#gothic architecture was a mistake

[bongo-clash]

If I had a nickel for every billionaire that tried to kidnap me, I’d have two nickels, which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it happened twice

DP/DC week prompt: Mistaken Identity

'Look, in Bruce Wayne’s defence, he has a lot of children with black hair and blue eyes, and he’d had a very long day. But in Danny’s defence, he has no idea what’s happening right now and, according to his previous experience in being kidnapped by billionaires, his reaction is incredibly reasonable.'

(No content warnings || fic under cut!!)

-

Danny’s been in Gotham for about a week with his family, and so far it’s honestly been one of their most relaxing vacations to date. Sure, the drive had been long and finding a place to park the RV had been unsurprisingly difficult, but once the initial getting-there-fanfare was over with, everything had been great. The whole ‘not my circus, not my monkeys’ thing had been amazing for his anxiety. The famous Batman was more than capable of dealing with his peanut gallery without some random dead kid intercepting. 

Okay, he was a little bit worried about Batman’s ‘no metas’ thing, but there was no good reason the vigilante would find out that little tidbit. It’s not like he’s even a meta in the first place! Being dead is a medical condition. Regardless, he’s doing the sensible thing and not making a show of himself; he may have flown over the top of the city invisibly on the first night to get some good shots to send to his friends, but no one needed to know about that but Sam and her gothic-architecture-inspo wall. 

The hotel they’re staying at has good breakfast, the buildings in the inner city look cool as Hell, they already have heroes dealing with their issues so Danny doesn’t have to do anything, and there’s no ghosts barging into his room but the constant chaos of the city still feels homey. Overall, a ten out of ten vacation spot. 

Surely, nothing can go wrong. 

“Tim? What are you doing here?”

He’s taking a morning walk away from the hotel after he and Jazz successfully convinced their parents he would be fine on his own, and he’d stopped in front of Wayne Enterprises because Tucker would be frankly offended if he didn’t. He ignores the call at first, because he doesn’t know anyone named Tim, and it’s not his business, but that’s clearly shown to be a mistake when the call comes again but closer, and then again, but with a man putting his hand on Danny’s shoulder. He’s turns around to tell whoever it is to clear off when he actually catches sight of the guy’s face.

Sleek black hair, sky-blue eyes, a healthy tan and a very expensive suit. That’s Bruce Wayne. Bruce Wayne as in the guy who owns the building in front of them. Bruce Wayne as in the multi-billionaire. 

Okay, don’t get him wrong, Bruce Wayne does some pretty honourable charity work, and his tech is pretty cool and Tucker’s obsessed with it, but Danny has a very sour history with billionaires and even before he’d met Vlad he wasn’t a fan of them; being friends with Sam for long enough does that to a guy. Dealing with the fruitloop had only cemented what he already knew, and that’s that you shouldn’t trust people that rich as far as you can throw them (or, maybe just not at all, since he figures he could actually throw them pretty damn far, considering the ghost powers). 

Plus, Bruce ‘Brucie’ Wayne has this really weird habit of acting like a ditz, and quite frankly, Danny doesn’t buy it. He’s been successfully running a huge company and heading welfare campaigns for years, and if he’s truly as air-headed as he presents himself to be Vlad would’ve snatched up his company and his wealth in a heartbeat. Vlad, who is the other billionaire he knows, who is also pretending to be something he’s not with the whole ‘gentle hermit’ vibe he maintains with the press. No, there’s definitely something weird about Bruce Wayne and he hadn’t particularly wanted to meet the guy to find out what it is. 

However, it’s looking like he doesn’t have much choice, what with the man having a hand on his shoulder and being about ten inches from his face. “Uh.” He blurts eloquently. “Hi?”

“Tim,” He repeats, frowning. “Why are you here? I told you to take the day off- don’t tell me you were just planning on sneaking off to work anyway.”

Danny’s certain Tucker mentioned some co-CEO of Wayne Enterprises called Tim, and he’s fairly certain Tucker mentioned he was the same age as them and also Bruce’s ward, but do they really look similar? No one’s ever said they do to his face, and he thought that was the kind of thing people talked about- the whole ‘who’s your celebrity lookalike’. So why-?

…Tucker also mentioned that almost all of Bruce Wayne’s wards have the same black hair and blue eyes. He’d even joked how Danny ‘fit the bill’. Oh no. What if this is an obsession-with-having-a-son-just-like-him thing? Do all billionaires do that or is that just Vlad? He could really do with someone else to compare the guy to that isn’t the fruitloop right now- it’d be really great to have some kind of gauge amongst general average billionaire behaviour so that he actually knew what to do. 

Staying quiet to gather his thoughts was apparently not his greatest move, though, because the man’s frown only deepens. Bruce Wayne’s hand moves from the top of his shoulder to his arm, giving it a light squeeze that seems like it’s supposed to be comforting but really just makes him more nervous. “I’m taking you back to the manor. You were supposed to take a day off and I really think relaxing would do you some good.”

Now, there are a lot of things Danny could do to absolve this situation, and the smartest of all of them would be to inform him that there’s been a misunderstanding and that he’s just some random tourist who’d been wanting to take some pictures. 

“I— what- can’t you just leave me here? Don’t you need to go in there?” Is what he says instead, because fight, flight, or freeze apparently includes brain freeze too. His mom was right, he never should’ve been allowed out unsupervised. Why didn’t he bring Jazz with him?

“The meeting can wait, you’re more important.” The man soothes, and suddenly the hand on his arm is pulling him away, leading him over to an incredibly expensive car and Danny’s so bewildered by the whole situation he doesn’t even fight back. He stands there, limp, as Bruce Wayne opens the car doors, nudges him inside, starts the engine, and drives further and further away from Danny’s hotel. 

They’ve been driving for about twenty minutes before his stupor finally breaks, and by then they’ve fully left the bustle of the inner city and entered the sparsely populated realm of high society estates— Bristol, he thinks it was called? Doesn’t matter. He needs to get out and he needed to be out yesterday; he can’t believe he ever thought he could have a remotely sensible vacation. Let your guard down one time and you get kidnapped by a man with more money than everyone else in the state combined (though, to be fair, that sounds more normal given his circumstances than it should. Still, the billionaire being Bruce Wayne isn’t normal). 

Now, there are a lot of things Danny could do to absolve this situation, and the smartest of all of them would be tell Bruce Wayne that he’d been too shocked to refute the man, but he wasn’t actually his son, and had finally gathered his bearings to say so and was very sorry for causing him undue stress. 

Instead, Danny jumps out of a moving car. 

