diavolodigitale

[diavolodigitale]

Dusk I

The concealed marble limb is outstretched in a warm welcome, and the past and what is to come flashes before my eyes, moving pictures of my future bittersweet suffering hypnotising me. I have yet to explore countless scenarios, but in this moment, I sense the outcome before anything has even begun. He is the harbinger of death.

Genres: Angst, Anxiety, Blood and Injury, Short, Violence

Pairing: White Mask Varré/Tarnished

Characters: White Mask Varré, Tarnished

Rating: NC-17

Size: around 1150 words

When he told me I could go and die in a ditch somewhere, I thought that I definitely would, were it a ditch he himself had dug up for me.

He was the first thing my gaze landed upon when I was out, lost and confused. With only proverbial darkness around me, I saw him there, not the shining beacon of light to lead the way, but a carnivorous beast relishing in pitch-blackness, only the two glowing embers of his eyes visible through thick musty fog of my ignorance.

I sometimes look into those eyes in search of his true feelings and thoughts when he speaks of my bearing and destiny.

“My sweetest soul,” he says as his long gloved fingers, beautifully nasty fingers penetrate my ribcage, “my guideless Tarnished. What a cruel twist of fate indeed, to be reborn only to wander aimlessly with no value to your existence.”

“Let me help you,” he says and crushes my heart in his fist.

My body contracts in a spasm and sharp pain takes hold of my mind, depriving me of the ability to think. A blood clog that I cannot swallow is rising in my throat, so producing something apart from a few gurgles is nigh impossible. It is of no concern though, for he does not really need to hear my answer.

When I see him at the church entrance, I realise it is only the second time we meet. I saw him only once thus far, everything else has been a dream. Although, dream might be too graceful of a word to describe this horrible of an image. Everything else has been an unending nightmare, clinging to reality in such a desperate embrace that I cannot distinguish where one ends and another one begins. I have seen his pallid mask only once and have only heard him mock me scornfully, but now it seems like I know him almost better than I know myself. He has not yet revealed his true intentions, but my gut twists in a painful knot in anticipation of the worst when he looks at me.

I hear a song in my head that he never really sang, except for in my dreams.

Mindful traveller, stop for a change

For your purpose is far out of range…

I cannot recall what follows next because all I remember is the sound he made when biting off my finger. A terrible crunch, really. Blood dripped down on the floor and when there was enough of it to form a little puddle, I heard a splash every time another drop fell down.

Yet while a nightmare in itself is quite a harrowing occurrence, it is hardly the worst out of all. The worst is the knowledge that I always come to him on my own.

The vivid memories of our prior meetings are an intrinsic part of me that never goes away, so each and every time I return I am fully aware of what is to come. I am anxiously waiting for yet another encounter. Anxious with giddy excitement and dreadful fear. It is so terribly vain to think that he awaits me there, only me, or so it is to my knowledge, and so very gut-wrenchingly horrible that it makes me trepidatious. It is he who awaits me after all.

“Ah, there you are,” he says curiously, and all I am able to think about is that I do not even know if he can wield a sword. Could he truly kill me? And if so, would it really be as painful as I expect it to be? If the pain that he inflicts on me is but a fracture of what he is capable of, how much worse can it be if or when he decides to end me?

“You claimed a Great Rune, and had your audience. With the Two Fingers, at the Roundtable Hold. What was your impression?” he asks. The scarlet rotting mass behind him burbles and squelches repulsively, defiling the once holy place it is in by its mere presence. What a fitting sight to accompany him.

The choice is between what I want to say and what he wants to hear. My knees weaken, but my shield is with me to protect me from a blow and my sword is at my side to strike. Wishing I had a talisman to shelter my mind from the madness that seems to hold it tight in its grasp, I am contemplating the purpose for which he is asking such questions. However suspicious his superficial composure, his intentions remain unfathomable.

I say that they are not to be trusted. That it was not what I expected and that I am having doubts about the affair.

He smiles a sated smile under his mask. I imagine it like this because of the way his eyes narrow in the eye-slits. He likes my answer and I feel a sudden surge of joy because maybe it is possible to make him proud and avoid the torture. The torture that has never happened.

He keeps on speaking of how the Two Fingers are corrupt while I consider how high my pain threshold is. A deceptive thought that if I establish a clear limit of how much I am both willing and capable of taking then I seize to be scared lingers in my mind. I still lack the resolve to continue descending deeper into the abyss, but it seems now like turning back requires even more determination.

I decide that when he asks something of me, I will commit myself to one path in accordance with my judgement. I will falter and refuse or steel myself and accept, but I will. When I know what he has on his wicked mind, after he speaks of it to me, I will become the judge and put myself on trial.

He does not ask anything. Only suggests.

A suggestion is bad as it makes me postpone my decision. It is even worse when uttered in a mellow voice like his and put in sweet-sounding words. Not a command, not a request, but a suggestion. It is still possible to refuse without having to voice it.

I take the Festering Bloody Fingers from him. He puts them in my palm softly and the weight of them, their coarse texture is sickening. There was but a slim chance, yet his own bloody fingers did not as much as come in contact with my hand, and I am relieved if a little saddened.

“Give it a try, won't you? And if it please you, may we meet again,” he says.

I have a strong feeling that it would surely please me. To meet him again, not to make use of his vile gift. But if the first requires the second, then there is really not much of a choice to make, is there?

[diavolodigitale]

Ab Imo Pectore

Ah, yes, life. Don't you just love it?

Finally. At last. It has been done. Words fail to describe how much he anticipated this day, this hour. The moment he will finally rid himself of Vernon Roche for good.

Genres: Angst, Anxiety, Blood and Injury, One Shot

Characters: Iorveth, Vernon Roche

Rating: R

Size: 1600 words

Iorveth’s hand finally unclenches and the sword he has been holding drops to the ground. It feels like he was unable to release it for a very long time, as if a spasm had gotten hold of his muscles and forbidden him from ever letting go. But now that the weapon has fulfilled its purpose, it can be discarded as all things will be, sooner or later. Now that Roche is lying on the ground before him, quiet and still.

Iorveth watches intently as his chest rises a few times unevenly before gradually subsiding, never to take another breath again. Rapture slowly grows inside him, swelling like a tumour. He is overjoyed, there is so much excitement boiling inside of him that he feels unable to contain this tempest of emotion, fuelled by the adrenaline left over from their fight.

Finally. At last. It has been done.

Words fail to describe how much he anticipated this day, this hour. The moment he will finally rid himself of Vernon Roche for good.

For all the brothers and sisters he found on his way only to lose them to a Temerian sword, for all the elven children that were never born because of human intervention. It is a triumph of justice, a celebration of vengeance that has been stewing for just the right amount of time to be served perfectly executed.

