#multi-layered roofs

[unstablexbalor]

New York Roofing Tile

Huge elegant white three-story wood exterior home photo with a tile roof

[ruhele]

New York Roofing Tile Huge elegant white three-story wood exterior home photo with a tile roof

[zetsubonoheishi]

Wood in New York Huge traditional white three-story wood exterior home idea with a tile roof

[imababblekat]

Getting You Air

Anon, "Hello! Sorry if this is weird, my first request ever, but can you possibly do something with Bayverse Raph with a s/o who goes nonverbal while overwhelmed please?"

~xXx~

He could tell, from a mile away, Raphael could sense that something was wrong. He knew you all too well to see that, even in the dancing hues of party lights and through the bustling crowd, that you were not okay. It didn't take long for him to make way to you, his large stature made it easy to push through people, them all to aware of the mutant terrapin even if occupied in conversation.

“Hey, you good?”, his voice rang out over all the bustle.

You barely registered him. Your pulse was racing, mind rushing with your heart at the overwhelming of your senses from what was supposed to be a time of celebration for the turtles and NYPD. Through the muffled sounds of varying voices and blaring music, it was a miracle you found the strength to focus in on your red banned friend in front of you. However, that seemed to be the only thing you could muster to do, unable to conjure up the ability to speak and only respond with a barely focused gaze.

Your lack of words and spaced out appearance had Raph feeling even more concerned. Taking the un touched food you held, he was quick to place the paper plate on a near by desk before ever so gently taking hold of your much smaller hand in his.

"Come on, gotta get you some air.", Raph spoke aloud, hoping that his words reached you through your jumbled senses.

You followed with out hesitation, your body subconsciously following Raphael's guide through the crowd with up most trust.

Finally making way to the roof of the NYPD building, the chilly night air was a refreshing welcome to your heated body. A small garden table was set up in the corner, presumably a get away break area for employees that Raph was quick to seat you down in. Pulling a chair he barely fit in himself closer to your side, Raph placed a comforting hand to the space between your shoulder blades and worriedly period down to gauge any change.

"Looked like ya could use some peace from everythin'. Feelin' any better?"

You still spoke no words, just continued to stare ahead at nothing, but at least now taking some breaths to sooth yourself. However, this did little to reassure Raphael. This was the first time he'd ever experienced you such an overwhelmed state. Usually you were so strong, facing danger head on or even being able to withstand the pounding music of Mikey's playlist when you'd visit the layer. Was it the jammed space? The flashing, multi colored lights? The cacophony of conversations flooding in and out of your ears that made it hard to stay clear minded? Whatever it was that had you overstimulated, it'd be a lie if Raphael said it didn't have him mildly freaked out over your wellbeing. He'd just hoped that bringing you out to the roof top would help in some way. Hell, if you needed to go home, for you he'd leave the party in a heart beat to make sure you got back safe and sound. Whatever just to make you feel better.

Just as he was about to offer up the option to take you home, Raphael was surprised to suddenly feel a ginger hand rest upon his knee. You still couldn't find the energy to speak, so instead you offered the burly man a soft, grateful smile as thanks.

The relief in your tired eyes was all the Raphael needed to feel a sense of his own ease wash over him. Of all the things he's done in his life, he was beyond comforted in knowing that he had at least done right by you tonight.

~xXx~

[artemistorm]

Skyward Sword Skyloft Aesthetic

I love the aesthetic of Skyloft so let's analyze it and see what makes it tick. This will be a long post with lots and lots of photos.

First of all, In Skyloft there are two very different styles of architecture:

Ancient architecture, which are the stately grey stone structures like the light tower in the plaza and around the Statue of the Goddess (as well as various locations on the surface)

And the Skyloftian architecture, which is much more round, colorful and whimsical than the ancient architecture. I will be focusing on the Skyloftian architecture.

Skyloftian houses are built underground with one exposed side facing out. The roofs are flat and often have paths or grass growing on them in order to maximize surface area and places to walk. Each house is unique and is personalized to the occupant.

Non-house buildings like the bazaar, knight academy, and the Lumpy Pumpkin are built above-ground and have varying kinds of roofs, from wood to bamboo, to tented rugs.

