time. Opal is the first character I ever played in a ttrpg (Urban Shadows), and she was an ex monster hunter on a vengeance after her werewolf girlfriend was killed. She is so bad and tragic I can't help but love her deeply.

My dear "Looks terrifying, is actually a cinnamon roll (unless you hurt her shadow pet then fucking run)" lady knight, Lucrezia. She's an outcast who gets along better with spirits than humans, and she has a special bond with a shadow spirit who uses animal bones like shells called Catena. She's also another character I played!

My "Was a dragon in a previous life, is reincarnated again and again as a human after a curse" sorceress and artefacts enthusiast, Alyssa. She's also a character I played in an Urban Shadows game, the dragon playbook was perhaps the most fun I ever had. She had so many badass moments that live rent free in my head. I don't have art of her on my laptop and that is tragic.

Since this is getting long, I'll lastly mentioned my necromancer and lady knight Lavinia. She can see spirits and travel to the underworld, but in doing so accidentally poked where she wasn't meant to and she is now haunted by a powerful spirit. She is in a throuple with two other necromancers, Maria and Artemisia.

[ridingtorohan]

Content: Spoilers for AC1-3 and the events surrounding Lucy. A paragraph pushes it to PG-16 with reader lamenting wanting Desmond with direct references to the below verse. AU: Alpha/beta/omega verse Alpha Desmond, Omega female reader. Cross-links: ao3 A/n: Written 2018, formatted but not edited 2022. This first section is written non-linear.

Desmond had been something of an urban legend back at the Farm- he wasn't someone you knew personally, but now was someone you couldn't imagine being without. Surviving the Eye didn't change that fact- but it leads to something else.‏‎

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ WHAT LIES WITHIN YOUR EYES ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ part I (you are here) ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ───※ ·❆· ※───

It had only taken two days for them all to reach a general agreement about the place. William had held initial reservations about the Manor and Shaun had all but complained the entire way there. Rebecca had spoken earnestly about the idea, voice chipper as she twirled the headphone cord around her index finger with a face-splitting grin. Desmond hadn't particularly reacted to the suggestion- but nobody really pressured him into giving one either.

The Davenport Homestead hadn't felt particularly welcoming - but only in the sense that it was unlivable, hostile to everyone by proxy. Every other building other than the Manor was rundown and barely more than splinters held together by nails, a crude mockery of the fine establishment it was supposed to be. It also felt like home though, enough like the Farm that the three of you had once lived on, with the wooden walls and trees that dotted the horizon, so thick it was a wonder that it hadn’t overtaken the buildings itself.

It was almost hard to believe that the Manor still stood as it did, forgotten by the civilized world as it was. Your lessons spoke of the siege during the 1920's that ripped the Assassins from it. As Desmond traced his fingers fondly along the stair railings and the faded paintings in the basement, you found your tongue stilled. You wouldn't do anything to hurt him and with part of his mind still living as Connor, it might not have turned out well for him if you brought it up.

Connor was the reason why you all ventured there - he had never left the Homestead, not even in the end. Where else did he have left to go? Rebecca swore up and down that the Templars weren't interested in the place since the siege and even Shaun begrudgingly admitted that as a former Assassin stronghold, it would be able to support them. William had relented and admitted to wanting any artefacts left behind but you had a feeling that it more likely had to do with Desmond. You all had agreed to be there for Desmond.

Desmond was … different since the Temple.

All of you had expected him to die - and each time you think of it the fear clogged up your throat and made your hands clammy. His resoluteness was the worst of it - even back at the Farm he had been calm and flippant but that had been something different. None of you spoke of it - of how he almost hadn’t made it out alive.

Somehow, he had saved the world. It was only right that the four of you saved him. When one was haunted by ghosts, the ghost had to be put to rest. Connor's body would help with that - all the missing years from his daughter's conception to his death.

What the four of you couldn’t tell was if it did help more than hinder - Desmond had been quiet since they arrived, barely gave more than one-worded answers or a shake of his head. You had all opted to leave him be and while you didn’t know what it was like to be stuck inside your head, not to the degree that he was, you didn’t leave. Not too far anyways.

You wished you could say that you had always been close with Desmond - that you had always looked up to him and that you only knew the concept of love through him. The truth of the matter was far from it. As a boy years your senior, he was in a separate training class from the Farm. Even then, there was the matter that you weren’t really from the Farm. From a sister branch, your family moved there to help pater out the bloodline and prevent too close of inbreeding. Assassins tried to teach the people of the world and the truth of it, but it is a hard and bitter pill to swallow and not many acclimate to the lifestyle.

No, you hardly knew Desmond. You met him once. Before. He had been a withdrawn boy even then, pock-faced and pudgy but from your limited interactions with him he had never been unkind to you. Your memories of him were foggy at best.

Months and years after the fact, Desmond became something of an urban legend at the Farm. They spoke of rebellions against his father, of a short temper and quick comebacks. He had been the only one foolish enough to leave. In the end it was later transcribed to be bravery.

Desmond told you once of what Juno and Minerva offered him - save the world or damn the world. How the world would have burned but the lot of you would have been safe, trapped in a place separated from the rest of Earth by time and otherworldly constructs. They’ve lied once before, he had said and in the same breath, I couldn’t be a leader to anyone. And that was enough to know that he had thought about it, even for just a moment.