Distantly registering the yell of alarm and the screech of the vehicle pulling to a sudden stop, he tanks the roll and springs back up again, taking in his surroundings for all of a second before sprinting in the opposite direction of wherever they’d been going. Bruce Wayne is definitely chasing after him- he can hear the heavy footfalls pounding behind him- but Danny’s been running from his problems for years. There’s no way he’s letting them catch up to him now. 

He rounds a corner and disappears into thin air, because Batman’s not a day time hero so what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him and surely he’d get that Danny was only doing it for the sake of his personal safety. I mean, who’s he to say that Bruce Wayne doesn’t layer on his fortunes with the occasional ransom situation? …Maybe not the best excuse he’s ever come up with, but the damage is done now, and he drifts away for a few more minutes until he figures he’s far enough from his initial launch point that he can drop the invisibility. 

Looking around, he can tell that he’s definitely lost, his surroundings still reeking of big money and the actual meat of the city barely hanging on the horizon. Well, technically he’s not that lost, given that he can still see inner-Gotham from here, but he doesn’t know where the Hell his hotel is in all that grey, and the walk looks far. While he was willing to risk the momentary power-usage to get himself out of the billionaire’s sights, he figures that trying anything else would be pushing his luck a bit further than it was willing to take him. 

He must’ve been thinking about it for a lot longer than he realised, though, because he hears a quiet thud behind him, and there is now a vigilante blocking his exit. Long-ish black hair, an admonishing expression, and a black and blue outfit with a bird decal.

That’s one of the Bats. NIghtwing, he thinks? 

Aren’t they all supposed to be nighttime vigilantes?

As if hearing his questions, the taller man tuts, bringing his hands to his hips like his mom does when he breaks curfew. He hasn’t got out the electric-stick-things that he’s pretty sure the guy owns, so that’s good. “Tim,” He starts, tone starkly disappointed, and- hold on, why is Nightwing on a first name basis with the Wayne Enterprises CEO? “I thought B told you to take today off.”

Hold on, that’s a weird thing for a vigilante to know about the Wayne Enterprises CEO, and- Danny’s assuming B means Bruce Wayne- why is he using such a casual nickname for the billionaire? Do they know each other? He supposes it makes sense if they’re all in cahoots, since the Bats’ stuff does seem pretty expensive-looking, but he’d honestly kind of assumed Batman was just some rich reclusive vampire or something. Like Vlad but morally-reversed. 

Unless Batman is still a billionaire and not just funded by Bruce Wayne. Nightwing knowing the Tim guy would make sense, then, given they might see each other at rich people things. But, actually, would that make sense? Vigilante socialites don’t usually go around telling their other socialite friends that they’re vigilantes, do they?

Unless Batman is Bruce Wayne. But that’s ridiculous. He’d figured the guy was hiding something, and the hoard of children is kind of indicative of a weird guy generally, but the man being some kind of edgy bat-themed hero in his spare time was just too ridiculous. There’s no way. 

…

…Holy shit. Batman is totally Bruce Wayne. 

That means that Nightwing is probably one of Bruce Wayne’s many sons, which means that he’s one of Tim Drake-Wayne’s many brothers, which means Bruce Wayne may have called him to chase him down and bring him back to the manor. Even though they shouldn’t be doing that because he isn’t Tim Drake. 

Now, there are a lot of things Danny could do to absolve this situation, and the smartest of all of them would be tell Nightwing that by some hilarious comedy-of-errors, Bruce Wayne had mistaken him for his son Tim the CEO when he is in fact Danny Fenton the tourist, and he’s very sorry for the fuss he’s caused, but he should probably call his sister to pick him up now, thank you very much. 

Instead, Danny feints left and tries to dash out the corner he’d trapped himself in from Nightwing’s other side. Nightwing grabs him like a small dog with one arm and raises a grappling hook to the nearest roof. Danny feels like this is probably karma for all the property damage he’s caused in Amity as they’re flung violently across roofs higher than his town’s tallest apartment complex. He is quickly discovering that being airborne is actually so much worse when you’re not the one in control. 

He doesn’t have an awful lot of time to ponder this, however, because they reach what Danny assumes is the Wayne residence soon after. Nightwing does an absolutely terrifying set of flips as they careen over to the other side of the ledge the mansion is on, and lets him go when they’re on the ground to put a finger against his hear, presumably to some communication device. 

“I’ve got him, B! We’re outside the Batcave now- yep, all safe- see you in a sec!”

…They’re outside the what now?

Nightwing slings an arm over his shoulder- some mix of friendliness and making sure he doesn’t run away- and leads him into a concealed entrance against the ledge just beneath the Wayne mansion. 

He has to be hallucinating at this point. There are actual bats in here. The whole place is scary and dark and gigantic and—is that a fucking dinosaur?

“Tim!” 

And, as if just to cement how utterly absurd today has been, Bruce Wayne is striding towards them with an expression contorted by worry, and he feels bad right up until the moment the guy cups his face with his calloused hands (calloused because he’s Batman, what the Hell). “Tim, I was so worried,” He croaks. “What happened back there? Why did you jump out the car?”

Now, there are a lot of things Danny could do to absolve this situation, and finally, finally, he-

“What the Hell is happening right now.” He blurts, taking a sharp step back and letting the hand fall from his face, watching as surprise falls over the men next to him like an overcast. 

Okay, maybe not the the smartest thing he could’ve said, but not the worst thing either, and that’s probably the biggest win he’s going to get today, so he’ll take it. “What are you talking about?” Nightwing asks gently, reminding him rather neatly that he is still in an absolutely gigantic pile of shit, seeing as he’s now going to have to explain that they have all made some very big mistakes today. 

“Uh, okay, so funny story- and you have to promise not to like, beat the shit out of me or whatever-“ He ignores the horrified faces they make at that, nervousness leaking out into a hysterical laugh. “But, uh, a very bad thing has happened, and— it’s like, fine! I won’t tell anyone if you won’t tell anyone, it’s totally chill and I’m really great at keeping secrets-!”

Bruce Wayne cuts him off, looking terribly concerned. “Tim, whatever’s going on, we’ll-“

“I’m not Tim!”

The moment the words are out of his mouth, he backs away with his hands raised placatingly, panic heightened by the way the two men freeze in their tracks. “I am so sorry,” Danny chokes, figuring he can’t dig himself into any deeper of a grave than he already has. “I was just- I was outside Wayne Enterprises to take pictures and when you came up to me I had no idea what to do so I just froze, and by the time I came to I was in your car and like, I was kind of scared you were kidnapping me? Because I kind of have a history with billionaires and kidnapping so I just panicked and jumped out the car but that made everything worse ‘cause you chased me and now I’m in the Batcave and you’re Batman and-“

There is a very long pause when Danny’s words fail him. The Batcave is very quiet beyond the chittering of bats on the ceiling. 

“You have a history with billionaires and kidnapping?” Nightwing asks, like literally nothing else he’d said registered. 