Interior walls generally follow this pattern: the walls are painted (or possibly frescoed) with a primary color--it's not a solid color, but with a dappled 'paintbrush-stroke' pattern. Decorative stones or tiles of a contrasting color are placed in a horizontal wavy line in the bottom half of the wall and in another line near the ceiling.

At the base, is a layer of stones of a different color. Structurally, this is likely a foundational base on which the walls are constructed to protect them from groundwater damage, like in cob (a certain kind of mud-cement) house construction.

Buildings and rooms tend to be curvy or round and often have whimsical features built in, like the oven in the kitchen and the bird faucet and tiled round bathing pool in the bathroom of the Knight Academy. In houses, sinks and counters are sometimes built into the wall. This is another feature you see frequently in cob house construction.

In fact, the Skyloftian style of architecture seems to have taken heavy inspiration from cob house construction. Cob is a building material that is made of local mud with additives to turn it into cement with hay or grass mixed in. The cob is mounded up into the shape of the walls and sealed with sealant and plaster. It is very quick to construct cob buildings and they are highly customizable. Building made of cob tend to be whimsical--look up images and see for yourself.

Furniture is made with wood and often has decorative tiling, painting, or carvings in them.

In terms of decorations, the most common motifs are geometric designs, floral and plant designs, and bird-themed designs. Bright colors are preferred, and almost everything in the whole game, but especially in Skyloft, has a pink or purple tinge/undertone to it.

One thing Skyloftians love are ornate rugs. Every room and every house has a rug, usually multiple rugs. Each rug is unique, brightly colored, and usually geometric in design.

There is even an entire (unmanned) shop in the bazaar full of rugs and other textiles.

Other decorations you might find in homes and buildings are pots, vases, bottles, and plates with colorful designs

Lace, stuffed animals, decorative pillows

Turkish lamps, wall hangings, table placemats or a table runner

Mobiles and decorative ceiling hangings

Remlit tree

And some rooms/houses are themed, for example, Fledge's room has a tropical island theme.

Outdoors, the village is decorated with multi-colored banners, buntings, pinwheels, flags, and flowers.

Together all these things construct the aesthetic and style of Skyloft: rounded and curvy buildings, cob-style construction, geometric, floral and bird designs, bright colors, ornate rugs, pots, Turkish lamps, stained glass, wood carvings, and lots and lots of whimsy.

[lefaystrent]

Suspire

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairings: platonic LAMP

Summary: Roman's favorite weighted blanket is ruined.

Roman wouldn't say that he adjusts well. He merely finds ways to cope.

AO3 Link: click here

-------------------------------------------------------

It's just a blanket.

Roman is an adult. He has a job. He buys his own groceries, and he pays his portion of the rent on time. He keeps up with his student debt even when some months he hangs on by his fingernails.

It's just a single blanket.

Roman has other things in his life to be happy about. He has his paintings and keyboard. He has his dearest friends whom he lives with. He's active in his local theater community and often lands roles. He has a roof over his head, parents who care for him, a brother who he can stand sometimes. A car that works.

It's just a fucking blanket.

That's what he tells himself over and over as he stares vacantly at the ripped threads. The tear that had been snagged wide open, and the weighted material inside quickly coming outside. He holds it, remembering the marvelous weight on his shoulders, the pressure on his back, the comfort it gave him. The security and warmth. The way he will never feel it again. How he can't go back and fix it.

He can't afford another one right now. It's one of those tight month's budget-wise. And even if he could, it would not be this one.

Roman holds his blanket and unravels alongside it.

***

Roman wouldn't say that he adjusts well. He merely finds ways to cope.

He takes longer showers. The sizzling pinpricks of water cascade over him, beating down on his shoulder blades. It's too hot, close to boiling, but the burn is nice even if his skin begs him to stop. If he stands directly under, it's almost encompassing. It's almost enough.

He wears more layers. Roman tends to add a jacket over any attire anyway. What's another sweatshirt under? Or a scarf tied protectively around his neck? It doesn't matter that this too is overheating. His bones are brittle, and he needs to wrap them somehow. The skin is not enough. It bruises far too easily.