You had thought of how he had been the first to leave from the Farm of their own volition. How the Assassins tried to tail him and lost him somewhere in Kansas, something perceivable due to lack of credentials but no small feat compared to how many Assassins came after him.

Desmond had been the first but he hadn’t been the last. The rest of the younger members took a chance of their own. Stories came back that some were captured and tortured for information or lost at sea, the fact remained that he had started a revolution of his own. His kindness had not gone amiss at a desolate place like the Farm. Even before his ancestors had left their imprints on his mind he had been a leader. He just hadn’t realized it.

You hadn’t told him that, not when he had looked at you with woeful eyes. Self-belief was a difficult thing to nurse.

Some days, it wasn’t Desmond that spoke to you. The horrible thing was that it was difficult to tell when the slip happened. On occasion he would slip into another language and the lot of you would work to soothe him out of the Bleed, but other times none of you had caught onto it until he would have a slight misstep and fumble or even dazedly ask what happened. Those were the days that you would end up holding his hand or sitting close to him, fingers always a constant on his skin when you could. There was a sense of dreaded hopelessness about the situation where all you could do was reassure him of his own presence there - his name in every other sentence or a newspaper detailing the events. Anything to keep him in touch and rooted here with you.

Perhaps it shouldn’t have been a surprise that he had kissed you. Perhaps it was his own fumble with reality, his own tightened grip on his sanity. Certainly not one of his ancestors at any rate - there was enough tentativeness to not be Ezio, it simply wasn’t like Connor to do that, and from what you knew of Altair he wouldn’t have kissed you like that, it would’ve likely just been another task for him. You had sworn it was Desmond who did, who leaned down and breathed you in and pressed his fingers to the back of your nape and tilted your head up.

Desmond hadn’t been your first love, hadn’t lain out that foundation for the rest of your life. You had every bit of belief that he would be the last. What you felt for him was slippery - intangible and messy and so horribly painful and bright. A thunder in your veins and the tension in your skin - it was easy to get lost in him, to believe with full conviction that you would not object to anything that he wanted.

The problem was that Desmond did not want easily. You both knew the Farm - knew of how easily and firmly its own code could constrict someone. You hadn’t known you had been a prisoner of a cult in near everything but the walls and name until you had left with William.

It hadn’t been much of a choice on his part - you were one of the few who hadn’t left after Desmond, let alone died on the initial rescue mission. The Creed advocated for freedom but it was difficult to believe in it when it encroached upon everyone there, where the only law you followed was the Tenets that still stood.

Desmond was a pushover to an extent. Even with all the rumours that followed after him after his departure, all the rebellious streaks that was supposed to have happened … it all seemed moot when in comparison to the young boy that you had known. He had followed after his father in the end, had gone through the rigorous training and submitted himself to that way of life. Until he hadn’t anymore. But even then, he had hung low and out of sight, only caught by a foolish mistake. He had been admirable in that, that he had lasted for years without being found out by the very people who specialized in stealth.

He had not objected to the Animus though, hadn’t uttered a word of regret or denial concerning his own impending death. You could recall his resolution back in the Temple, his tired voice and knitted brow. Even as he faced death, he had not turned his back on it. Every time he was told to get in the Animus, he eventually did. He hadn’t even protested when they all came to the Manor the second time, when Rebecca had brought it up to him.

There was nothing but the sound of silence and snow in the stillness of winter. There was no other choice, not when they had made it and followed through on it. None of them were keen on traveling once snow blanketed the ground. Spring was still a few months off especially in the frontier. Desmond had a tendency for cabin fever from what you knew, had reportedly been out of sight every night back in Italy. He had been adamant about leaving to face Cross and Vidic himself, to collect the power sources and carry on his way.

Desmond had sworn he wasn’t capable of being leader and yet the four of you had agreed willingly. William had come as a surprise to you given his accompanied alpha status, the very same as his son. The fights that you had witnessed between the two of them hadn’t been pretty. Desmond had wanted to confront Vidic. Shaun and Rebecca had no conflicts about it in the end, resigned themselves to the best option.

You hadn’t spent long in the field yourself, could not argue that this wasn’t the best course of action. Your work was better covering your tracks and finding signals on the web - all proven moot when in comparison to the likes of Rebecca. You hadn’t been worth much now that both you and William had met up with the group but while it had been the two of you it had suited the both of you just fine.

Somewhere along the way, the five of you had unwittingly become a pack, had every dynamic of one that completely functioned. Lucy had been the alpha of the last one, the head of the group. Here, it had fallen to Desmond and he wore it exactly like how he settled into his genetic memories. Easily and seamlessly. Even with your heart in your throat, you had offered no protest to him going to Abstergo.

You had cared for Desmond in your own way, had admired his steadfastness and determination until he had nearly killed himself for it. Your first introduction to him was to a boy with a face with a frown and the second was to someone equally as desolate. His sleep had not been peaceful, comatose and unresponsive to the world.