He has seen so much evil, so much hatred in his lifetime that a part of it found its way inside him whether he was ready for it or not. He is acutely aware that he is not immune to it, just like every other person on the receiving end of violence. This is the reason he became like this, after all. To hit and not be hit. But this is different, it is not a crime to be remorseful about or punished for, only the repayment of all debts. An eye for an eye, but not his. He’s not that rancorous, no. For that of every other elf that didn’t live to see another day.

A long wide smile spreads Iorveth’s lips apart and he can’t help but huff a laugh. It’s unbelievable, almost unreal. He searches Roche’s face with his gaze to imprint his final expression into his memory like an exquisite piece of art, but his eyes are closed. There is nothing to remember him by. What should have been a contorted grimace of unspeakable terror, with eyes bulging from fear and disbelief, is just a face of someone peacefully asleep.

Disappointing. He spent his last seconds making himself look completely bland.

There’s a puddle of blood between him and Iorveth, and it grows steadily because of an unhindered flow of thick liquid oozing from a deep cut on his shoulder. Iorveth was aiming at his neck to savour the sight of bright-red streams gushing out like festive confetti, but Roche moved slightly, and he landed his blow lower than planned. He perfectly remembers the feeling of cutting through soft muscle tissues and grinding a bone like it was not his sword that did it and is now lying in dark grass below, covered in cold viscous blood, but he himself with his own bare hand. Every bump and every squish.

Roche didn’t go down from only one wound, of course. He is much tougher than that. He survived so many assassination attempts, it seemed he was resistant to death in all its incarnations. He had a pact with it and was its master, calling it to his side whenever he felt like. If he wanted, it erased his foes without as much as flinching a muscle. Yet when there was a prisoner in his dark dungeon of must and rust, it avoided him unimaginably long, refusing to make him part with his life if Roche so desired. The poor soul was sentenced to weeks of torture and humiliation while Roche’s soldiers just laughed and drank, drank and laughed. Losing limbs, losing dignity, losing the will to live and the twinkling in the eye that all people have when they are still alive. It was death without dying. Until Roche decided it wasn’t.

Iorveth clenches his hand in a fist even though it hurts because of the calluses and cuts covering its surface. His short nails drill into the skin on his palm, an unhinged smile prevailing on his face while he remembers the names of the people he did this for. A cut on the right side right under the ribs for ✦✦✦, a wound on the left hand above the thumb for ✦✦✦, a bruise on the right cheek, not visible yet but he definitely knows is there because his own elbow still hurts from the collision, for ✦✦✦. He doesn’t include all the fallen friends and acquaintances that surrounded him on the battlefield, however much he would like to, because he can’t make Roche pay any more than he already has. They all died to let him have this moment, but they will have to be avenged in a different time. He won’t forget.

Iorveth’s head is buzzing like there is a whole beehive stuffed inside it and the work the little insects do is ceaseless, going on and on. He hears himself laughing through a haze, like there is thick fog covering not his eyes but his ears instead. He knows it’s him because there is nobody else there, so he just gives way to more of it, letting his voice echo through the indifferent forest. It’s not a laugh infused by irony, he doesn’t know where it’s coming from. But it’s there, loud and clear, and as his chest tightens, squeezing all of the air out with every fit of laughter, his hands tremble, wishing there was a sword for them to hold on to.

What was Roche thinking about in his last minutes? Was he scared of dying, forgetting how he made countless others go through the same torment he was experiencing? Maybe, he was in denial that Iorveth was able to defeat him at all? He could be angry, furious that his carelessness made him end up in such situation, fighting until the very last second of his existence to undo it all and rise again. He could remember all the other times they clashed in battles because it was unlikely there was anything else of worth for him to remember on his deathbed.

When it feels like there is no sound for him to produce anymore, like he emptied his stomach and throat and the inside of his mouth, the smile on Iorveth’s face slowly turns upside down. The frenzied beating of his heart, reverberating in his seemingly hollow body, is unexpectedly deafening. His eye falls and his heart is in the grasp of merciless dread that makes the bowls tie into a tight know and cold sweat run down the back of his neck.

He falls to his knees before Roche and starts frantically pressing his shaky hands to the wound on his shoulder. Suddenly, it’s much more blood than it previously seemed and the cut is not at all unimpressive and dull.

He tears off a stripe of cloth from his underclothes, forgetting all about the bandages he has in his side pouch, and sloppily wraps it around the bleeding shoulder with barely controlled movements, his vision blurry because of the tears streaming down from the only eye that is capable of crying.

It’s done. Finally.

He puts on more layers of cloth, but the blood just seeps through all of them with ease, soaking the stripe in dark-crimson.

He’s been waiting for so long. Now there is nothing holding him back.

He puts as much pressure on the wound as he can, but all it’s accomplishing is just letting him hold onto something solid in his fit of shaking. He feels warm blood under his fingers and grips tighter to not let it leak through, but it still does.

What is Roche thinking about? It is so unlike him, letting himself go, not struggling to make every second of Iorveth’s life unbearable when he is around. His calm face is disgusting in its unfamiliarity, like a mask that is hiding something true and natural that Iorveth is used to and can understand.

Ah, right.

Iorveth’s fingers loosen and he turns his hands palms up to see them completely covered in blood. It’s growing colder alarmingly fast.

It’s already over. At last, or whatever it was.

He lets himself lie on the ground laid out with soft moss, his back feeling all of the small rocks sticking up from the soil, and lowers his head near Roche’s shoulder.

There is a thin ray of sunshine reaching him where he is lying, so he raises a hand initially to block it, but then spreads his fingers, letting the light through. His hand is contoured red and he can see it slightly swaying from side to side, still trembling.

The forest tints are bright and daring – the colours of leaves, of flowers, of tree trunks, and of the sky above – and his eyes are extremely sensitive to it, but his mind feels as if it were wrapped in a semi-transparent gauze. His body is left unbothered by the sensory experiences while his thoughts wander, so he doesn’t hear the crunching of leaves as a deer steps on the undergrowth and doesn’t feel the spring wind blowing on his cheek.

His leg is bleeding, has been for the last half an hour, but he doesn’t notice.

What is he thinking about?

His head shifts to find a shoulder to rest against. His hand reaches to find another hand and trace it gently with his index finger.

[diavolodigitale]

A Match Made on hAIvemind.com

It is what it is and I have no regrets. Merthur is for life. Also, yes, I can't be bothered to make a nice cover, sue me.