The most embarrassing thing he tries is wedging his whole body into or under anything that may work as a substitute. He tears apart his room testing this and that and wants to cry in frustration as he lays on the carpet with his entire mattress smothering him. He steals all the pillows in the house when he's sure the others are out, and he piles them up. But burrowing into them is too soft and leaves him more frustrated. He crawls under the couch one day and nearly has a panic attack when the front door unlocks and Logan walks in. He plays it off as having lost the remote. He can't bear to admit the truth.

That is, until he's left with no other choice.

***

Roman sits at the dining table working on an art project involving thousands of multi-colored beads. His desk in his bedroom simply isn't large enough, so here he is.

Patton enters the kitchen behind him, and Roman knows its him by the smell of his eucalyptus scented shampoo. Then he sees freckled arms emerging over his shoulders, wrists adorned in friendship bracelets, and they snake around Roman's collarbone. Roman's hands fix in mid-air, eyes going blank as Patton presses up against his back and rests his chin on the top of Roman's head.

"You're so creative," Patton praises, and that alone could usually keep him comfortably warm long into the cold night. But everywhere that Patton touches him, every press of muscle and firm flesh, it scorches in the most pleasant burn.

"I can't wait to see it when it's done," Patton says, and Roman can feel the hum of his voice, how it vibrates his scalp and dances down the back of his neck. A shiver shoots up his back, and Roman cannot dedicate his attention to anything else if he tried.

Roman takes too long to respond, too frozen in his posture.

Patton notices. "Kiddo? You okay there? Was I not supposed to see?"

As if the art piece means a damn to him in this moment. What matters to him with eye-opening crystal clarity is that Patton's arms are loosening and his weight shifts so that he's not leaning against him as much. The loss of that is an incomparable grief.

Roman drops what he's holding, uncaring that some of the beads clatter off the side of the table to skitter across the floor. His hands clutch at Patton's wrists and fold them back around his neck. He draws the blessed weight against him once more, and he keeps it there, scared to let it go. Scared to be exposed once more.

"Roman?" Patton's tone is careful now, wary that something is wrong. His head settles back on top of Roman's, but his face nestles into the side of his hair, the edge of his glasses barely grazing. His voice whispers at his ear, "Did something happen?"

Yes, something happened. Roman's favorite weighted blanket is ruined and he's acting like a child about it. The shame excavates a pit in his stomach. There are depths to it that he doesn't wish to look at, let alone express.

"Can you–" Roman begins, but there's a lump caught in his throat. His voice sounds foreign to his own ears, too small and full of trepidation. He swallows and blinks rapidly. "Can you stay? Like this?"

"Hugging?" Patton asks to clarify. Roman doesn't think he's mocking him. Patton would never mock. He wouldn't judge. Not this. Never this. Please don't judge him for this.

"Mmhm," Roman hums, because if he doesn't use words he won't sound so pathetic, yet he immediately fails. The vocalization comes out high-pitched and needy, and tears spring to his eyes unbidden. He doesn't dare blink his eyes now.

Patton doesn't answer at first, and Roman is enormously relieved that they can't see each other's expressions. Roman fears what he would see on Patton's face, and if Patton could see him right now? He doesn't think he could hold on to his composure.

"Okay," Patton says, voice flower-petal soft. "We can stay like this. However long you want. I don't mind."

Patton skims his nose back and forth over Roman's hairline. His hands spread out, palms covering the top if Roman's chest. His hold is a cradle, gentle and safe, and it holds him together and doesn't let him fall apart. The arms tighten around him, compressing, and Roman holds them right back.

***

Patton becomes his saving grace.

He is wonderful in that he needs no explanation. His affections are given freely, without cost, whenever Roman needs them or even when he doesn't realize he needs them. Patton starts to hug him more often and cuddle him during movie nights. He ruffles Roman's hair as he passes by, or he grabs him by the hand when he's excited. Sometimes he'll trail his fingertips over Roman's face in lazy lines that set his mind at ease.

It's exhilarating.

Roman can't get enough. The need never ceases, and Patton is just one person. He cannot always be at Roman's beck and call. Patton has work and outings he leaves for, same as everyone else. And when he's home, it doesn't mean he's available at all hours. Like the middle of the night for instance.