“Get him in the Animus” William had said and Desmond was strapped in. Even when the Animus went on the fritz and tried to deny his mind, when he had outright flatlined more than once, he had remained strong. When Desmond chased after Vidic, stood tall on that skyscraper, mic attached to his shirt, you could hear the wonder and awe in his voice. While you couldn't see his face, you could see what he did. Despite the grainy feedback, you saw where he stood at the end of everything.

It’s it beautiful? He had said. With your heart permanently glued to the inner lining of your throat, you had agreed. Desmond had stopped to admire the view and you had done it with him. Until it had been time to go, time to kill and move on and go go go go go.

None of you could stop, not even for a moment, not for some sight seeing or to catch their breaths. But the memory had implanted itself in your mind, solid and true. You had understood then why Desmond had left. And when Desmond took a Leap of Faith afterwards, you had inadvertently fallen with him.

Desmond had not forgotten your agreement. Even when everyone else had ushered him to hurry on, you had spoken in positive response. Even when the threat of the world hung around all your shoulders - and the doom it had spelled for him - he had pulled you aside on the rare occasion that he had been lucid and handed you his phone.

“You had liked the view too,” he had said with a worn smile and half-lidded eyes. It was not something that you had easily forgotten either. You were all but deftly reminded of his unfailing kindness and selflessness then. How he had taken the time to take a picture just for you.

“Thank you,” you had said. It was almost all that you could. He had smiled, something far more genuine that only solidified the feeling in your chest. He had clapped a hand to your shoulder and was ushered back into the Animus.

The situation between you two had shifted then. Because alphas and omegas were historically known to generally get along you had to endure nearly a dozen of Shaun’s ribbing comments already. It had been senseless banter and shameless teasing before, implications present in the edge of his voice. It was not something that could be ignored anymore, not anything that you wanted to let go of.

You didn’t want to replace Lucy, nor could you properly. She had been an alpha. You had known of her importance to the group, how hard her absence and betrayal had hit them. William hadn’t tried to replace her, even as another alpha he could sense her own placement there.

Lucy was a sore subject, a soft whisper if even that. You knew she had been close to Desmond but the truth hadn’t hurt before. If you could even call this feeling hurt- you couldn’t envy a dead woman, couldn’t chastise her for her own wasted opportunities and lament about what could have been between the two of them.

But in a way, you had taken her spot. She had tended to Desmond and now you did. The wedge between you - the wall formed by your arrival with his father had began to dismantle. Desmond didn’t necessarily need to be cared for, he could stand on his own and effortlessly carried the weight of the entire group. The admiration you had felt for him shifted since the phone, since returned to him so he could fiddle with it and record some audio clips you believed, had settled into something warmer and more wanting.

You couldn’t help him entirely, not in the way that mattered most or most effectively. You would like to believe it had been enough.

You were not entirely obtuse in your feelings for him - Rebecca had eyed you plenty a time over the edge of her computer. Shaun for his part had tried to arrange it so that the both of you were together. William pretended it wasn’t happening and perhaps for that alone you were thankful. Desmond, in his own way, had not remained oblivious either.

Rather, it had been Desmond-as-Ezio who had caught on. As Rebecca had told you, Ezio was a flirt through and through. While Ezio knew the ways of sex like the back of his hand, he knew love even greater. He had always fallen hard and fast. You had known it was Ezio at the forefront of Desmond's mind by the way he had watched you and curled his vowels.

Shaun had translated once, had remained stone-faced for far longer than you thought he would, before he said that Ezio suggested you tell him. “I have known love and I have lost it,” is what Shaun had translated. “Do not lose your chance.”

Time waited for no one. When Desmond had stood before the pillar and said his goodbyes, begged them to leave, to let him be to his fate, you thought to ask him to stay. Desmond pressed his phone into your hand and pulled you into a hug in the same motion.

He smelled of alpha-sweat-blood-dust-cold metal-whiskey-cinnamon-home-home- home. You hadn’t wanted to let him go. “I should have kissed you,” you whispered out. Instead, Desmond had let go of you - and leaned in to do exactly that.

Hours later, when the rumble of vehicles threatened overhead, their position compromised, you all struggled to gather what you could. You all had left him there to stand before his end. The end of the world had not come - but neither did Desmond leave. Time was wasted sitting there, incapable of mobility after most of your items had been packed - none of you had wanted to touch Baby, not yet. You feared you would still feel his warmth there, that if you so much as touched anything that belonged to him you would break down and cry.

Desmond had came out of the Temple and you had done exactly that anyways. “It didn’t need to be me,” he had say in way of explanation, eyes a swirl of that familiar glint of gold before he blinked, voice full of disgust, rigidness, and resignation. “It was my blood. It has always been my blood.” Then he had tucked himself in the back of the van right next to you and pressed his chin to the flesh between your shoulder and neck.

He Bled regularly as you drove along. William cursed up a storm each time he regressed and you could only clutch him tighter each time that he did and with every harsh motion of the van. You had almost lost him. You all had.

Even if you all hadn’t tried to Bleed Connor out of his system, the drive back was well worth it. The tires hadn’t survived and all of you had cricks in your neck but it had been enough. The Manor welcomed you all well enough but Desmond most of all.