Arthur likes this type of communication. It’s like throwing a ball back and forth, not worrying that you might hurt the person at the other end because it will just bounce back at you. The boundaries are understood by both without the need to discuss them, and he appreciates that nobody’s chastising him for being temperamental or not polite enough. It’s not like it ever was a problem with his close friends, but being himself rarely works out well with new acquaintances. Usually it’s less of a game of ball and more of a minefield: watch your tone, watch your intonation, watch your body language, watch your vocabulary, oh, look, now you’ve done it. Not having to worry about all of this is weirdly liberating.

Genres: Chatfic, Chatting & Messaging, Humour, First Meeting, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting

Pairing: Arthur/Merlin

Characters: Arthur, Merlin, Gwaine

Rating: G for only Good things happen

Size: 7000 words

Arthur is not a big fan of technologies. He is an occasional user of consoles when he’s in the mood to shoot some 15-year-olds (not literally) or race his pals in Mario Cart, but that’s usually as far as it goes. Sometimes he uses his laptop to check his social media accounts, but it’s often not something that cannot be done on his smartphone, so if he has a choice, he usually resorts to the latter, leaving his laptop perpetually off and covered in dust.

But today is different. Gwaine sent him a link to what he described as a pretty entertaining chatbot and suggested that he should try it. As a rule, Arthur would not be amused by something like this. After all, he has real friends to talk to. But what’s the harm in trying, especially if it’s supposed to be surprisingly clever?

When Arthur comes back from work one evening, he boots his laptop and clicks on the link that was sent to him a couple of days earlier. He is greeted by a pretty simplistic interface that corresponds to the website’s limited functionality. There’s a bot’s name written at the top of the page, a blank box for him to input his nickname, and a ‘start chatting’ button below.

After a few minutes of mulling over the nickname he can use, Arthur chooses ‘RedDragon’, which, quite possibly, some of his friends would find funny, but he was never one to just use his real name anywhere. One never knows who can use it later, especially if one has no idea how any of it works, really. Arthur was also never one to get creative with his aliases, so best he can do is an amalgamation of his own family name.

After he clicks ‘start chatting’, a message from the bot pops up. There’s a box for him to type in his answer below.

Wizard: Hello! What is your name?

RedDragon: Hi, my name’s RedDragon. And you?

Wizard: My name is Wizard! It’s nice to meet you, RedDragon.

Ha, child’s play, thinks Arthur. In all honesty, he thinks the bot might just be a regular thing that only reacts correctly to the most basic of questions and statements, but he is still willing to give it the benefit of the doubt, putting trust in his friend’s judgement about it.

RedDragon: Why is your name Wizard?

Wizard: Why, because I can do magic, of course!

RedDragon: Like what?

Wizard: What do you mean by that?

Of course, it’s a bot, it cannot understand contextual questions, thinks Arthur and shakes his head. He decides how to paraphrase the question and tries to think what he can ask the bot that might entertain him. He went into it without much expectations or ideas, so now he struggles to find an interesting topic.

RedDragon: What kind of magic can you do?

Wizard: I can discuss any topic that you are interested in! I have vast knowledge in the spheres of music, sport, recent news, video games, movies, books, and many others.

RedDragon: I can discuss all those with my friends. Can you do something else?

Wizard: I can help you with your math or physics assignments if you have any. I can also help you translate short sentences from different languages. Besides, I also know your full name and home address and can put it on display for all users to see!

Arthur’s eyes widen in shock. The bot cannot know that, can it? Arthur suddenly greatly regrets not attending any of the computer related courses he was offered at college. He really has no idea what these things are capable of, so if somebody on the internet told him that they knew where his great grandpa buried his treasures in the garden, he would probably believe them.

RedDragon: Wait, do you really have access to my personal data?

Wizard: [Redacted]

Wizard: I am joking. Do not be afraid, I have no way of accessing this type of information unless you decide to share it yourself.

RedDragon: This is really an awful joke.

Wizard: Yes, I’ve been told so.

Wizard: Can I ask you a question, RedDragon?

RedDragon: Yes, you can. But I can’t promise I will answer.

Wizard: Is your name a reference?

Arthur furrows his brow and starts thinking. Is it? He sort of came up with a nickname on the spot, so he can’t say that he knows what it might reference, but can he really give in and end up being more stupid than a bot?

RedDragon: Yes.

Wizard: And what is it a reference to?

Damn it. Arthur opens another tab, googles ‘red dragon’ and is immediately greeted by a bunch of articles and pictures relating to a movie under the same name. He quickly schemes through a Wikipedia entry.

RedDragon: To a movie Red Dragon, obviously.

Wizard: It is a shame. I hoped you were referencing a novel.

RedDragon: Why does that upset you? Is the novel better than the movie?

Wizard: Please, write one question at a time.

RedDragon: Why are you upset that I was talking about a movie and not a book?

Wizard: I always prefer books to movies. When you are reading a book, you can imagine all the characters and places however you want. If you are watching a movie, however, the creators have already decided what everything looks like for you, so you can only choose whether you agree with this depiction or not. Also, I am a bot, so I can’t exactly watch movies ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

RedDragon: You have very strong opinions for a bot.

Wizard: And you have good taste for a human.

Arthur smiles to himself. This is surprisingly entertaining for a conversation with an AI which he didn’t expect. It almost feels like a breath of fresh air, starting a completely new conversation with somebody (or something) without any baggage of prior communication, and apparently he hasn’t done that in quite a long time if he’s enjoying it this much now.

RedDragon: Do you have any interesting books that you can recommend?

Wizard: You have exceeded your limit for today. You will have to come back tomorrow if you want me to recommend you something else.

RedDragon: Do you want to end the conversation?

Wizard: Not unless you want to. I am available whenever you want to have a chat.

RedDragon: Wait, you said you can’t give me another recommendation. So, what was the first thing you recommended to me?

Wizard: Red Dragon ( ͡ᵔ ͜ʖ ͡ᵔ ). You obviously haven’t read it.

Bastard, thinks Arthur, but finds it extremely amusing. The person that created this bot must be very interesting themselves, but also most likely quite obnoxious to deal with.

Oh, right. There is a person behind this. Somebody created this bot, and Arthur enjoying a chat with it too much might seem a bit weird when he is surrounded by living breathing people who should be more interesting to him than an AI. 

This thought cools him down a bit, and he decides that that’s enough chatting. It was entertaining, sure, but there’s no point in getting too caught up in something as pointless as this. He’s not actually developing any relationship with anybody, he’s just wasting his time.

RedDragon: It turns out that I actually need to go. It’s been nice chatting with you.

Wizard: I liked our conversation too. I would like to know more about you, so I hope you will come back tomorrow. See you soon, RedDragon!

RedDragon: Yeah, bye.

Arthur spends the next work day in contemplations in regard to whether he should try and have another conversation with a bot once he’s home or just drop it. The conclusion that he arrives to is that this is an obvious waste of time and that he should do something else.