Quite frankly, Danny does not want to know what their expressions are like. Averting his eyes, he replies- “That was definitely a weird thing for me to say. Sorry. Uh, yeah.”

“Are you safe?”

What is happening? “Like… right now? I mean, so long as you aren’t gonna feed me to that dinosaur then yeah; I’m just in Gotham for vacation. I don’t- it was a very nice vacation. Until like half an hour ago. Now it’s a stressful vacation.”

Bruce Wayne, to his credit, is not trying to kill him for his knowledge of the man’s secret vigilantism, which already makes him better than the only other billionaire he knows. The man drags a hand down his face, looking stressed beyond belief. “I should’ve known you weren’t Tim,” He breathes. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“Yeah, now that I’m actually hearing you talk, you sound nothing like him. Bruce, were you actually listening when he was talking to you before you shoved him in the car? This guy’s midwestern. What happened to world’s greatest detective, B?” Nightwing snorts and, wow, they’re not taking this half as badly as he thought they would. And, hey, now that he’s thinking about it, these are the first actual vigilantes he’s ever met outside of himself and Valerie, and wouldn’t it be a waste not to ask them for pointers? 

Maybe it’s not the best idea in the world, but he already knows their secret identities and they’re being chill about it, so maybe they’ll be chill with his, too. Screw it, he’s doing it. 

“Again, I promise I won’t tell anyone- I’m, ah, pretty good with secrets like this.” They turn to look at him curiously there, and he tries to talk past the lump in his throat. “I’m kind of, um, also a vigilante as well? Funny coincidence, right? Small town gig, though, nothing like Gotham! And I’ve only been on the scene a few years, so… I don’t know what I’m asking, here. Any good pointers?”

Nightwing looks thoughtful. “Does this have anything to do with the billionaire you mentioned?” He asks.

“It very much has a lot to do with the billionaire. If Vlad Masters ever asks you for anything- I dunno, punch him? He’s got a really punchable face, you’d know if you met him. It’s all creepy and shit.”

Nightwing continues asking questions as Bruce Wayne’s head remains firmly buried in his hands, and sure, maybe letting this well-established team of heroes know about his less-than-legal and more-than-ectoplasmic hobbies might come back to bite him, but right now he can’t help basking in the fact that he gets to bad-mouth Vlad to someone who Vlad will probably care about his reputation with. Everything else comes second. 

“-Hang on, you said you’ve been a vigilante for a few years, right? How old are you?”

Okay, almost everything comes second. Both men are looking at him now with something that’s probably-definitely concern and is getting worse the longer he neglects to answer, and Danny is very suddenly reminded once again that the majority of Bruce’s children fit the same appearance-criteria as he does. 

He’s just doubled his own problem, hasn’t he? It’s not just one anymore-he’s going to have to deal with two billionaires now. 

He’s never going on vacation again. 

[tanadrin]

Reverse unpopular opinion: christianity

There is much to admire about Christian ethics; not just virtues which other religions also practice, like kindness and nonviolence and care for the poor and oppressed, but the particular Christian emphasis on forgiveness I think is extremely salutary. Our natural inclination as a species is toward something like generous tit-for-tat on the iterated prisoner's dilemma--that is, we may allow some leeway at first to account for mistakes or good intentions gone awry, but if someone is deliberately and repeatedly acting against us, we pretty quickly converge on harshly punishing them for their behavior.

This is socially useful, to a point, but it's ethically lacking, and Christianity not only offers an alternative, but builds what I think is a pretty useful ethical structure around that alternative; it also provides, in most of its forms, a ritualized path for the trangressor to be reconciled to the community, to restore breaches of the social order and to promote future peace and cooperation. All of these things are good! Mercy is good. Forgiveness is good. Reconciliation without retribution is very, very good.

In practice, these virtues have proven very difficult to implement, but it's not for lack of trying on the part of Christians. Many do take these and other ethics (like poverty, nonviolence, humility, charity, etc.) extremely seriously, even in big sprawling institutions like the Catholic church.

Christianity has produced vast quantities of art, poetry, architecture, and music as well, a great deal of which is very beautiful. I am very glad to live in a world that has Gothic cathedrals and Allegri's Miserere and Sacred Harp music and "Pearl" and Francis Danby's "The Opening of the Sixth Seal" in it. The narratives within the Bible, as interpreted and reshaped and made into something new by generations of artist and poets, can be quite powerful and resonant.

For much of the Mediterranean basin, Christianity was the first time the ambient background of "the set of spiritual beliefs and cultural practices in our society" was consciously forged into Rᴇʟɪɢɪᴏɴ, and frankly I think that capital-R Religion had more staying power than the diffuse bundle of stuff it replaced. The peak of Greek paganism was some mildly interesting if slightly anemic philosophy, long after it has acknowledged that nothing in the myths was true or even all that useful. The peak of Roman paganism was elaborate rituals used reinforce loyalty to the state. These were not belief systems that could inspire thousands of years of artistic innovation; they could barely mobilize anyone to fight on their behalf as they disappeared.

[gffa]

You ever have a moment where you mistake Arkham Asylum for Wayne Manor at first and realize just what kind of parallels that has? You ever have a moment where you think about how DC comics have endlessly posed the question, "Is Arkham helping the rogues or creating them?" and then turn around and ask, "And is the same true of Wayne Manor and Batman?" The gothic architecture to create what feels like an aesthetic for your entire world because the place is so huge that it seems like this is all there is to the world, the heavy weight of grief and trauma that slowly soak into the walls day by day, the way it feels so removed from the rest of society. How much of Bruce's trauma as a child was furthered by that giant, nearly empty Manor that seemed to have so little brightness to it, just as Arkham Asylum furthers the trauma of those trapped in there, because it too has so little light and hope to it?

[legend-the-dumb-jock]

The wishing well redux pt.1

Eric was driving home for spring break. Or rather what should have been home. He had no where to go when the college shit down for the week so he was forced to go to only place he had….his father’s house. Or rather mansion. His father was loaded. And demanded that he go to school for a degree in architecture so he could follow in his footsteps. Every part of Eric’s life was pre planned by his father. And he hated it. All he wanted was the loving father that he heard about his college friends having. But that wasn’t going to happen. Erin pulled up into the drive way and stared at the gothic style mansion. He breathed heavy trying to get up the courage to go in. His father was going to yell at him. He wasn’t doing so great in school right now. And his father was going by I give him the lecture about how “Morrison’s don’t make these mistakes. What makes you think you’re an exception?” It was a conversation his father had given him several times before. He knew it word for word. He got out of his black bmw. A car his father owned. One that Eric felt was punishment because he had to have a certain look being Morrison. And when he shut the door he just said “fuck” under his breathe. The was mud on the tires. And he had tracked mud through the the drive way. His father was going to be so mad at him. Maybe he would have time to clean it ? But that was quickly shot down as he heard his father clear his throat behind him. And as soon as he turned around. He was immediately slapped by the older man.