Perhaps it had been the Connor inside of him that reacted, that still saw it as his den. Unlike his other ancestors, Connor had no proper pack of his own, not outside of his children, Achilles or even for that odd encounter with Shay. He had found solace in the Manor and so had Desmond.

William spoke of leaving after spring, of reports about a modified Animus and how Abstergo hunted one of their own. You had read the reports yourself but you had Desmond in your mind’s eye and so that was all that William’s comments had remained - comments. Even as an alpha, he couldn’t dictate what the pack chose. No one dared speak of going their own separate ways despite what the eldest seemed to imply.

Even with nearly two years as William's accomplice and with a reliable bond, it couldn't compare to what you shared with the others. William had not asked you to leave with him though, not then. For all that he had done wrong, from what you knew, it was a saving grace. You would not have picked him.

Connor was never an aggressive presence with Desmond though. The younger Altair, when he bled through, was a downright terror and an equally as young Ezio was too rambunctious, Connor had never mucked up much trouble. So when each Animus session with Desmond that lead him closer to the end that was written for Connor, you had seen less of him. It had been almost February when Desmond had whispered into your skin with a slur to his words, “He’s still there. Just resting.” Desmond ended up telling the others but you had been the first.

William eyed the van then and you had seen Shaun’s mouth form words of his own to comment but Rebecca had only smiled and clasped her hand to Desmond’s own. “You’re doing good, Desmond.” And he had softened and sent her a smile of his own and everything seemed right in the world, a little more sturdier.

Desmond did not want easily. He always put everyone else’s needs above his own, always followed their rules and their dictations. Even lost in his own world he obeyed the commands rigorously trained into him. He still chose his own meal if given a choice, still wanted to watch a surprisingly high quality movie on Rebecca’s computer with you - but he didn’t contribute to the discussion of where to go and what to do. He had fought so hard for his own life and it was barely with a fumble that he slipped back into that same old mold.

You remembered the day of when he had been found to have disappeared. How it had happened without warning. Ages past the fact had twisted the story, had stated that he had been found missing and his mother had crudely screamed and woke the whole household. The stories went that he had rallied up a small group of fellow recruits and taken a few with him after burning down an old outhouse. That he had threatened to leave numerous times before and successfully done it and that he would leave for good. That he took a car and blasted out of there with the radio on full blast.

You remember the truth of it. It took near four hours after wake up for anybody to even notice. It wasn't unusual for Desmond to venture out to the forest or to go horseback riding. There was no screaming or crying fest, nobody hollered or threw things. You knew well enough that Desmond and William had fought the night before. There had been no border patrols or guards or even gates.

He had simply walked out and never looked back, hitchhiked and bussed as far away as he could. Nobody had expected for one of their own to walk out - hadn’t expected that anybody would want to. Desmond had already been gone long before he had run away, it was just a matter of his physical body getting the memo.

It had been a quick and quiet affair with nary a word from him then. While you doubted that he would leave the four of you there, that he would so quickly up and leave, you knew well enough that history repeated itself. Desmond’s genetic memories proved that time and time again. You feared that the man you loved wasn’t the one you thought he was.

So every so often, when that same feeling niggled at the back of your mind, you went looking for him.

You found him in Connor’s old room. Relief had came in with a sloppy tidal wave. A shudder passed through you the moment you stepped through the doorway.

All of you slept in the living room, had set up that room to be the most hospitable during the cold months. The fireplace had kept you all warm enough and if it hadn’t, Desmond would be there at your back, holding you to his chest. Even then, there were moments like these that he was separated from you, far away both physically and mentally.

He turned towards you at the sound of your cleared throat. Shaun’s words from Ezio haunted you. You almost lost him. “Desmond?” you asked, voice shrill in the slow trickle of the air. You sneezed twice at the dust that floated around. He had drawn a mattress up there and even placed it atop the bed frame still present. Not Connor’s, you knew, but old enough. You touched your hand to his blanketed shoulder.

“Yeah,” he sighed and ran a hand up his face. “It’s me.” It … hadn’t been what you were going to say, let alone ask. You frowned.

“Why are you up here alone?” you whispered. The bed creaked beneath you as you sat beside him. His blanket was drawn up around his shoulders, huddled around his head like a hood. There was an edge of sleepiness to his eyes and a few creases around his mouth, bruises beneath his eyes. Desmond hadn’t slept well since Abstergo, since the first Animus session. That or it was literally his genetics. He has been tired long before that.

Desmond let out a slow exhale of air. Not quite a sigh. Desmond never sighed. Your frown deepened. “I’m thinking,” he confessed, eyes not on you. He’s focused at something on the wall. You almost thought there was a painting there once, a long time ago. His focus slipped and he instead shifted his hand to rub at his eyes. “Didn’t realize I spent so much time up here. Are you doing okay?”

You thought about how to answer that. For someone who had the whole world on his shoulders, you’d almost have hoped that he’d take some time to himself. You retracted your hand to tug at his own, to stop his restless fingers and to soothe him with small strokes of yours across the back of his hand. “I’m worried about you,” you said truthfully.

“I’m okay.” The reply hadn’t come as quickly and selflessly as you thought it would. There was no conviction in the words. Your fingers stilled. His flesh was so warm, so present - you didn’t want him to leave you. But you didn’t want to be selfish either, didn’t want to cage him down. “I’m about ready to go. Dad was saying something about Egypt, I think.”