Roman stands at Patton's firmly shut bedroom door like a sad dog. His fists tighten into the thighs of his sweatpants. What did he expect really? That Patton's door would be wide open at two in the morning? That he'd spy light on under the door and get the courage to knock? Patton said he was there for Roman any time, but that doesn't mean Roman gets to take advantage and disrupt his sleep schedule just because Roman is too pathetic to fall asleep without his blanket.

Patton has done so much for him lately. He's good like that, a saint. Roman can't monopolize him. It wouldn't be fair.

Then why does he continue to stand there in the dark hallway? A damsel in distress waiting for his prince to save him? Or hoping the door will magically open and he receive some form of pity.

He's worse than pathetic. He's absolutely rotten.

A sliver of light illuminates the hall, a door squeaking open. Roman nearly jumps out of his skin and looks behind him where Logan stands in the doorway to his own bedroom.

"Roman?" Logan says, looking just as surprised. "I didn't think you'd be up this late. Don't you have work in the morning?"

"Heyyy, Specs," Roman gets out tremulously. He scratches at the back of his head, searching for some excuse. Think of something, damn it. "I uh, yeah. I've got work in the morning. Just...out for a stroll."

"A stroll?" Logan repeats. His brow raises and he's giving Roman that look that he gives him all the time, like he's stupid and not worth his time.

Roman crosses his arms and stares down at his bare feet. "Yeah, I can stroll where I want. What are you, the hall monitor?"

"I never claimed to be, nor would I want to. You live here; walk where you wish."

"Good, I'm glad we've covered this," Roman replies. He whips his head up when Logan breezes by him down the hall. "Wait, where are you going?"

Logan sends him a bemused glance. "I was going to make a light snack before bed. Why are you following me?"

"Don't try to distract me and just answer the question!"

"I did, Roman."

"Oh... well, answer it again!"

That gets an actual snort out of Logan. Roman shuffles behind him into the kitchen as if locked in a gravitational pull. He watches him pull out a loaf from the bread box along with a tub of butter from the fridge. Roman dithers there observing, reluctant to leave. Logan must accept that Roman has no intention of leaving him alone because he gestures to the bread. "Want some?"

Roman looks between the spreadable butter and bread. "Are you just eating buttered bread?"

Logan rolls his eyes. "No, I was planning to eat buttered toast with jam. But if you're not interested..."

"No, you can make me some," Roman swiftly interrupts while trying to make it sound like it's something Logan should be honored to do.

Logan extracts another slice of bread. He plugs up the toaster oven. "So, couldn't sleep?"

"And what if I couldn't?"

Logan sighs, "Not everything is a challenge, Roman."

Roman shifts self-consciously and mutters, "Not with that attitude, Gay Jude."

Logan smiles a little bit after he inserts the bread to be toasted. "Ah, The Beatles. Would you like to hear some interesting facts about them?"

Roman has nothing else to do so he shrugs. Logan enlightens him while they wait for the little ding. Roman snags the jar of crofters out of the fridge before Logan gets a chance, and Roman smirks victoriously at him but spreads the jam on Logan's toast in apology. They eat and drink water, and Logan asks if he's going to go to bed now.

Roman's brows crease. "Actually, why are you up?"

Logan adjusts his glasses, a tell that he's been caught doing something of mild embarrassment. "I was reading a novel."

"That good, huh?" Roman quips with a grin. He and Logan share a surprising amount of similar taste for literature, so Roman doesn't doubt that the writing is less than phenomenal if it's enough to keep his favorite nerd up into the wee hours of the night.

"I would tell you about it, but then you would chide me for giving you spoilers whether or not you intend to read it."

"Mm, I probably will," Roman agrees.

"Then if you don't require anything else, I really must insist we both go to bed. It will be difficult enough to rise later this morning."

"What if I did require something else?" Roman suggests before he can bite his tongue.

And Logan, dependable Logan who at least always hears him out, turns to him fully. "I am all ears, as they say. Which is a ridiculous saying; we only have but two."

Roman doesn't laugh or tease as he usually would. And maybe that tips Logan off more than it should.

"Roman?" he prompts. Because he's so smart, he deduces, "Does this pertain to why you're up so late?"

Roman's gaze strays. It's dark in the kitchen. They didn't bother turning on a light, letting the streetlight guide them from outside the kitchen window. It's too obscured for Logan to see the heat in his cheeks or how he picks nervously at his nails.