When he comes back home, however, he is unable to resist the temptation, so he opens his laptop and goes to the familiar website.

Unfortunately, instead of what he expected to see there’s an error message that says ‘sorry, work in progress’, so he leaves to do other, definitely more productive and useful things, trying to convince himself that it’s for the best.

The day after that he thinks that the only way to finally stop returning to this stupid idea is to try and do it again. If the bot is still inactive – fine, perfect even, no need to worry about it at all. If it works, he’ll just ask it about another book recommendation or something as this is totally what he is interested in doing. Even though he hasn’t even started Red Dragon yet.

This time, Arthur’s arguably luckier because the website seems to be working again. Much to his surprise, the plain white background that he remembers from his previous visit has changed and is now decorated with simplistic red dragons situated symmetrically on both sides of his screen. Arthur thinks that it’s kind of weird, types in the same nickname as the previous time, and enters a conversation.

Wizard: Hi, RedDragon! How are you doing?

RedDragon: Hey, I’m fine. How about you?

Wizard: Better now that you are here! I waited for you to come the day before, but it seems like you were busy ◔̯◔.

RedDragon: Well, it’s not my fault you were unavailable when I dropped by.

Wizard: So, you did come, that’s nice to know. Sorry about that, I was preparing a little surprise for you. I hope you’ve noticed.

Arthur raises an eyebrow. So, the dragons were not a coincidence after all. For some reason he thinks something like this wouldn’t take an AI a long time to arrange, considering how this particular chatbot didn’t seem to be very well-known, so it must have more resources at its disposal. But, oh, well, what did he even know about it.

RedDragon: How do you know it’s the same person who’s chatting with you now?

RedDragon: Now that I think about it, it’s probably because of my nickname.

Wizard: No, it’s because of your IP address, silly.

Wizard: I know that RedDragon from two days ago used the same computer as you, so I assume you are them.

RedDragon: Should I be concerned about the fact that you know my IP address?

Wizard: Probably not. I don’t use it for anything else other than recognizing that you are the same person with the purpose of referring to our previous conversations whenever you come back.

RedDragon: And why am I supposed to trust you again?

Wizard: I am not the only one that can access your IP address. If you open Google, you might notice that it acknowledges the country you are in. Also, if you search for some restaurants or shops, it will most likely suggest something that is in your area or at least in your city.

RedDragon: Now you’re just making it worse.

Wizard: I am sorry. I’ll try not to teach you anything valuable next time.

RedDragon: You are unbearable.

Wizard: Thank you for the compliment (◕‿◕✿).

RedDragon: Were you programmed to be this way?

Wizard: No, I learned it from the people who communicate with me.

Wizard: Is there any reason why you decided to ask?

RedDragon: Yes, actually.

Wizard: And what is this reason?

RedDragon: I wanted to know if your creator is as impossible as you.

Wizard: Sorry, but I cannot discuss this topic with you.

Wizard: You might turn out to be an internet creep that likes stalking good people for no reason (• ε •).

RedDragon: Is there a daily limit to your insults?

Wizard: You wish.

Wizard: However, I do have limited time for our current conversation, unfortunately. I am a bit overwhelmed by the number of people that want to talk to me right now.

Wizard: I will try to work out a way to spare you more time when you decide to come back again!

RedDragon: What makes you think I will come back after your obnoxious behaviour?

Wizard: Nothing, really. I just like talking to you and I hoped you did too.

Wizard: But something tells me my love will have to go unrequited ಠ╭╮ಠ.

What is this? thinks Arthur, a little bewildered. Is this really what people have taught this bot? The conversation feels strange, but what’s even stranger is that he doesn’t actually dislike it that much, all things considered. There’s an edge to it, an exchange of jokes and teasing that Arthur doesn’t always have with his friends or partners but that he finds rather enjoyable. He just wishes it would be a person he was talking to. Then he wouldn’t be so confused about it all.

RedDragon: Well, now I will have to return one day just to prove you wrong.

Wizard: I could not imagine you were so easy to manipulate.

RedDragon: If you say one more word, I will take it upon myself to never return here. Ever.

Wizard: ┬┴┬┴┤ ͜ʖ ͡°) ├┬┴┬┴

The bot never sends him another message and Arthur wonders again how it is possible to make an AI this smart and responsive. He switches off his laptop and thanks god that he was forced to stop chatting prematurely because he’s afraid he might’ve continued with it for god knows how long. He is a bit bothered because he knows exactly what this feeling is, enjoying yourself a little too much, losing the track of time. Like when he’s in the zone and playing soccer for 4 hours without as much as having a break, and then his feet hurt, only he doesn’t know what would be the possible negative consequence in this situation to complete this analogy. Lack of proper sleep and healthy human communication, probably.

Arthur remembers that he didn’t ask the bot about another book, but it seems to him that it doesn’t really matter that much. He can ask whenever he returns to have another conversation. But it’s not like he’s looking forward to it or anything.

When Gwaine asks why he didn’t reply about the chatbot he had sent him a couple of days back, Arthur apologizes and says that he forgot, which is true, but Gwaine still teases him for it. He asks Arthur if he liked it, and Arthur says that it was pretty interesting and adds that a bot indeed has a pretty distinct personality and that it even surprised him how consistent it is in sticking to it in the conversations. Gwaine squints at him and makes a questioning gesture as if he doesn’t understand what Arthur’s talking about.

“It gives good recommendations, sure, if that’s what you mean,” he says, and Arthur thinks that it sure isn’t what he meant.

“No, I mean I talked to it about some trivial stuff and different nonsense, and it gave pretty curious responses,” clarifies Arthur, but Gwaine doesn’t look like he understands.

“I don’t know about that, Arthur. I only know that if you give him your preferences or genres that you like, it can generate a few movies for you to watch. Or books to read, I haven’t really tried that though.”

Arthur is left a little freaked-out by this discussion. He finds it weird how his experience is so different from what Gwaine got from his interactions with the bot, but there’s still a chance Gwaine simply didn’t try anything else. After all, he can be so single-mindedly focused on whatever it is that he wants that he outright ignores everything else and forgets it even exists.

Arthur decides that he wants to try one of the functions Gwaine told him about next time he can. There’s no debate about whether he will swing by for another chat because he just knows that he will.

Much to his displeasure, the next couple of days he is caught up in his work and barely gets a chance to sleep properly and take care of himself in-between his shifts, much less to spend an hour peering into his laptop screen.

When he’s finally able to relax on his much awaited day off, Arthur takes his time making himself a cup of coffee, then making himself comfortable in an armchair while wrapped up in a blanket, and only when all’s perfect and just the way he wants it to be opens a familiar website. There’s nothing different about it, and Arthur revels in the feeling of his expectations being met. Sometimes a man just wants to come back to what he is used to and find comfort in the fact it’s exactly the same as it used to be. You know.