His father turned away from him leaving him with his head pointing to the ground. Welcome home Eric. The normal greeting. His father slammed the door behind him. The butler came up to him him with an ice pack. “Your father is really upset you master Eric. I’ll tend to things out here” said the older man as he handed him the ice pack. “I’ve already set aside some food in your room. I expect your father will tell you you’re not allowed dinner. But don’t let him know. You know how he is…”. The battle Grieves left his side to start cleaning the mud. He was an older man who had been in Eric’s life for as long as he could remember. This man was the one Eric always had to protect him. And the man had the scars from his own father to proofread. Grieves had a rightfully fitting man. Eric had asked him before why he never left and the old man just shrugged and said “where would I go?” Eric held the ice pack to his face. But knew had to hide it before he seen his father again. It was a sign of weakness and that was not some the Morrison men were. As Eric started to climb the steps to the gothic mansion his heart began to race even more. His palms already sweating when he turned the brass door knob.

When he got inside he quickly made his way to his room. His father was in the study at the bottom of the steps and he didn’t even look in his direction. He was halfway up the steps when he heard his father clear his voice. Instantly Eric stopped. “I expect you know that I don’t want to see you for the rest of the evening. You don’t deserve human interaction if you’re going to act like a barn animal. No food either”. Eric finished climbing the steps and slumped his way to his room where he shut the door as quiet as possible. Thank god Grieves has left him some food because he was hungry and couldn’t be seen leaving the room.

He finished the sandwich and just sat in his room playing on his phone. The good thing was that when he was sentenced to his room his father would not bother him. His father would refuse to have anything to do with him. It hurt though. Eric craved the attention of his father. To be loved like a son. That was the only reason he didn’t break ties and run away. But even though he was an adult, even if he tried his father would find him. And bring him back. His mother had tried the same before he passing and it got her locked on the grounds of the manor never able to leave again. Eric lost track of time when he fell asleep. Sweet sleep where he could be free and have the family he always wanted.

Eric found himself walking through a dark forest. Everything was black. But the trees were clearly illuminated. Grown with green leaves. But brown leaves covered the ground. He moved through the forest and came to an opening with a well. He slowly walked forward and he heard a rustling and from behind the well was what Eric could only describe as being a shadow. He couldn’t make out any of the features but there is was a moving shadow. “What do you wishhhh booyyy” it hissed at him. It pointed at him with claw like fingers and Eric could feel his breathe get heavy and his voice crack as he was forced to speak his truest desire. “I want my father to love me. I want him to love me for simply being me. And to stop caring about all the material stuff and just love his son”. Eric was sweating cold and heavy as the grasp of the shadow let go of him. And he heard a horrible cackle reverberate around the Forrest. Eric was instantly thrown back. As if being pulled back by an invisible force. Into the darkness from whence he just came.

Eric woke up to something smelling horrible. His back was hurting and when he went to stretch his hand hit the wall with a loud thump. Making whatever was on the wall shake. Eric’s eyes popped open. His father would allow something that would rattle to be on the wall. And that’s when he seen something that made him sit straight up. A hole in the ceiling on or his bed. When Eric sat up he was confronted with something that made him panic. Filth. Everywhere. In a corner he could see dirty clothes covered in mud and grease. Right next to an open pizza box with a half eaten pizza. When he sat up he could hear cans rattle and clink against one another. The room was small. There was stains on the wall that told him they had never been washed. A bed sheet covered a door way that he could only assume led to other parts of the house. The carpet was dirty and thread bar. His bed was on the ground. But that was the least of his worried. His body was so different. He was larger. A gut resting between his spread legs that were packed with muscle. His orca were huge and hairy. His hands and feet were so much larger than before and he could feel a beard tickling his chest. What was going on! As he managed to stand up he could hear the board creak under his weight. He felt weak spots in the floor that made him think he was going to fall through. And that’s when he heard it “ hey Eric. Come on in for breakfast!” It was his father. But there was a difference in the way he was speaking. Eric didn’t recognize it. He couldn’t find anything clear to wear and eventually settle on a pair of the dirty shorts from the pile. They had grease stains on them. He could find any underwear and it made him self conscious as he placed the shorts on feeling just much larger groin slapping his thighs. He could feel that he was sporting an obvious bulge in the shorts as they were almost too small for him.

He made his way out of the bedroom. The door opened into a hallway that had holes in the walls. The same dirty thread bare carpet that let to a kitchen. And when he got in there. He seen his father. Or what resembled his father. He smelt just as bad as Eric did. Or almost smelt as bad. An unkept beard with a gut that hung over his dirty jeans. Hair covered him too. He was smoking. Something a Morrison doesn’t do. “There’s my big guy ! I hope you slept well! I made your favorite. Bacon and eggs. Gravy biscuits. And a few cold beers !” He pointed to the seat across from him. Eric didn’t know what to think. He was being offered to eat with his father. In the same room. And his father even said that he made it ! “Well come on big guy! We don’t have all day. We have stuff to do ! “. Eric just looked at him. They had stuff to do? Like together ? “Oh and hear I got this for you. I found it in a bag at the thrift store. I think it will fit”. A Morrison never worse thrifted good. So of course Eric just stood there. But when the shirt was in his hand he put it on. It fit. But barely. He had a significant beer belly now. But the sleeveless shirt felt right at home. As Eric walked over to the seat he was offered and started to consume all the food his father had made for him.

When Eric was done eating he had consumed everything. Even the cold beers his dad had prepared for him. His gut was tight and the shirt was riding up slightly. It was such a differently feeling for him. Being able to eat whatever he wanted without his father telling about calorie intake so he would gain weight. His father took a long drag from his cigarette and blew smoke right in his face. “Well big guy. You ready for work ? I got a new place for us to go to !” Wait did he and his father work together ? His father told him to go ahead and put his shoes on. He didn’t have to get dressed in special clothes for work ? He went to living room feeling the floors and objects in the room shake. He was in a mobile home from the looks of it. When he plopped down on the couch the he heard the couch creak under his weight. His father handed him some shoes. Massive boat sized shoes that he’d never fill out. His father was being so nice to him tho. He even started to tear up. His father notice immediately. “Hey big guy what’s wrong ?! Those bastards aren’t picking on you again are they !? I’m going to talk to them.”