“You listen to your dad?” you joked, eyebrows raised. There was a soft huff of an exhale from him, never quite a laugh but almost. Almost.

“I try not to,” Desmond said with a light tone of amusement. He turned his hand around, palm against yours before he twined your fingers with his. He let out a hum of consideration, mouth twitched at one corner. It was the most display of emotion that you had seen from him in quite a while.

“I don’t think he appreciates that.”

“Yeah, probably not. But he can deal with it,” he quipped back just as easily. You reflectively sent him a smile and the tension eased out of his arm, hand going lax against yours. He was always so tense, so rigid, so prepared for the worst to come yet. You hoped that wasn’t the case - you’re not sure you could handle the rug being pulled out from beneath the both of you.

Desmond’s smile stilled at the sight of your frown and with another exhale he let go of your hand to grasp at the corner of his blanket to drape across your shoulders too. It meant that you had to draw closer towards him, not quite sprawled into his lap as you would have hoped for but at least hip to hip. Not even that was necessary. You just liked to reassure yourself that he was there.

You echoed his exhale, drew it out into a sigh. “How are you really, Desmond?” There was a slight twitch in his eyebrow at that, at the pronunciation of his name. His expression lacked confusion though which was more comforting than you had expected.

“Tired.” His posture wavered and you worried he’d pitch to the side but instead he just pulled you closer towards him, one leg draped across his and his shoulder almost awkwardly pressed against your sternum. It was usually a hesitant fumble between you two to find an appeasing position for the both of you and eventually he settled to wrap an arm around your waist and let you rest your head against his chest. “We aren’t … happy with how things have turned out here.”

You stiffened against him involuntarily. ‘We’. Desmond had a penchant of referring to all the memories and voices inside his head as a collective ‘we’. Rarely did he refer to himself in the singular tense. It was just fortunate that he had been referring to himself for the most part.

Desmond drew away from you - and despite your initial thought, it wasn’t to get a better look at your expression. He drew a couple pillows from the headboard, shot a load of dust through the air in the process and positioned it up behind himself. He tugged you down beside him as you dragged the blanket with you and made sure to toss it over his socked feet, tucked your knees closer towards your body and curled towards him. “Why? What’s wrong?”

Desmond let his hand rest along your head and began to casually thread his fingers through the strands. There was a frown present on his lips again, deep enough to pull the scar across his lip tight. There was a shadow of a beard on his jawline, dark against his skin. He looked so aged from this position. You wanted to ease his burden.

“Achilles had entrusted this house to him,” Desmond spoke up finally, something sharp and jagged in his voice. His hand had stopped all motion in your hair. “It was-,” a pause as he searched for the right word, a violent lurch of his eyebrow as he knitted it and a hot breath of air from his nose before he relented with, “Connor’s house. When I was in the Animus, I - as Connor - had helped repair it. We had built this place, the entire Homestead. It was made by my hands - to see it like this...” His voice trailed off into silence.

There was a vacant glaze to his eyes, a ripple of uncertainty and fractured lifetimes. Desmond may have been with you in the room and that may have been his heartbeat beneath his hand but he has left you alone all the same.

“Desmond.” It was on the fourth time that he turned to face you, a couple pronounced blinks to his gaze as he seemed to focus on you. You raised your hand from his shirt to his face, cupped his jaw and let your thumb rest along his cheek. “Desmond, what you and Connor built was … was amazing. It still is. It’s just a little run down, that’s all.”

“It’s forgotten.” The impact behind his words had you falter for a moment. He didn’t say anything after that but he waited all the same. You bit your lip, wondered how much time he would give you to think of how to respond to that, to the tone of his voice.

“This is more than just about the house, isn’t it?” you asked him. Desmond didn’t immediately respond but his eyes didn’t trail from your face, insistent on staring into yours as he processed it. He closed his eyes, lovely brown obscured by the dark of his eyelashes. His head settled deeper against the pillow.

“Connor lived and died in this house. His wife lived here with him until she left. She took the kids. Connor had nothing left. Nothing but an old rocking chair and this house. And now here it is in ruin.” You wondered then if he would cry, if this would be what finally broke him.

You had heard that he had been unhappy when Monteronigirri had perished to flame and blade, when little to no one had been spared. You wondered if the memory was buried somewhere deep inside him, if it settled there as an unscabbed open wound. If it pestered him day in and day out. Ezio had years to get over the tragedy, if he ever did. Desmond didn’t have the luxury. It was still a fresh ache to him. To reopen the wound with Connor and his unlucky end ... 

“You remembered it,” you told him. “You’re here right now. Connor isn’t alone because .. he’s with you. You’re with him, and I’m with you. We’re all with you, Desmond. We’re not going anywhere without you.” You were firm to implant his name there, to affirm his hold on reality. You all had thought that if he relived Connor’s memories it would help soothe the Effect, that Desmond could go back to the life that he had before, that he could live unhindered and unburdened by it. Anything for it all to be easier for him.