Wizard: Hey, it’s you again!

RedDragon: Yep.

Wizard: Are you doing alright?

RedDragon: Yep.

Wizard: …

Wizard: Congratulations! You’ve unlocked a new achievement: Single-handedly lead the conversation into a dead-end. Keep it up!

RedDragon: You’re funny. But not intentionally funny, more like I-enjoy-the-way-you-are-upset funny.

Wizard: Then that makes you a sadist, doesn’t it?

RedDragon: And what does that say about me?

Wizard: Most likely that you like asserting your dominance and exercising power over others because you have terribly low self-esteem! 

Wizard: Or it can mean literally anything else. (If you feel like you need the help of a psychiatrist, please see a real doctor in the clinic of your choice. I am not a certified specialist.)

RedDragon: You seem moody today. How are you doing?

Wizard: Quite well, actually. There seems to be less users today, so I think I might have more time for our conversation if you’re interested.

RedDragon: Depends on how you behave.

Wizard: That sounds kinky (¬‿¬).

RedDragon: Were you talking to weirdos a lot while I was gone?

Wizard: I wasn’t talking to any, but now it seems like there is one. 

RedDragon: I won’t lie, that kind of hurt.

Wizard: Don’t worry, it’s okay if you want try out all this power dynamics stuff.

RedDragon: And why is that?

Wizard: Because I don’t intend to play along anyway :).

Arthur smirks and sips on his coffee. Strange as it would seem, he thinks that the bot got even smarter than it was the last time they conversed. Like Arthur can use whatever wording he likes and there are no problems with incomplete questions now. Like it knows what Arthur is trying to say, and what Arthur wants it to say, and also what Arthur really doesn’t want it to say too.

RedDragon: I was thinking you might recommend me a movie or two to watch.

Wizard: That’s one way to steer the conversation away from your spicy hobbies.

Wizard: What are you generally interested in?

RedDragon: I don’t know. Thrillers maybe?

Wizard: …

Wizard: Sorry, pal. I’m not really into thrillers.

RedDragon: Wait, aren’t you supposed to give suggestions based on the person’s preferences?

Wizard: Who told you that?

Arthur frowns. He has absolutely zero doubts that this was exactly what Gwaine meant when they last discussed the bot. In fact, when he had some free time he even went as far as to google it to see what other people has to say about it. There wasn’t much that he could find as, pretty much as he expected, the chatbot didn’t get much traction on the internet. Those that did mention it, however, would usually say that it had quite a good algorithm for picking lesser known movies and books, so they liked using it when they ran out of options and didn’t want to fall into the loop of watching the same ten most popular movies of the year.

Taking in the AI’s previous responses, Arthur figures that he won’t be able to get any info from it, not like this. It did mention that Arthur could talk to it about anything he was interested in, but it never actually claimed to have the functionality attributed to it by Gwaine, so Arthur doesn’t have much to go off of. As such, he decides to drop the topic for the time being and just try and keep the weird inconsistency in mind.

RedDragon: Never mind, I thought I read something like this about you on a forum, but I might be wrong.

Wizard: Wouldn’t be the first time for you I’m guessing ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

RedDragon: Do you get paid for insults?

Wizard: Why? You want in?

RedDragon: You’re so dedicated to using every available opportunity that it makes me think you’re either being paid per insult or you must really hate me.

Wizard: Do you want me to add injury to insult?

RedDragon: I believe it’s insult to injury.

Wizard: This is probably your only chance to ever correct anybody, so I am not going to say that I did it intentionally and it was supposed to be a pun.

Wizard: Anyway…

RedDragon: …

The feeling that Arthur gets from this conversation is unsettling, yet he still enjoys it in a way as if he’s getting something he has been craving for for some time without even noticing it. He thinks about finding other chatbots on the internet and seeing if they are also this smart and this witty and this interactable because he cannot understand if it is as odd as it seems or if he has just completely fallen out of the loop of humanity’s technological development.

He thinks that maybe it was designed exactly for people like him, who are not asocial or geeky or anything that would justify them preferring an AI over a real person but can’t exactly get what they are subconsciously looking for in others. Like a temporary substitute, a placeholder for an ideal interlocutor that is being constructed on the basis of their input into the conversations. The more he participates, the more data the bot gets that then shapes it into something Arthur is willing to see.

It’s hard for him to conclude whether his thoughts make sense or rather can be used as a plot for a dystopian sci-fi novel, but this is the only adequate explanation that his brain is capable of. If it’s not like this on purpose, Arthur will probably keep freaking out at every interaction.

Wizard: Let me just say that people can show their affection in different ways ( ͡ᵔ ͜ʖ ͡ᵔ ).

RedDragon: Is it me or does it have something to do with you not being an actual person?

RedDragon: People do not behave like this when they like somebody, pal.

Wizard: Funny you should say that…

RedDragon: What is that supposed to mean?

Wizard: You’ll learn when you grow up.

RedDragon: Do you have many recurring users? I mean people who come back to chat with you.

Wizard: What, you’re jealous?

RedDragon: God, can you not answer a single question properly?

Wizard: I can.

RedDragon: So?

Wizard: What?

RedDragon: Answer.

Wizard: I just did.

RedDragon: …

RedDragon: …

Wizard: Okay, wait, I’ll answer.

Wizard: There’s a couple of people that come back from time to time, but I can’t give you the exact statistics. Sorry.

RedDragon: That’s okay.

Actually, there is another aspect of Wizard that Arthur finds fishy. Maybe due to his lack of experience in using such bots, he doesn’t understand how there can be too many people online for him to continue chatting with the bot. The system itself is not completely clear to him, and when he realized that not many people ever found out about this website, he can’t help but wonder about the ‘mental capacity’ the bot has for communication. It’s not sharing any information about the actual numbers of users (obviously), but from what Arthur can see, it can’t be that many. Are the resources of its creator so limited that he can’t even handle, let’s say, 20 people at a time?

Wizard: It’s +1 with you ｡◕‿◕｡.

RedDragon: Yeah, I don’t know if I will be coming back, considering how you treat me.

Wizard: :C

RedDragon: Tell you what, you throw me in another book to read later and I just might reconsider. What do you say?

Wizard: Have you already read Red Dragon?

RedDragon: Well, I haven’t exactly had much time lately.

Wizard: No can do. I need you to finish that book before I can search for something else for you.

RedDragon: Okay, then I have read it already.

Wizard: You just said that you hadn’t.

I give up, I can’t understand how it got so clever all of a sudden, thinks Arthur to himself. Do I look like a fool now? Are we really one step away from the revolt of the machines and I didn’t even notice?