He bent down and start to undo the laces on the shoes. “Listen. There’s nothing wrong with needing help. That’s what Dad’s are for. And as long as I’m hear you’ll always have someone to help you do things like this. Now. What’s the rhyme ?” Drool pooled from Eric’s mouth. What the hell? Was he dumb now ? It just occurred to him that he was trying to remember this to tie his own shoes ….. and he had no idea. His father just laughed and sang a little catchy toon. It made Eric so happy he even clapped a little. “Alright. Let’s get going.” Eric followed his dad from the trailer and was greeted by a trash covered yard. Or rather what could be seen as trash but somehow Eric felt they were treasures. He followed his dad to an old white Ford pic up truck. His father driving of course. When Eric sat down you could see the truck do a noticeable plop from his weight. And then his father drove him to his new life. Eric then finally realized what that sound was in his fathers voice from earlier. Love. The first time he had heard it.

April 13th, 2021 10:00pm wishing well magic shadowwish

[mrmousetolliver]

American Gothic (1930) painted by Grant Wood. American Gothic is considered to be one of the most famous paintings in American Art, and one of the few images to reach the status of widely recognized cultural icon, comparable to Edvard Munch's The Scream or Leonardo da Vinci's Mona Lisa. While the title American Gothic refers to the architecture of the house, which is a cottage located in Eldon, Iowa, the models are actually Grant Woods sister Nan and his dentist Dr. Byron McKeeby. While many would think it represents a farmer and his wife, it's actually a farmer and his spinster daughter. This detail was insisted on by his sister since if she was the "wife" it would mean she looked older than she thought she did. While Wood was married for a short time, it was considered to be a mistake by many who knew him. While he was deeply closeted, many of his friends knew him to be homosexual and a bit facetious in his masquerade as an overall-clad farm boy.

[thequeenofsarcaasm]

I’m gonna fix our mistake. Also because I’m genuinely curious - what’s your favourite intimate scene(s) you’ve written?

Dear Lord. I thought you’d never ask!

I carefully crafted a top 3:

Ahem

1- Their first time together in LIITH (Geto on top. Ch 5)

This one is a personal favourite because it was very tender despite all the frustrations, doubts and longing that preceded the event. I am very proud of the way I wrote it (mostly because of the little metaphors in the last part). But my favourite part is the last line: “Divinely his” because yeah. That’s what Gojo is now.

2- One and only intimate scene in Canary in the coal mine (Gojo on top. Ch8)

To be honest, I think what makes the scene interesting is all the build up. But my favourite aspect is the choking. Geto is a very empathetic character (empathetic to a fault even), so I felt like using their most intimate moment to allow him to feel the pain of his partner was the best occasion to show how insane he is (they both are tbf). The nice part is that he invites the pain upon him, out of empathy, to reassure Gojo, but also because he’s deeply infatuated with the idea of violence. No matter what they do, it keeps bleeding all over them. Sex is no exception.

3- THAT long and needlessly horny moment in LIITH (Gojo on top. Ch 9)

Whoever said being horny is a sin lied. I will start by making that clear.

The blowjob part was inspired by a creation by my beloved @bearhaviour and the rest is well…Let’s just say I have my moments. I once again apologise to Nanako and Mimiko for putting their father in such a state. But, in my defence, Gojo is always the one getting slutted out in every fic. I’m left wing so I think we should all get the same opportunities!

Honorable mentions:

The phone sex/masturbation moment in Joy. This might be the only fanfic of mine I re read. Changed my life fr

The tantric sex in Bewitched (that one was really cute) and the final scene I wrote while I was in the plane!

The climax of How can I decide what’s right… (I love Gothic architecture and repression so it was very fun to write. Also, they both cry in this one. Doesn’t matter if it’s for different reasons or at different moments. Gojo getting folded like a pretzel is always good. Geto licking blood from his body is even better)

Thank you for your sacrifice

[scientistservant]

I have never heard of the Dark Crystal until I saw your posts. What is it about, and what do you like about it?

Oh ho?

Sit down, anon, and let me tell you the tale of... The Dark Crystal.

*theme music plays*

In a world called Thra, there exists a powerful gem called the Crystal of Truth. It is in tune to all of Thra, including the planet's most civilized race, the Gelfling.

A thousand years ago, new beings came to Thra: the Skeksis. The Skeksis, wise, hedonistic and benevolent, were tasked with protecting the Crystal of Truth by Thra's avatar/mother-nature of sorts, Mother Aughra. Because of their wisdom the Skeksis also ruled over the Gelfling and their seven Clans, while Aughra journeyed the stars and space.

But one day, the Crystal cracked, causing the Crystal to become corrupted, and a miasma, the Darkening, to spread throughout Thra. In an attempt to fix the Crystal, the Skeksis discovered Essence - the soul or life-force of every creature on Thra. Instead of taking life from the Crystal, they decided to take life from something else - the Gelfling. Because the Gelfling are the closest creatures to Thra, their Essence is pure, more potent.

The Skeksis became obsessed with Essence, and obsessed with draining Gelfling, killing them and drinking their Essence to obtain eternal life and youthfulness. All Skeksis, but the Emperor especially, were terrified of death. For when Skeksis die they do not return to Thra.

And so, a genocide occurred, and all Gelfling perished.

All but one. For there was a prophecy, told of a young Gelfling named Jen, who is destined to heal the Crystal and bring the Skeksis reign to an end!

What I love about The Dark Crystal is its world-building and characters. Its cast isn't just black and white in morality, it's more than that. The protagonists can make mistakes, and so can the antagonists. The Skeksis were good once upon a time, they once cared about the Gelfling, but their greed and fear of death overtook them. Thra is beautiful with many different settings and wildlife, even the Castle of the Crystal is gorgeous with it's fantastical and alien gothic architecture.

I'm mainly talking about the prequel series, Age of Resistance, here. It was made almost 40 years after the original 1982 film, but unlike many modern sequels and prequels it's not a cash grab at all; it was made with love and respect to the original, expanding on the world of Thra. Not saying the original film was bad, it's a wonderful piece of media! I just think it's lacking a bit in world-building and context, and Age of Resistance helps immensely.

As for characters, I'll be talking about the Skeksis, Gelfling, and Mother Aughra. There are other characters and creatures too, but I don't want to venture into spoiler territory!

The Skeksis

As I said above, the Skeksis are not from Thra. They are reptile-like alien vultures with a very hedonistic lifestyle. They adore food, various forms of entertainment, the most lavish of robes, and being praised for their wisdom and status as Lords of the Crystal.

Each Skeksis has a title and role they must uphold. For example, the Ornamentalist makes his fellow Lords' robes and decor for the Castle, while the Scroll-Keeper is in charge of the Castle library and keeps records of tomes and scrolls going back a thousand years of Skeksis rule.