Roman gnaws at the inside of his cheek. "It doesn't...not have to do with it."

"You're being vague. That's not like you."

"You don't know what I'm like."

"And you've been defensive. More so than usual. You are upset about something."

Roman just about chokes on air. "What?! No. Nooo, I'm not."

"Was it something I did?"

That punches Roman in the gut. The concern Logan is giving him, it knocks his feet right out from under him and has the truth spilling from his lips. "No, Logan, I just want a hug!"

Roman is infinitely more glad than ever that it's too dark to see. His face is on fire, and he can't look in Logan's direction.

"Happy now?" Roman asks bitterly.

"Roman, if you wanted physical affection, all you had to do was ask."

"What."

He's enveloped in a strong embrace.

Oh. Ohhhh.

Hugs are different. Different people give different hugs. Roman knows this, he does. He's had hugs throughout his life. He's not like, touch-starved or anything. It's just– it's like a reminder. A reminder with all the force of a slap to the face.

He had been so focused on Patton's hugs that he never thought to ask the others. Why would he? He never really did before. Things have just been hard since he lost his blanket, his comfort item. It's not usually like this. Roman's not usually like this, so dependent or desperate for attention.

In Logan's arms, he feels all of that melt away. In fact, his whole body melts into the embrace. A rush of air coaxes out from deep within his lungs as Logan's arms secure around his back. One hand hooks behind Roman's head and pulls him into the crook of his neck. The scent of Logan's faded cologne and laundry detergent fill his nostrils. There's lavender mixed with something else he can't distinguish but is wholly welcome and soothing.

Logan rubs circles into his back, and Roman leans heavily into him. Roman's arms raise like anvils hang off them, and it's all he can manage to circle them around Logan's waist and hang on for dear life.

"Is this satisfactory?" Logan asks. Roman might would answer him if not for the fingers scratching patterns into his scalp. His toes curl in bliss, and his mind sinks into fog. He buries his face further into Logan's neck and shoulder as if he can crawl into Logan's chest and hide there.

"I'll take that as a yes," Logan muses and squeezes him gently.

Roman doesn't make it back to bed for a while.

***

Logan joins Patton in the free affection initiative. Roman wonders if he and Patton discussed this or if Logan is doing it of his own volition. Either way, there is a definite increase in Logan's deviated mannerisms around Roman.

He pats him more on the back. He holds his hand when they sit next to each other. And there's a couple times Logan goes so far as to kiss his forehead. That left Roman blustering and bumbling like an idiot for hours after, because who is this person dressed like Logan? Surely not his nerd. Still, he can't deny the giddiness it evokes.

Things get a bit easier from there. The more it happens, the more he can normalize it. The more he normalizes it, the more he doesn't have to feel ashamed, right? If someone like Logan would go to the trouble...he doesn't have to feel silly about it, right? He can still be taken seriously?

Roman aches less for his blanket. The pain remains, but it's bearable. He feels less likely to break down in a sobbing mess, and that's progress. Right?

Virgil suspects something is going on.

It was bound to happen. He never stops watching out for them or simply watching them. If Patton hadn't accidentally found out about Roman's predicament, Roman thinks that Virgil would have been the first to suspect. As it is, Virgil observes the way that Patton and Logan act around Roman, and it's just enough different than normal. Just out there enough for him to see.

"Are you guys dating?" Virgil blurts out of the blue one day.

It's just the two of them at home, chilling on the couch together watching TV. Roman figured Virgil was having a bad anxiety day from the noncommittal responses he's been giving and how he keeps biting at his nails. Obviously, there have been other topics plaguing his thoughts.

"Who?" Roman asks, because really, who? Roman is single and proudly on a quest to love himself. Virgil knows this. Or at least, he thought he did.

Virgil squirms in his seat like he can't find a comfortable position. "Nevermind, just forget it."

"Well now I really can't forget it."

Virgil groans and buries his face into his hands. "You. And Logan, and Patton. Are you guys dating? If you are, it's whatever. I just would think you guys would tell me."

Roman gives him a semi-horrified look. Not all the way horrified, because Roman is a catch, and his friends are equally catch-worthy, but that's just... that's not how they are together.

"No? Why would you think that?"