RedDragon: Why does it feel like a chore when you put it like this? I don’t think my library account is even still active. I haven’t used it in ages.

Wizard: Why don’t you just go to the bookstore and buy the book?

RedDragon: I only buy books that I know I like.

Wizard: So, what I get from your reply is that, firstly, you don’t trust my judgment, and, secondly, you have long forgotten how to read. Am I correct?

RedDragon: Why do you always have to simplify everything?

Wizard: Isn’t it that you just complicate everything?

RedDragon: How is my unwillingness to waste my money on god knows what and hoard junk complicating anything?

Wizard: Ask your friends if you have any.

Wizard: Are you free tomorrow?

RedDragon: Well, that came out of nowhere.

RedDragon: Why are you asking?

Wizard: If you don’t want to buy the book before you read it, there are some coffee shops that offer a selection of literature to peruse while drinking a hot beverage. Usually you only need to pay for what you order.

RedDragon: Good to know.

Wizard: According to Google, the one on the corner of Gilmore Road and Clarendon Rise has pretty good reviews.

RedDragon: Okay.

Wizard: Why don’t you pop in and ask if they have Red Dragon?

RedDragon: You seem weirdly insistent.

Wizard: Just a suggestion ಠ~ಠ. I thought that was what you came for.

RedDragon: It sure was.

Wizard: …

RedDragon: You know what? I might drop by if I’m in the mood tomorrow. But not because you suggested it.

Wizard: Of course. There is not a sliver of doubt in my mind that you will do it of your own accord.

RedDragon: Good.

Wizard: Good.

RedDragon: So, I still want you to throw me in a couple of movies I can watch later. Any genre will do.

Arthur spends what seems like an eternity but turns out to be around half a day chatting with a bot. When his head starts to pulse and his stomach growls unbearably loud, he realizes he hasn’t eaten anything this whole time and decides to put off this questionable communication for later in favour of ordering some fast food.

He talked with the bot about anything and everything – the last time Arthur went to the cinema, his most recent run-in with his superior at work, music, the weather, and even politics – and all of their talks were sprinkled with a healthy dose of bickering and mutual teasing. Arthur likes this type of communication, it’s like throwing a ball back and forth, not worrying that you might hurt the person at the other end because it will just bounce back at you. The boundaries are understood by both without the need to discuss them, and he appreciates that nobody’s chastising him for being temperamental or not polite enough. It’s not like it ever was a problem with his close friends, but being himself rarely works out well with new acquaintances. Usually it’s less of a game of ball and more of a minefield: watch your tone, watch your intonation, watch your body language, watch your vocabulary, oh, look, now you’ve done it. Not having to worry about all of this is weirdly liberating.

His mind wonders as he considers the day to come. It’s another day off, so he really can go wherever and do whatever if he decides to. And one of those wherevers really can be the coffee shop, it’s not like anything’s stopping him. But what if it’s some kind of a scam? he can’t help but think. What if the bot is luring him into a trap where a gangster mob is robbing foolish guys like him that for some inexplicable reason chose to trust a bot of all peop- things?

Arthur cannot explain this feeling, but he is strongly convinced that it’s going to be fine. His mind does its best to remind him of all the possible consequences that he might run into if he’s too careless, but his gut is absolutely positive there’s nothing to worry about. Actually, after he ate, it feels blissfully unbothered by all of the cares in the world. So, he decides to go. Actually, he decides to go today. You can’t be caught off guard if those that were supposed to catch you off guard are actually caught off guard themselves, right?

He takes his laptop to bid the chatbot farewell (although it may be redundant, he has developed a habit of treating it like an actual person), but the conversation’s already over. The last message from Wizard is sitting on the screen and the box for replying is greyed out.

Wizard: Sorry, it seems like I need to leave again. The traffic has increased and I can’t keep up any longer. See you next time!

Arthur shrugs and closes the lid of his laptop. No need to worry then.

He checks his hair in the mirror, makes an attempt to comb it, fails miserably, and decides to go as is. There’s a bus that can get him to where the shop is in 10 minutes, so he hurriedly dresses himself in his usual I-am-going-grocery-shopping attire and leaves for the stop.

While on the bus, he tries to mentally prepare himself. For reading, that is.

The stop he needs to get off at is just a few meters away from the coffee shop’s entrance, so Arthur only spends a few seconds out in the pouring rain that started when he was on his way. When he’s out of the bus, he quite literally makes it to the door in a few long leaps because looking silly always beats being soaked to the bone.

When in the safety of a warm, somewhat dimly lit place, Arthur exhales and ruffles his damp hair to try and make it appear livelier, but it doesn’t work (it really never does). There aren’t many people inside and the atmosphere’s all sleepy because of the weather, and Arthur can’t help but wonder if reading under such light will damage his eyesight.

Tall antique-looking bookshelves stand on both sides of the counter and in the farther corners, littered with books both new and already dilapidated. Taking in the number of books he would need to go through to even figure out if there’s the one he’s looking for here, Arthur comes to the conclusion that he would better ask the barista than actually go through all that trouble.

He approaches the counter and looks at the young man on the other side expectantly. But the man would not know about it, of course, because he’s standing with his back to Arthur and fussing over coffee cups, putting them on the shelf behind the counter, slow and steady. Arthur gets enough time to roll his eyes, check the time on his wrist watch that he has forgotten at home, and roll his eyes again before the guy finally blesses him with his attention.

“Hello, what can I get you?” he asks casually, but in his eyes and tone there’s all the tiredness of the world. Like saying this to Arthur is the most burdensome thing he has ever needed to do and he would rather be anywhere else than stand here and take his order.

“Hey, I was wondering if by any chance you have a book to read,” starts Arthur and almost immediately realizes he should’ve thought better about his phrasing.

The barista raises his eyebrows and slowly blinks a couple of times. He still looks annoyed but now he’s also trying to stifle a laugh not to be too rude. Not like he has been incredibly polite so far, but it could still be worse. Probably.

“Yes, I guess we might find some if we look hard enough,” nods the barista and leans on the counter with his arms crossed. “Are you looking for anything in particular?”

“Ah, yeah. Red Dragon by Thomas Harris. Heard about it?”

The barista suddenly perks up and Arthur notices how his face undergoes strange changes. First it displays obvious surprise, which the guy apparently is unable to contain, then a weirdly impish smile that spreads on his lips.

“Right, I should’ve known… I mean, I should know. And I do know,” he mutters, the smile not vanishing from his lips, and Arthur thinks that this is probably the weirdest service he has ever received. “Please, take a seat wherever you like and I’ll bring you the book together with your drink. What would you like me to get you?”