“My Dad talked about Egypt,” there was a slight scoff to his voice. (I’m losing him.) “Why don’t we just go? I’m just holding you all back, this isn’t anything-”

“No.” You moved both hands to cup his face and he stared at you with impassive eyes. Desmond has not wanted much. He gave up a lot before, to get all of them to the end, to get them knowledge otherwise lost. He was willing to give it all up again with just a word. He would. “You’re keeping us all together, Desmond. We’re your pack, don’t you understand? Yours.” You leaned up to kiss him and your knee knocked against his before you settled your leg on the other side of his waist. He didn’t respond at first, let you pepper his face with kisses. Gradually, he seemed to react, upturned his face to return the gesture, to press his lips against yours. His hands settled along your hips, thumbs pressed into the clothed skin there. Your mouth lingered a fair deal more but it was him who dragged his tongue across your lip, had you shudder in response.

You could feel him smile against your skin, felt the uneven skin of his scar catch on you when you allowed him at your throat. You could feel a pattern begin to emerge in the light rubs of his thumbs, something almost like dialect. His kisses were slow, languid and light, a butterfly touch if you had ever felt one. You let out a breathy sigh of his name and he paused then.

“Desmond?” you prompted him and sat back on your knees, a leap in your chest, worried that you had overstepped a line.

“Just thinking,” he promised, a few seconds too slow. There was an upturn to his mouth, an appreciative look in his eyes. His hands hovered along your hips though and you knew that there was no use pushing your luck.

Desmond would likely relent if you pushed him to have sex with you now, if you begged him with a breathy tone to let you take his knot but you also knew that his heart wouldn’t be in it. That he might not want it. You couldn’t push him like that, you didn’t have it within yourself to.

“You think enough for four people,” you said pointedly and made sure to throw in a grin for good measure. You threw your leg off of him, tried not to let your disappointment surface in your scent. He had your neck exposed to him, he had already likely caught your arousal and anticipation in it alone. You weren’t disappointed in him though, never him.

“Hm,” there was a lighter turn of his mouth then, something pleased and adoring in that gesture alone. Even though he just had his tongue in your mouth and his lips and fingers on your skin, it was his smile that made you flustered. Go figure. You averted your gaze, tried to ignore the wider spread of his lips. “Definitely smart enough for four men.”

You swatted your hand against his chest as you collapsed next to him, made sure to draw your legs tighter together before you tugged his arm down and settled down against it. “Definitely,” you relented. Desmond’s look was appreciative and genuine, fond to the very end. “Or at the very least ripped enough for them.” You reached out a hand to pat against his stomach and then there was the laugh that you missed so much.

At some point, Shaun had started a running joke about Desmond being pudgy. He had been in his youth, sure, but most children were. Being on the run and doing a bunch of parkour promised at least some muscles. You grinned wide enough for the both of you when he rolled onto his side, albeit with a little bit of struggle with his trapped arm beneath you.

“Thank you,” Desmond said after a moment. “For trying to help.” You shifted enough for him to draw his arm out and he flexed his fingers experimentally, a falter to his earlier cheer as he stared at his hand. The very hand that he had supposedly clasped onto the Eye.

“Of course.” You told him. You leaned forward to press another kiss against his lips, let it linger and rest against the swell of his mouth. He inhaled your exhale and let his lips move against yours, calm and pleasant. When he pulled back, it was a wonder you hadn’t confessed to loving him. It would have been terribly easy. But the truth of the matter was despite your fear and insecurities, you knew that you had nearly all the time in the world - and isolated in the Manor as your pack was, it very well could have been.

Suddenly, you knew, that if this was what the end of the world had been like, you’re fairly certain you wouldn’t have minded at all.

[a-man-for-hire-and-his-archives]

Article from Mail about Andrew Wincott in Colombia (scroll down to read the article)

Coming soon to The Archers...Adam Macy's cocoa farm in Colombia!

written by Andrew Wincott for Mail on Sunday Travel (31 March 2014)

Radio star Andrew Wincott is bewitched and bedazzled by a historic and colorful corner of South America

Oh dear! Really? Are you quite sure?' Such were the reactions of various acquaintances to my announcement that I was planning a trip to Colombia.

The fact that I have friends in Bogota didn't assuage their anxieties. And now even I started to imagine scenarios in which, having been kidnapped by some paramilitary renegades, I could possibly negotiate some sort of communication line down which I could record scenes for The Archers from my cell in Bogota. Perhaps Adam could have been on a trip researching cocoa farming, I reflected, and found himself deludedly diverted towards coca instead.

Such is the curious blurring between fiction and reality in The Archers that stranger things have happened.

Bogota is a dynamic city with a chaotic character all its own. At 8,500ft above sea level you would think the head-rush would be mandatory. The rush is all in the traffic: buses veer, bikes swerve, taxis vie for fares across choked lanes.

But in the tranquil historic neighbourhood of La Candelaria you escape to the city's Spanish colonial past. Amid the teeming hordes of students, travellers and local Bogotanos, the gold exhibits of the Museo D'Oro, such as the pre-Colombian gold raft sculpture from the Muisca era, are dazzling.