Virgil gives him a look. "What else am I supposed to think? You guys have been acting all weird. You can't deny it. I'm not crazy. Or blind."

"Weird how? No seriously, I'm being for real."

"You know. Like all soft? And touchy feely?"

Roman can't help but quirk a smile at how awkward Virgil is acting, as if it pains him to say something so sappy. It's easy to fall into his confident persona. He leans in closer. "Aww, are you feeling left out, Emo?"

Virgil shoves him away. Not with his hand but with his leg because he has to be extra. "Okay, if you're just gonna be a dick about it, I can just go to my room."

And the bravado rushes out as quickly as it arrived. He doesn't want Virgil to leave, and he certainly doesn't want Virgil to entertain the notion that Roman is making fun of him maliciously.

Virgil stays long enough for Roman to fall into contemplation. Virgil peaks up at him and sees Roman looking back at him, completely serious.

"What?" Virgil asks, and there's a bit of a snarl there. Okay, Roman probably deserves that.

"We're not dating," Roman says quietly.

Virgil doesn't believe him. Or at least, he's suspicious of what's not being said. "Then what's up with you guys? Something's going on, and I..."

And Virgil isn't a part of it. He's on the outside looking in. More than that, he thinks they're excluding him on purpose.

Impulsively, Roman says, "Can I ask you something? In all seriousness?"

Virgil's eyes peer at him in narrowed slits, cautious and curious. Roman can see his inner debate, weighing his options of pushing Roman or letting it go or maybe even getting up to leave altogether. It'd be fair; Roman is answering him with a question of his own. Roman isn't sure he would be so patient, in Virgil's place.

But Virgil is more patient than people give him credit for. He nods. "Shoot."

Roman averts his gaze now, suddenly jittery with nervous energy. "Actually, it's more a question of asking you to do something. Can I ask you to do something? And you not laugh at me? Or think I'm weird? You can say no, of course, I just–"

"Roman. Ask away. The worst I can say is no, and I promise not to give you shit for it if I do."

Despite himself, Roman needs a little more assurance. He holds up his hand. "Pinkie promise?"

"Really dude?"

"Virgil, it is a sacred oath."

"Okay, fine, whatever." Virgil threads their pinkies together. "I promise not to be a jerk if you don't."

"Deal," Roman agrees.

"Now, what is it you want to ask me to do?"

"Will you lay on top of me?"

There's no going back. There's no pretending that he misspoke, even as Virgil tilts his head as if he must have heard him wrong. When Roman doesn't budge, Virgil goes stock-still, eyes slowly blowing up wide.

"Uh....what?"

Roman huffs, more frustrated at himself than anything else. "Would you lay on top of me?"

"No, I heard that. I'm just trying to process."

"Then yes or no. You don't need to say anything else. Just yes or no."

And because it's Virgil, he very much has to say anything else. "What do you even mean though? Why?"

Roman groans and waves towards the couch. "Just– you know, I lay on the couch and then you lay on top of me. It's not that complicated, so don't overcomplicate it."

"I overcomplicate going to get a glass or water, Roman. You can't tell me not to overcomplicate you randomly asking me to lay on you."

"I thought you promised you weren't going to be a jerk?"

"I'm not trying to be!" Virgil swipes at his face, his own aggravation mounting. Roman notices that his cheeks are dusted a light pink. "I just don't understand how this relates to anything or why you want me to..."

Roman shrugs sort of helplessly, smile sardonic. "I just do. There's...no trick that I'm playing at, if that's what you're wondering. I want you to lay on me, that's all. Nothing more, nothing less. So would you? No wrong answer."

Virgil looks away a couple of times. He thrums his fingers over his knees, tap, tap, tapping. "I mean, I guess?"

"You guess?"

"Sure then. I'll do it, even if I think I'm the last person you would want to cuddle or whatever, but you'll explain after that?"

"Cross my heart." Roman mimes the motion over his chest.

Virgil stands up. He doesn't move far, just stands there gripping the hem of his hoodie while looking lost. "So..."

Roman scoots down on the couch to where he lays back with his head supported by the couch arm, his legs stretching out along the cushions. He shoves away the embarrassment, the shame, the voice in his head asking what the hell he is doing. Virgil watches him closely, eyes squinted and trying to figure out how to approach.