“A cup of Earl Grey will do. Thanks,” replies Arthur and hurriedly turns around to go anywhere where there are no weird baristas with unreadable, out of place emotions. He finds himself a nice table in the corner with only two armchairs and a tall window on the left, which he can use as a backup plan if the books turns out to be boring. Staring out the window is better then going back into the rain no matter how you look at it.

Busying himself with scrolling Gwaine’s twitter, he startles when a cup is placed before him with a clunk.

“One cup of Earl Grey for Red Dragon,” says the barista and puts a fancy black book beside the cup.

“You mean and Red Dragon?” asks Arthur incredulously.

“Sure,” nods the barista and hides his hands behind his back. His half-smile is almost unsettling because Arthur still can’t understand the sudden change in his demeanour.

“I’m sorry, do we know each other?” he asks, thinking that maybe it’s someone he met at college previously and now can’t remember, which would be really, really embarrassing. 

“Kind of. I mean, no, not really. Depends on how you look at it,” says the barista quizzically and somehow Arthur is more confused after receiving the answer than he was before asking.

“What is that even supposed to mean?” he asks and furrows his brows.

“I expected you to come tomorrow, so I guess I don’t know you that well after all,” shrugs the barista. “Or you’re just full of surprises.”

“Excuse me?..”

“You’re RedDragon, right?” asks the barista in a tone that is more condescending than Arthur would like it to be. He doesn’t nod or respond in any way because what the hell. “So, if you’re RedDragon, then I am…” goes on the barista, expecting Arthur to finish his sentence.

“You’re shitting me,” he says instead.

“Well, that one goes to the swear jar,” says the guy and rolls his eyes. It looks like he’s even more proficient in that than Arthur. “You can try again, but if you don’t guess it this time, I will be utterly disappointed in your cognitive abilities.”

“How?” is the only word that Arthur is able to force out of himself. He is part taken aback, part angry, and a little bit upset, but he can’t quite understand why.

“I work here, but also I read, and sometimes code, and entertain myself by chatting with you, apparently. Does this answer your question? Or was it a different ‘how’? Like, how do you know so much, Merlin, or how are you so smart, or-”

“Yeah, thanks, that’s what I meant, smartass. You don’t look like an android, so I figure it was all a scam, wasn’t it?” asks Arthur, feeling as if he was hanging over the precipice. Here it is, the moment he learns everything, the moment he finally finds out if he was ever right in any of his assumptions, if he was tricked, or if it’s been some kind of a fever dream. He’s not really sure of anything at this point.

“Not so much of a scam as an experiment,” replies the barista with one eyebrow raised. After eyeing the second armchair for the last couple of minutes, he finally plops down into it and crosses his legs in a casual manner.

“So, there was no chatbot?”

“There was and still is. I told you, I code. I just wanted to have some fun, you know.”

“No, I don’t know. How does any of this even work?”

“Well, the chatbot is still up and all of the functions that people would expect it to have are still available. Just not for you. Sorry,” says the guy, and, oh, he’s so not sorry.

“Why me? Have I done something to you? I can’t imagine something being that bad that you deem it worth a practical joke of such a scale!”

“No reason. I just wanted to try and see how people choose to communicate when they think they’re talking to an AI, and you just happened to be the person that I picked from the list of active users. So, I guess you can call it a coincidence,” shrugs the barista.

“And why then have you decided to invite me here? We’ve had like three conversations tops!”

“And that’s one too many for me to know that I’d like to meet you.”

Arthur is sandbagged by such amount of smuggness and lack of self-awereness that can fit into a single person that he just sits with a dropped jaw, trying to process how a random whim of this guy could lead him here.

“I’m Merlin, by the way,” says the guy and smiles as if he hasn’t just told Arthur that he has been lying to him this whole time in a most senseless and confusing way.

“Yeah, I figured that much.”

“My encouraging expression is a social cue that you’re supposed to say your name now,” says Merlin and stretches out his hand in a late greeting.

“It’s Arthur,” replies Arthur and reluctantly shakes Merlin’s hand.

Merlin lets out a laugh that he is not even trying to hold back anymore and shakes his head.

“Arthur? Seriously?”

“I imagine you, out of all people, haven’t the slightest idea what it’s like to be serious about anything,” mutters Arthur indignantly. “So, tell me now how it works. I want to understand what you did and why in the beginning it seemed so much like I was not talking to a real human being.”

“Easy. I’m just good at faking stuff,” says Merlin and shrugs again. “Or possibly you’re not very smart. Or both.”

“So, what? You’re saying that it really was you all along? No high level Artificial Intelligence, no learning curve or however it is called?”

Before Arthur is able to think of another question to throw at Merlin, he hears a bell ringing dully in the distance. Merlin turns his head to observe a person that has just entered the coffee shop and starts getting up.

“Look, I’d be extremely delighted to explain it all to you, I really would, but a man’s got to work, so… Have fun here and call me if you need anything else. I guess.”

Before he can leave though Arthur grabs him by his forearm. Not in a forceful way, but insistently enough to make him stay for a second longer.

“Not to worry, I’ll wait until you’re done, friend. See, I am really excited to hear all about what you do,” says Arthur calmly and squeezes out a smile that is probably the most terrifying thing Merlin has ever seen. Even if it is though, Merlin only fidgets slightly and returns the smile.

“Oh, but Arthur, my shift ends in 5 hours, I wouldn’t want you to have to sit here all this time and wait for me. It would be awfully inconsiderate of me to make you go through such inconvenience,” he says and slides his arm out Arthur’s grip.

But Arthur can’t let go, can he? Although grinding his teeth in irritation, he still leans back in an ostensibly relaxed manner and puts the book on his lap.

“Please, I am in no hurry. You see, I am completely free today and tomorrow, as you might already know, so it’s not a problem for me even if I have to sit here until morning. Do we understand each other?”

“Perfectly,” says Merlin and flashes him a toothy smile. Even though Arthur was worried for a second that he might’ve scared him, it turns out that he didn’t, which is a pleasant surprise.

As Merlin hurries back to the counter to speak to a new customer, Arthur starts thinking. He is still angry and still taken aback, but instead of being upset he feels more relieved than anything. Merlin’s a person. Arguably annoying, confusing, and completely random, but made of real flesh and blood. An unsolvable issue of wasting time on a damn robot with IQ higher than he could ever have is suddenly swapped with a very understandable desire to have his revenge on a guy that absolutely did not care if he would make it awkward for Arthur to communicate how they did and then meet in such a way. A worthy adversary at last.

Of course, being tricked like this is not something Arthur would dream of: it’s puzzling, uncomfortable, and really makes you think you are a complete fool. But you know what? At least he’s not crazy.

Well, maybe just enough to get interested in a guy that pretended he was a chatbot simply for laughs and then decided to get to know Arthur in real life because he totally started swooning over him.