All the Skeksis are important and unique, but the most popular and well-known by far is the Chamberlain. He has a "whimper" as a tic and speaks in slight broken English, yet is the craftiest, manipulative, and cunning of the Skeksis. A very Starscream/Littlefinger-type character, he's fantastic to watch. (He's one of my favourite characters, but not my top favourite, that honour goes to the Scroll-Keeper.)

The Gelfling

The Gelfling are small, elf-like humanoids that vary in looks, culture and skill between their seven different species/Clans. There is the Stonewood, Vapran, Drenchen, Spriton, Dousan, Sifan, and Grottan. Unfortunately, many Gelfling tend to be xenophobic and untrustworthy towards other Clans, though some do manage to become friends despite their differences. Most Gelfling are also illiterate, but there are a very small few that can read and write.

Gelfling are the closest beings to Thra, and have the special ability to Dreamfast with one another - a rather intimate gesture that allows them to share their memories and thoughts by touching hands.

They also differ between genders; female Gelfling have wings, while male Gelfling do not.

Because of their small noses and large eyes and ears, some of the fandom tend to call Gelfling "fairy mice", even giving them whiskers and tails!

Mother Aughra

Mother Aughra is Thra, and Thra is Mother Aughra. She is as old as the planet itself, and perhaps as old as the Crystal of Truth, too. She is connected to the Crystal, able to tell when it is healthy and when it is not.

She and the Skeksis used to be friends, admiring their wisdom and beauty, yet that all ended when she discovered what they had done to the Crystal of Truth.

Aughra is sassy and somewhat grumpy, yet she loves and cares for all the creatures of Thra, especially the Gelfling, who see her as a mother-figure. She has the ability to remove her one eye and use it to spy on others or to see things up close, even from far away.

If you enjoy the fantasy genre, puppets, practical effects, and alien worlds, I highly, highly recommend The Dark Crystal and The Dark Crystal Age of Resistance! There are also graphic novels, and YA novels by J.M Lee.

The world of Thra must never die!

[inspector-montoya-fox]

It's always really difficult to choose between An Opera of Fear and A Cold Alliance for my favourite Sly 3 episode, but it's safe to say that Flight of Fancy is easily the most nostalgic. Not because it's rooted in my childhood memories (it is) but in the sense that it shares elements with episodes from Sly 2 during a game which presents the gang at the peak of their career. Let's discuss

I think we can all agree that the series very effectively presents the gang's development, not only as individual characters, but also as a team of thieves. Sly 1 shows the gang as teens during their first set of adventures which sprout from Sly's desire for vengeance. They make many mistakes, they don't really have planned heists or jobs - Sly just casually goes into every level breaking shit and then faces off the big baddie - and they surpass their own expectations of themselves to defeat Clockwerk in the end. Then, Sly 2 covers a crucial point in the gang's career. It felt as if up until this point they hadn't truly fucked up so they went into it being very cocky, especially Sly. And when they got their asses handed to them by Neyla, getting separated tested their individual and collective limits.

In Sly 3, the gang has evolved to master thieves, capable enough to feel comfortable recruiting and as such mentoring strangers and also worthy enough to inherit an entire lineage's stolen loot. This is also shown in the missions, which up in scale and spectacle. It's no longer just "follow this villain" or "pickpocket this person". It's a combination of missions we grew accustomed to during Sly 2 like "follow Octavio and do recon under time pressure", or something completely new. Right off the bat, for example, we send a ferris wheel rolling across Venice squashing guards in its way, like this is just a mission not Thunderbeak or something. Every Sly 3 mission evolves explosions, high-tech and the eventual mini boss-fight.

So it's then a bit surprising to see the gang reverting to their sneakier, more subtle ways during Flight of Fancy. That's not to say we don't have explosions and thrill in the episode (the dogfights, Muggshot vs Carmelita, wolf-riding, shooting literal fucking windmills into blimps), but the way they choose to sabotage the competition due to how delicate its internal politics are creates some nostalgia. Paddling around the sewers in a blow-up rowboat and breaking into the pilots' rooms is very Sly 2. It felt like something 18 year old Sly would do. Also, scaling the Baron's castle harks back to Sly 1's platforming and is reminiscent of how small Sly would seem when approaching a villain's daunting lair.

The design choices for the Netherlands seem primitive too, enhanced by the fact that we're in the countryside. I feel like there's that Sly 1 and 2 rule of thumb at play here, where Sucker Punch chose the aesthetic or genre first and then chose the location. For example, they wanted a spooky level in Sly 2 so they chose Prague which would accommodate the genre through its architecture and gothic character. That allowed them to exaggerate a lot in terms of level design. And it's the same for Flight of Fancy, where we have a spooky castle on top of a very cartoony hill and you can hide under haystacks. Oppositely, the rest of the game's levels seem to have departed from the previous entries' design principle (except Kaine Island, which is fully fictional). It feels as if SP chose Venice and wanted to play up how European it is, or the wilderness of the Australian outback but without any radical stylistic choices. The genres are explored through the narrative, not through design.

Lastly, let's close off with some Thieves in Time slander because it wouldn't be a signature me tumblr essay without it. If we really use the entirety of our brain power and manage to look past all of the game's bullshit, one additional flaw would be how it doesn't consider the gang's development when telling its story. I'm not saying that in the series' fourth game the gang should have been infallible or indestructible due to achieving master thief status in Sly 3, but here the mistakes they make feel so unnecessarily stupid and like shit they wouldn't have done even in Sly 1. Falling for Penelope's schtick twice; Sly letting his guard down during the Le Paradox boss fight after the Contessa; whatever the fuck went down in Arabia... yea.

[thus-spoke-lo]

writing warm-up || mihawk x reader cw: nsfw--implied dub-con wc: 660

An enormous gothic castle was the last thing you were expecting to find on this rain-soaked, godforsaken island, an ominous feat of architecture set atop a hillside in the middle of the forest, looming over you like a sinister creature. The second last thing you were expecting to find was that the castle was occupied.

Your widening eyes drifted upwards at the striking man looming in the doorway, his one hand still resting on the door handle, his other holding a glass of what you could only assume was wine aloft. His perfectly sculpted beard accentuated the sharp lines of his jaw and the hollow below his cheekbones, and he seemed to have been poured into his skintight black pants. The ivory shirt that adorned his torso flowed over his alabaster skin like water, the front of the silken shirt almost completely unbuttoned to expose a smooth ripple of muscle beneath bare skin.

Piercing amber eyes settled on your figure as he assessed you from drenched head to waterlogged boots, gently swirling the liquid in his glass as he examined every last bit of your body. His gaze wandered over you in a way that made you feel smaller and smaller with every lurid glance, and an uneasiness started to settle in your bones, making its home beside the chill that was beginning to overtake you.

“Well now, aren’t you a pretty little thing?” he smirked as he sipped at his at wine, interrupting your meandering thoughts. “You’re… wet.”