"Get in here, Emo," Roman calls, holding out his arms.

Virgil grunts and clambers over him. He takes too long to figure out where to put one knee, and Roman adjusts. He spreads out a leg to make room and guides Virgil down. The sides of Virgil's jacket hang over him like a curtain as Virgil hovers in the air, afraid to rest fully against him.

"I'll be heavy," Virgil warns. "You're not going to be able to breathe."

"That's fine, I don't need to," Roman says, half-joking. He's more fixated on tugging at Virgil's shirt to get him to close that last foot of space.

"I better not hear you complain then," Virgil says and finally, finally, drops down on Roman, letting his full weight settle on him.

It's everything that Roman has missed.

Roman can sense Virgil's body from head to toe. Their legs, hips, stomachs, chest, shoulders, all of it pinging across Roman's nervous system at every point of contact. Virgil's arms are folded on either side of Roman's torso, and he can feel the lean limbs against his sides like a harness. Virgil nudges his head stiffly under Roman's chin, and Roman wraps his arms around Virgil's back and holds him tightly to complete the full body hug.

He's sinking into the cushions. His muscles release weeks' worth of tension, letting go and relaxing. He's delightfully sandwiched under Virgil's weight, warmed in his closeness. The warmth is dizzying, like little bumblebees buzzing serenely and drowning him in honey, so sweet and cloying. Virgil's hoodie is a pillow under his palms, and Roman can see why he wears the garment all the time. Roman would wear Virgil all the time if he could.

"Is this it?" Virgil asks, seemingly unimpressed by the magic surrounding them. "Is this what you wanted?"

Roman squeezes more. Virgil wasn't wrong, he's heavy but in the most incredible, indescribable way. Despite the pressure, it's like Roman can breathe again. It's perfect, exactly what he's been craving.

"Hug me any tighter and I'm gonna bruise," Virgil remarks lightly, and something about the words or the tone is more than Roman can take. He breaks.

A shudder shakes him as tears spill over in wet streaks dripping down, salty droplets catching in his mouth. It's abrupt and overwhelming, and it's all coming back to him. The grief, the embarrassment, the shame, the desperate need. He can't stop it, can't hide it. Virgil is right here, and if he doesn't hear the whimper that escapes him, he surely can't ignore when Roman full-on starts sobbing.

"Princey?" Virgil says and sits up quickly. He pushes himself up off of him, and the soothing, wonderful pressure is wrenched away. The cold air bites at his skin in its place. Roman's cries devolve into hysterics, and he can't catch his breath to save his life. Virgil is gaping at him. He sees him in all his wretched ugliness. "Oh shit, what's wrong? Roman? Hey, hey, shhh, don't do that. Please, look at me, why are you crying? Talk to me Roman, I won't laugh, I promise."

Words are beyond him. Roman clings weakly to Virgil's shirt, tugging at him, begging him not to leave with actions and desperation alone. How can he convey his heart shattering to pieces? Or his skin eating itself alive? Or his bones splitting down to the marrow? A keening cry pierces his eardrums. It's a sorrowful weep from his own lips, a sound he didn't think he could make. A sound he's heard in the background for a long time and thought would go away if he ignored it.

"Hey, I'm not going anywhere," Virgil lets out shakily, miraculously interpreting Roman's crazed antics correctly. He stays over Roman, caging him in sweetly with his body. His fingers come up to brush the tears away using the cuffs of his sleeve. "It's alright, sweetheart. Just breathe with me. You're okay, you're okay. I've got you."

Roman is not okay, and Virgil's wild darting eyes share the same sentiment, but if you say a thing enough times, it'll come true by sheer force of will. And if Roman can keep pulling at Virgil, maybe he will go back to crushing him softly.

"What do you want? Do you want this? We can keep laying here. That's okay, Princey. You're okay. You're doing so good, telling me what you need."

Virgil lowers back on him, chest to chest. Roman would hug him in relief if he wasn't too busy turning his face to the side and trying to cover up. He stifles his gasps against the back of his hand. Virgil, thankfully, doesn't pull away his defense. He presses at his chest clumsy and earnest, rubbing his hands over his collar, massaging comfort into him and encouraging him to focus on the motion, to breathe together.