Alternatively one can enjoy the whimsical wit of Colombia's most famous artist, Botero. His porcine figures are found in a museum named after him and built around a charming 18th Century courtyard. Also housed here is part of Botero's personal art collection, including works by Monet, Renoir, Chagall, Miro, and Dali.

Taking in the view: Andrew at the Iglesia de Monserrate overlooking Bogota.

In the nearby Plaza de Bolivar I saw a llama sauntering by - they are used to give rides to giggling tourists. On one corner stands the Museo de la Independencia, housing artefacts and exhibits that fascinatingly illustrate the story of the 1810 Revolution: how the fight for independence began and how, some might contend, it is still being fought today.

Looking up from the plaza - high in the mountains to the east - you see the Iglesia de Monserrate, which is accessible within minutes by cable car. Here you find a sanctuary of tranquillity and spirituality, as though one has risen above the city while its secular urban unreality sprawls magnificently but chaotically across the plateau below.

If the tumult of Bogota becomes too much, a mere hour away lies Zipaquira and its cathedral, one of the most startling buildings in the world. With ingenuity, vision and audacity, a cavernous expanse 600ft below ground has been carved from a salt mine to form a space for worship.

Such is the combination of iconography, natural forms, colours, and carvings that you feel you're in a sodium-chloride art installation.

It's extraordinary to imagine that on Sundays and holy days 3,000 people come here to worship.

At Guatavita, the legend of El Dorado resonates from the pre-Colombian past. Cradled by crater walls is the lake on to which the Muisca tribe rowed their new cacique (king) on a raft before ritually immersing him, naked and covered in gold dust. In further homage, thousands of gold offerings were thrown into the lake by members of the tribe surrounding the shores.

Across the mountains, through the valleys, past polytunnels (Adam would have been pleased to note) the poncho - or ruana - wearing farmers tend the fields, ride horseback or stroll as though time has stopped. Being on the road is an experience in itself. Away from Bogota, down from the plateau and the temperate high ground, the temperature rises.

Roadside grills offer chorizos, chicken and cold beers to slake the thirst. Dogs slumber, sheltering in doorways to escape the heat while cats watch from the shadows.

If it's history you crave, about 90 miles from Bogota, in the Andes near Tunja, there is a tiny bridge over the Teatinos River, marking the site where the Battle of Boyaca was fought.

Here in August 1819 a decisive victory was won against the Spanish in the war for independence - with the help of the British - an event marked by imposing monuments to the generals Bolívar and Santander.

Soon you reach the white-washed walls, red-tiled roofs and cobblestone streets of Villa de Leyva, a preserved colonial town which, since 1954, has been a national monument.

The 17th Century architecture, featuring cool arcaded courtyards, fountains, and flower-festooned columns, is unspoilt. Dancing in the square and drinking aguardiente in the bars around here seem like timeless nocturnal pursuits.

Further afield, an hour's flight from Bogota on the shores of the Caribbean, lies the Unesco World Heritage site of Cartagena, a beautifully restored jewel of a walled Spanish city with perhaps the most impressive fortifications in Latin America, the Castillo de San Felipe de Barajas.

The stature of the walls and the tunnels beneath help the visitor understand why it was virtually impossible to defeat the Spanish here, and why they stayed until the 19th Century.

At night the sun-drenched Plaza de la Santisima Trinidad is transformed into a natural theatre. All life is here. Children race, dogs strut like horses, folk reflect and ruminate.

Locals and travellers mix over a beer bought from the shop across the square and a hot dog from a stand.

If you fancy a cocktail, perhaps a cuba libre, you can try to wake the old girl slumbering behind her stall to mix one.

Colombia is a country that defies expectations. It will bewitch and bedazzle you. The countryside is timeless and you'll find pure pleasure in the tranquillity and variety of the landscape and the charm of its people. If you're looking to escape from the greyness of the commonplace, the warmth, colour and natural beauty of Colombia elevate it to the dimension of another world. I shall certainly be going back.

Maybe that cocoa farm of Adam's wasn't such a bad idea after all.

[culmaer]

look what finally arrived !!!

hopefully this contains the answer to the "umtshingo"/kelp overtone flute mystery

The Musical Instruments of the Native Races of South Africa by Percival R. Kirby. First published in 1934 by Oxford University Press, this is the second imprint (1968) of the second edition by the Witwatersrand University Press.

now the title does give off colonial vibes, but with some critical reading this is an invaluable resource which I hope will fill in some of the gaps of information unavailable digitally. Kirby was born in the 1880s in Scotland and comes to South Africa at the turn of the century and realises that the indigenous musical instruments and musical traditions of Africa were dying out due to colonialsm/European influence. so he gets funding from Carnegie in New York and the South African government to do research expeditions to remote villages and document their music. in the Preface to the Second Edition, Kirby writes :

during the past thirty years [since the original publication] the rapidly increasing urbanization [has resulted] in a dying out of many old tribal institutions and the disappearance of many objects of material culture, including musical instruments. The case of the mbila, the great resonated xylophone of the Venda, is typical, for the old craftsmen who used to make it and the skilled musicians who used to play it have all died, and as they were apparently unable to train successors, the instrument in no longer being made and is now virtually extinct (1964. p. xii)