“So I am,” you chuckled nervously, telling yourself you would deny until your dying breath whether or not it was only the rain that had you feeling damp. You tugged at your soaked shirt, trying to pull it away from your body, suddenly self-conscious about how it clung to your every dip and curve.

His eyes narrowed and you couldn’t help but notice the upturned quirk of his mouth, the beginnings of a grin that he tried to suppress; he stepped back and extended his arm into the space behind him, ushering you inside. “Well you’re in luck that the master of this house is home then, aren’t you?”

Am I? you thought as you slid past him, entering the cavernous foyer and wondering if this would be the first or last mistake you would make this evening.

Before long, you found yourself sitting on a plush couch, your trembling fingers dancing over the blood-red upholstery. You watched as he neatly arranged soaked clothes by the enormous fireplace and tugged at the robe he’d provided you, fiddling with the belt that was threatening to come undone at any moment. The fabric shuddered with every beat of your anxious heart, and you thought perhaps a sip of wine would help quell your nerves, help you back away from the edge of whatever precipice you were on as you found yourself unable to take your eyes off the tall, marble-sculpted man whose name you still didn’t know. You reached over and shakily clutched the half-full carafe; you gasped as the man suddenly appeared before you, coolly snatching the bottle out of your hand and placing it back on the table beside you.

“Hey, what the hell?” You craned your neck to glare up at him, and the growing smirk that stretched across his lips suddenly reminded you of your place in all this—an uninvited guest in his home, your only weapons aboard your wrecked ship that littered the ocean, your quaking body nearly bare before him.

“No alcohol for you.” His voice was low and commanding, yet lacking even an ounce of cruelty behind it.

“Why not?” you murmured, your voice trembling as you tried to subdue a bewildering heat that was burning in your core.

“Because,” he said as he knelt down before you, his large hands reaching for the flimsy ties that held your robe shut, “I want to make sure you remember everything that I’m going to do to you tonight.”

[gamerbearmira]

I have a story for the Vampire au! Okay, so vampires live in the Encanto and are hiding among the regular people, Senora Guzman is one of them. A little after Antonio is born Alma is worrying about whether or not he'll get a gift, but Pepa had a difficult labor and so she doesn't really care about his gift, she's just glad he's here and healthy. Pepa gets upset at Alma for caring more about the gift than Antonio's well being, and Mirabel gets brought up, so Julieta comes in to defend her daughter, Bruno also gets brought up. It devolves into a screaming match about how Alma treats everyone and their gifts until Julieta yells, "well maybe the reason Mirabel didn't get a gift is because of YOU!" Casita then starts to crumble, just like it did in canon only five years earlier. Pepa shoves Antonio into Alma's arms and tells her to get out of the house, Alma and the grandkids manage to get out, but the other adults, including Bruno who was still in the walls, don't escape time and die in the collapse. All of this is too much for Alma and she passes out due to a heart attack, she almost died, but Senora Guzman saw what happened and realized if Alma dies the children won't have a guardian, so she turns Alma in order to save her. Once Alma wakes up and gets her bearings, she realizes Julieta was right, and her mistakes cost her even more family members. She vows to change her ways and keep her grandchildren safe, she turns the grandkids into vampires so she won't have to watch them grow old and die, the Madrigal family becomes really close to the Guzman family since they're both secretly vampires, that's how Mariano and Dolores met, Casita is rebuilt with a more gothic architecture and a graveyard for the deceased family members, which includes a memorial for Pedro, the magic does return, and Mirabel gets her own room, but the color of the magic is red instead of gold. The townspeople are a little spooked by how everything changed, but they chalk it up to the sudden death of the adults affecting the family and the magic so they don't really question it, and the slowed aging is waved off by Alma, who says it must be the magic's way of protecting the grandkids.

I’M RICKIN WIT IT⁉️⁉️

Honestly I am. Only thing that I would change is Alma. She was born a vampire (a LONG) time ago. She was just good at hiding it. EVERYTHING ELSE IS SO RAD THO 🗣️🗣️ honestly Alma saying the magic is what’s keeping the kids from aging is so real.

I imagine Guzman probably has to help Alma cope though. I mean it was clear Alma didn't wanna do it, and even with convincing. She was still pretty catatonic after the fact. But Alma slow gets over it (over it is a strong assumption though). After all, she's not the only one who had to resort to that. Mariano and a number of other kids at the time had to be turned, and a lot of families didn't want to subject their kid to that life, but had to for their safety.

And the argument before hand. Would make sense. How it escalated so fast is baffling, but stuff adds up over the years ig 😭 still sad asf tho. W for the memorial at least (┳Д┳)

Alma whenever anyone asks her about what happened those two nights:

[you-hate-time-travel]

hey. felt manor, btw. this fucked up time mansion where there are clocks everywhere and the hallways barely make any sense. a house that's empty despite people living in it. a mistake of architecture that lies beyond city limits, in the unforgiving wasteland. this gothic mess that couldn't have possibly been built.

[thedoorthatopensonitsown]

Why did we ever move past Gothic architecture? Truly our greatest mistake.

[milodrawsomestuff]

About me:

I like: garlic bread, minecraft , generation loss, tboi , will wood, crane wives, salty food and gothic architecture and alt subcultures (emo, goth, punk etc.)

Also: english is not my first language correct me if i make any mistakes

cc's i like: ranboo, philza, quackity, grian, goodtimeswithscar, mumbo, joel smallishbeans, james marriott, jack manifold, docm77

Dni if you are: transphobe ,homophobe, racist, bigot, ableist etc. And if youre dream or/and wilbur supporter

also i should add: pedos ARE NOT FUCKING WELCOME HERE!!!!

I draw and post sometimes also i dont know much abt tumblr and i apologize in advanced if i do something stupid or dont respond for a while

Fandoms

Qsmp, hermitcraft, life series and mcyt in general and maybe other fandoms and oc's

Commissions?

I dont do commissions yet but maybe in future ill start

Art trades and collabs are closed for now

You can use my art as pfp or wallpaper as long as you credit and you can repost my art with credit of course

My other socials:

Insta: milodrawsomestuff

Ao3: milowritessomestuff

Tags

[andromeda4004]

Chapter 12 sneak peak

Morningstar Abbey

I’m not going to be posting a full chapter today (I haven’t finished writing it yet) but I thought you would like a peak at a new character we will meet when our boys arrive at Morningstar itself.  It’s my (questionable) pleasure to introduce General Lucius Crowley...

The carriage has driven from Bath and is drawing up outside Crowley’s family home:

They slowed to a trot on the drive, where a laden travelling carriage was waiting, a team of four fine horses stamping their feet and huffing in the cold air.