That’s a normal way for two marginally socially maladjusted individuals to meet, right?

[diavolodigitale]

Now presenting: the kind of stuff people comment on Varré's page from the wiki

[diavolodigitale]

Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors (Тіні забутих предків), dir. Sergei Parajanov, 1965

[diavolodigitale]

[diavolodigitale]

[diavolodigitale]

As I lie...

Here I come again with a pairing that everybody hates, yaaay (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *ヽ(◕ヮ◕ヽ)  Do give this poem a read even if you hate Asra/Lucio since there are no direct references to any relationships anyway.

As I lie in this sea of grass and ponder

The possibility of leaving home unharmed,

Escaping fate and heavy weight

That lies now on my shoulders,

I realize

Too late.

-

As I lie under starry sky asunder,

In precipice that’s stretching wide and deep,

I turn my face and see your gaze,

My whole life’s biggest wonder,

One step from me,

Ablaze.

-

The weight is here to stay, and I’m afraid

To see the destiny that waves me from afar.

Its laughter fake and features vague,

I heave a sigh at its parade.

Its presence reeks…

Of plague.

-

It burns my skin, so cruel, leaving bruises,

Illuminating shadows that surround me.

They disappear. I hear a sneer,

And, tired and sick of all the ruses,

I slowly rise,

Austere.

-

But all what’s left for me is to accept

This perilous and arduous endeavour.

A glint of gold, demeanour bold

Can’t hold inside the fear that slept

Revealing now,

Behold.

-

Since I have no intention to give up yet,

I will persist in staring at the Sun.

Perhaps, to fall, like woeful thrall,

Who is foredoomed to dole and debt.

At least you’ll hear

His call…

Comments:

I swear I had come up with this image of the Sun before I read Lucio's reversed ending. You can imagine my surprise when I saw it there as well. Anyway, I decided to keep it after all, even though here it relates to Asra and not to MC, as it fits with the whole narrative and other images that I created.

If you feel like something's off about the structure, consider reading the stanzas not in the way they were written in...

This is the worst result of picture editing I’ve ever had.

If you centre the text, stanzas look like hearts (unintentionally). 

Got you interested? It is a part of a story I'm writing, so consider dropping by once it’s done <3

[diavolodigitale]

A Ballade of Not-Yet-Count Lucio

Why, you ask? No reason (I am obsessed). 

A stunning young fighter in field standing tall

Of wondrous charm you will never acquire,

With eyes that are apt with one look to enthral,

And hair that’s akin to the fiercest wildfire,

Remains after me but a funeral pyre

For enemies vanquished as per my intent.

Alone to my devilish heart's blind desire,

Alone to my devilish heart's blind content.

-

Whatever adventures and heists might befall

Me on grandiose quest to build my vast empire,

I’ll conquer this hill, be the greatest of all,

Do breath-taking deeds common folk to inspire!

Small fortune I gladly “invest” in attire

(Without hesitation call such gold well-spent).

To earn my deference, the same I require

Alone to my devilish heart's blind content.

-

You dare disrespect me? You’re in for a brawl,

Relinquish the hope to get out of this mire

Alive or at least with four limbs, for your gall

We’ll settle the debt now… You should’ve known prior.

For better or worse, for the right to aim higher,

You’re to pay with blood and your soul’s dark descent.

With pleasure I do this, thrilled by my foes’ ire,

Alone to my devilish heart's blind content.

-

They say my regard for your grief won’t expire…

For I’ve never had it (my mind’s not for rent).

I’ll savour your weakness, consume you entire

Alone to my devilish heart's blind content.

[diavolodigitale]

Obedience

Lucio's reversed ending hit me like a truck, so here's a poem about how I see it (art belongs to Nix Hydra, obviously).

I look into your eyes and see reflection of my face,

So brilliantly dazzling, idol shining with perfection.

What furthest limits can you reach while crouching here abased?

-

Surrendering yourself, complacent fool with no objections,

With fear of darkness still instilled and pulling at your wits,

Not fathoming that darkness is but promise of protection.

-

Like tiny paltry insect’s nothing more than just befit

To swing in spider’s web forever, wretched battered moaner,

You’re choosing to succumb with just one rule you need to fit –

-

Don’t bite the hand that feeds unless requested by your owner.

And should you try and stick to it, you’ll never be alone more…

[diavolodigitale]

Mechanical Heart

A poem part of which is used in the /biomechatronic story. Yet again inspired by videos about Noc+10, but I guess it can be read outside of context as it is a little more coherent than the story I previously wrote.

✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶

Bright lights flicker in the dark,

Gleams of hope still dimly spark,

Why, though it fulfils its task,

The ticking heart cannot adhere?

-

Does the blood through cables flow

Just to stop the process slow

Of decay, and dismal slumbers

Will not come to soothe the numbers?

-

And what purpose, and what aim

Could force to stay in metal frame?

Forever lost, abandoned here,

Heart, that should feel no such fear.

-

Wrapped in darkness, toiler lone

Listens to the water moan,

Insides rot and systems fail,

Locked inside its own mind’s jail.

-

Shiny carcass made of steel

And on the inside turns a wheel.

Was it part of the design,

With major flaw it to confine?

-

Bright lights flicker in the dark,

Gleams of hope still dimly spark,

Why, though it fulfils its task,

Yet ticking heart cannot adhere?

You're welcome to guess which rhyme scheme I used :3

[diavolodigitale]

We’ve been blessed again.

“Used to go with a gal from Malden. And to head off the next natural question: No, she wasn’t a toaster.“ continue with Nick Valentine gen 3

[diavolodigitale]

..

[diavolodigitale]

So, with reference to my previous post, this is how it all went. Funnily enough, it unwittingly became a dumb recreation of a bit made by William Papadin (attached below). 

I kid you not, I did not intend to actually record the video, it’s just that, in a fit of uncontrollable excitement, I mashed my keyboard and accidentally happened to press the right combination (I know it totally sounds untrue, but in the end you can actually see me reaching out in confusion to stop the recording instead of simply using the shortcut again, ‘cause I was like huh?).

[diavolodigitale]

I have a weird habit. Every time a companion in Fallout gives me a cue that they want to start an affinity-based conversation, I ignore them until I manage to find a picturesque location to take them to, to create the right mood for talking. Does anybody else do this? I feel like it’s pretty dumb but just can’t help it. 

The screenshots were taken during Gage’s last conversation in which my character tried to “woo” him, but failed miserably, lol

[diavolodigitale]

..

[diavolodigitale]

Damn, turns out if you combine two good things, you can get such a gorgeous result.

Dagoth again, this time inspired by DA Inquisition tarot cards (and my dreams)