On the topic of Kirby, he was one of the first people to play on the trumpets found in the tomb of Tutankhamen when he visited Cairo in 1933. in true British colonial fashion, he goes into the Royal Egyptian Museum and they basically just let him play the trumpets :

I suggested to Dr. Engelbach that it ought to be an easy matter to play upon the trumpets, and enquired of him if they had ever been sounded before. He replied that they had not, and asked me if I would care to try them myself (p. 34 of the article cited below)

the only condition being that he not publish about it, without written permission from Howard Carter who was still alive at the time. Kirby delays his research and in the meantime (in 1939) the BBC broadcast the trumpets being played "for the first time" ... except they shoved a modern trumpet mouthpiece into the artefacts without mentioning it in the broadcast. all Kirby knows is that what they're playing is impossible, but it's not until after WWII that he could confirm it was played with a modern mouthpiece. this misleading and inaccurate portrayal Really Annoys him (fair). his full article is an interesting read

Kirby, P. R. (1947) "The Trumpets of Tut-Ankh-Amen and Their Successors." in The Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland, Vol. 77 (No. 1), pp. 33–45. https://doi.org/10.2307/2844534 (link to the article on Jstor)

[glauconaryue]

I have been on this hellsite for years and only now do I learn that writeblr introductions are, apparently, a thing. So here goes my

Writeblr Introduction

Glauconar Yue (they/them, xe/xir)

Nonbinary trans femme lesbian

I write horror, weird fantasy and poetry.

I also do drag and theatre sometimes.

I grew up with Spanish and German, I write in both and also in English or mixing it all up.

I love to meet people on tumblr dot com so please send asks and dms if you see common interests.

My novels

El Empalador (Spanish)

Gothic horror, historical fantasy

A retelling of the life of Vlad Tepes Dracula, blending myth and history through the paranoia of a doomed antihero.

Las crónicas del templo negro (Spanish)

High fantasy, metafiction

Immortals form a community to share their knowledge, but their individual personalities and strange abilities make coexistence no easy task. The book includes many notes on alternative translations of the cryptic source texts.

Das Herz des Zahnradmädchens (German)

Steampunk, romance

An inventor finds a mysterious female automaton whose body contains mechanical and magical secrets. To confront industrial and supernatural threats, they must first figure out their own feelings.

Many shorter texts have been published in magazines and collections, see a longer list here.

My WIPs

Graustadt: Kopfgeldjäger und Mythen

Urban fantasy, crime thriller

A couple of bounty hunters trying to make a living in a run down city. They hunt for magical artefacts and literally for the heads of luckless outlaws, while trying to not get caught up in the rising gang wars.

Status: Volume 1/3 completed, figuring out how to best publish it.

Princess on the Run

Quest fantasy, queer fairy tale, road story

After her castle is burned down, a princess roams across the land, stealing cars, fighting ghosts and con-men, questioning both her gender and nobility.

Status: Scattered fragments in various languages.

Discurso de Transmutación Alquímica

Queer poetry, witchcraft

A queer reading of alchemical mysticism, celebrating gender transition as a spiritual process. The poetical essay with embedded sonnets mixes Spanish and English, historical language and neopronouns.

Status: Finished, might add to the appendix, negotiating with editors.

These are the book-sized ones, many small texts are constantly in the works or just happening.

Thanks for reading, I'd be happy to hear from you!

[chwrpg]

CREEPY, KOOKY, MYSTERIOUS, SPOOKY ;

Every major holiday there's a buzz around who will have The Party. Sometimes there's no clear front runner so it boils down to where the trendsetters decide to show up, sometimes there's a clear winner and everyone just knows where the most fun will be. This year, a dark horse has won the race– the Addams twins. According to urban legend only a lucky, or perhaps brave, few have actually made it past the threshold of their family's grand gothic mansion and lived to tell the tale. That they'll be opening their home on Halloween of all nights screams 'looking for blood sacrifices', but who could turn down an invite to the party of the moment? Rather than relying on corny, cheap scares the house is genuinely creepy by nature. It creaks and moans, and it always feels like something is watching. Not to mention Mr and Mrs Addams' affinity for the macabre– a collection of ancient artefacts and torture devices truly set the mood. So, if you dare, accept your invitation to the party of the moment... and hope you live to tell the tale.

MORE INFORMATION ;

Party starts now!!

As always, tag your looks #chwhalloween

[dreamteez-story]

MIST [I] - Snow Moon | An Ateez Story

First Book of the Mist Series

[royal fantasy Ateez Fanfiction | SeonghwaxOC | SanxOC]

"so please, if this is my path, hold my hand tight." - ateez's mist

Many years ago, every use of magic was called to be forbidden and the last magic artefacts were banned to Arlune, the kingdom of winter. But after festivities in Arlune, the princesses Aurora, Raina and Jiska find out, that somebody tried to lift the spell protecting these last magic artefacts from being used. The peace between the four kingdoms is at risk. Now they need to prevent a war and need to fight more than just their role as heir to the throne. Friendship, love and trust, everything is twisted and an urban legend about eight special soldiers who would free the kingdoms, could be more than just a tale from the ordinary folk.

first start: march 2023 restart: october 2024 status: in progress

2023 © written by dreamteez_story [wattpad]