“Damn it,” Crowley muttered.  “He hasn’t left yet.”  He forced a smile.  “Looks as though you’ll have the chance to meet the old man, after all.”

“Oh!  I shall be glad to,” though Aziraphale had heard enough of the General to have formed a most unfavourable impression of him.

“I wouldn’t be sure of that.”

Crowley drew the phaeton to a stop with a final crunch of gravel, and leapt down, handing the reins to a boy who ran out from the shadow of the building.  Adam scorned the offered hand and jumped down himself, but Aziraphale was glad to take it, both for the assistance and the plausible excuse to feel Crowley’s hand in his, if only for a moment.

“Adam!” a voice cried.  Aziraphale dropped Crowley’s hand and whipped around to look at the doorway, where a tall gentleman stood framed by the gothic archway.  Aziraphale recognised him without hesitation.  There could be no mistaking that face, which Madame Tracy had immediately seen in Crowley when first they met.

Adam walked up the steps towards him. “Good afternoon, Father,” he said, extending a hand to shake, and had his hair ruffled for his efforts.

“Glad to have you home, boy!  And you, Anthony!  Still making a fool of yourself with that random-tandem team, I see. And this must be our guest!”

Crowley visibly braced himself and pinned a smile in place as they approached.  “Father!  I should like to introduce-”

“Mr Fell,” said the General, extending a strong hand towards Aziraphale.  “Or is it Reverend Fell?”  His teeth were remarkably white and straight in his wide, welcoming grin.

“Oh, ah, Mr Fell is quite – ah, I only use Reverend when at my work,” Aziraphale managed.  “You must be the General; I am indebted to you for the invitation, truly it is kind of you-”

“Nonsense, Mr Fell, you are most welcome here at Morningstar.  Adam speaks well of you, and that must be enough to recommend you to me.”  The General released his hand and Aziraphale did his best to marshal his thoughts.

Lucius Crowley was remarkably like his second son, in height and build and sense of style, his back unbent and head held proudly despite being evidently well past his sixtieth year. Crowley’s fine lines were deeper wrinkles on his father, and the rich rust of the younger man’s colouring had faded out to a cinnamon-blond dusting in the distinguished white hair.  The General maintained striking military whiskers, the moustache joining the sideburns, but the whole was neatly groomed, not left to run amok.  Aziraphale was glad to see that Crowley had not inherited the General’s eyes, at least; they were a common hazel, and Aziraphale liked knowing that his Crowley had that feature uniquely.

His Crowley?  Dash it, he had to overcome this!

“I – I am very glad to be here,” he said, dragging himself back to the moment.  “Your home is beautiful, General Crowley; I do not recall when I have seen such striking architecture.”

The General ushered him through into the main hall, a tall, wide affair, dominated by the branched staircase leading to the upper galleries, and the double-height arched windows that bespoke the building’s religious history; General Crowley waved it all away with a dismissive hand.  “Ah, yes, we are fortunate in our stonework that the Abbey was built well, but I have completed a great deal of modernisation here since I took it over, and I think you will be most pleased with the results achieved, a modern gentleman such as yourself.  All this gothic grandeur is very well, but hardly fit for this innovative century!” As he spoke, he drew Aziraphale further into the building, through a door on the right of the main hall, and into-

A completely ordinary drawing room, plastered and wallpapered in a nod to the latest mode of Eastern inspiration favoured by the Regent.  Had the room been part of a modern townhouse, Aziraphale would have thought it well-appointed, but in an abbey it was strangely … wrong.

He turned a bright smile back towards the General, who was quite obviously watching him for a reaction.  “Charming!”

___

If you want to read the rest:

[archivisionary]

The Shard: A Modern building Echoing Gothic Cathedrals.

How the architecture of London's the shard designed by

Renzo Piano reminds us of the past?

If you look both at the picture of the shard and a tower of a gothic cathedral, you may mistake them as they are very similar.

The contruction focused on letting the light in. The pointedness of it, as it was reaching skywards, specific for the gothic style.

Finally, like cathedrals that served as beacons of spirituality, The Shard serves as a modern symbol of London's aspirations. It stands as a testament to human achievement, echoing the way cathedrals once represented the pinnacle of architectural and engineering prowers.

[fazedlight]

In the mood to share some of my favorite books. Apologies for being a nerd, there's some fiction in there too: Danger stuff (nonfiction): * Into Thin Air (Jon Krakauer) - A really interesting account of the 1996 Mt. Everest disaster that killed 8 people, told first-hand by someone who was there. * The Last Dive (Bernie Chowdhury) - The story of father-son cave & wreck divers who ultimately met a tragic end in a sunken U-boat. * Trapped Under the Sea (Neil Sidwey) - Describes the engineering marvels and challenges of the Boston harbor waste treatment facility being built, including the story of two men who died in the 10-mile tunnel that runs under the ocean. * Alone on the Wall (Alex Honnold) - Honnold is a free solo climber, meaning he climbs several-thousand-feet-high rock faces without any ropes/safety gear. His book on how he got there is really interesting. * Normal Accidents (Charles Perrow) - General account of various disasters (Chernoby, Challenger, Three Mile Island) and the types of mistakes and policy decisions that result in these disasters. Science/tech stuff (nonfiction): * Longitude (Dava Sobel) - Describes the politics, science, and engineering developments that went into creating more and more accurate clocks, which were priorities for European nations attempting to cross oceans. * The First Three Minutes (Steven Weinberg) - Describes the early universe, just after the Big Bang. Fascinating physics. * The Code Book (Simon Singh) - This is about codes and cryptography (not computer code) throughout the ages, starting back from ancient Egypt. It was really interesting to watch how technology built on technology to get where we are today. * Tubes (Andrew Blum) - I think a lot of people think the internet is something that just exists sort of ambiently in the air. It's literally massive wires (well, fiber) that gets placed in the ground by construction crews, running crisscross across continents and oceans, plugging into huge routers in cities all around the world. This book explains physical internet architecture. Society (nonfiction): * The Witness Wore Red (Rebecca Musser) - A devastating and fascinating account from a woman who grew up in a cult. * One Perfect Day (Rebecca Mead) - Basically investigative journalism around the wedding industry, forming a really interesting cultural critique. * Because Internet (Gretchen McCulloch) - A fun linguistic analysis of how language evolves between generations. [I haven't finished this book yet, but it's been fun so far!] Fiction: * Mexican Gothic (Silvia Moreno-Garcia) - As the title suggests, it's a gothic novel, that weaves a really interesting story about colonialism and misogyny. * Inferno (Dan Brown) - I know people tend to be meh on Dan Brown, but the villain of this book in particular was really interesting, for reasons I don't want to spoil. (Don't watch the movie, though, they change the villain into a boring generic villain.)