Roman listens to him and hangs on to every word as he talks him through it. Virgil never stops. He speaks far more tenderly than Roman is used to, and it's more astonishing than Logan's recent developments. If Virgil acted like his prickly self, Roman could manage to pull himself together. But Virgil is being lovely in his sweetness, watching him with dark eyes that are ferocious with compassion. It's a gaze that says he'll tear the world apart to keep him safe. Roman doesn't deserve him.

"I'm sorry," Roman whines. It's not enough to sum up his sorrow, yet it's all he has to give.

Virgil looks impossibly more bewildered. He shakes his head and goes back to wiping the tears from Roman's face, so careful in his handling. "Roman, you have nothing to apologize for."

"I'm sorry."

"No, listen to me," Virgil demands and cups his face, making him look right at him. "Obviously, something is going on in that big head of yours. If something is going on, if this has to do with what's up with you and the others, then that's okay, we can talk about it. I'm here for you, man. But if you're apologizing for crying all over me, then I'm gonna affectionately kick your ass. I'd rather you cry here with me than you do it alone or keep it bottled in. That's not healthy. If your brain is telling you that you're a burden to me or something stupid like that, I'll kick your brain's ass too. It can't be mean to you, that's my job."

Roman startles into laughter. It's a sad wheeze more than anything, but Virgil picks up on that. He gives a hesitant, hopeful smile as he brushes his thumbs over Roman's cheekbones.

"There's my Princey. Just keep laughing. I'm a real funny dude."

More wheezy chuckles. More reasons to adore his friend.

"I'm gonna give Patton a run for his money. I've got jokes for days. Wanna hear about belts made out of watches? It'll be a real waist of time."

Roman giggles and leans into Virgil's hands. He closes his eyes.

"And I'll keep going if you want me to. I can do this all day, Princey."

"I'm telling Patton you gave me emotional pun support," Roman murmurs.

Roman can tell by Virgil's voice that he's grinning. "Do it. I'm not afraid."

He opens his eyes again. Virgil moves one of his hands to tuck under his own chin so he can look at Roman more comfortably. The other hand combs through Roman's bangs, straightening them.

"You called me sweetheart," Roman points out in an awed tone.

Virgil doesn't bristle like he expects. If anything, he hunkers down further in his stubbornness. "Yeah? So what?"

"You don't...usually do pet names."

"What can I say? I'm full of surprises."

"Is it weird if I said I liked it?"

Virgil lightly flicks his forehead. "It's only weird if you make it weird, sweetheart."

Roman sniffles and wipes at his face to rid himself of any lingering wetness. Virgil allows him time to breathe and get his bearings.

"It's the weight," Roman finally admits. "The warmth and the pressure. I mean, why I asked you to lay on me. I had a weighted blanket, but it got ruined. So Patton and Logan have been helping out where they can. It's easier when they're touching."

Virgil doesn't stop petting at his hair, but he does frown while he parses through his words. "What do you feel like without it?"

"Without the touching and my blanket? Umm, exposed I guess? Anxious. Cold."

"When you don't have your blanket or someone touching you, do you think about it a lot?"

"What do you mean?"

Virgil shrugs, and Roman feels the movement and together with the hair petting, it's enough to have his eyelids flutter and threaten to close. "I mean, when you haven't had that in a while, does it consume your thoughts? Like you're longing for it?"

Roman remembers the night he stood outside Patton's door in the hallway.

All the time. He longs for it all the time these days.

"Yeah," Roman whispers.

"Dude, I think you're touch-starved."

That throws Roman for a loop. "But... I touch people enough? It's not like I'm going years without a hug over here."

Virgil boops him on the nose. "It's doesn't take years. Could just take weeks. Depends on the person I guess. Everyone needs things differently. I think you liked your blanket so much because you were using it to substitute touch. And now that you're starting to get touch more often, your body is trying to adjust. It's like going from eating bread crusts to a full course meal."

"But I..." Roman's mind drifts. Virgil's words resonate as he compares them to his memories.

Yearning, heartache, misery, clinginess, pressure, satisfaction, grief. Is this what's been wrong with him?

"I'm touch-starved?" Roman asks.

Virgil gives him a sympathetic smile. He pats at his head. "I think so. It's not so bad. We can help you."

"You will?"

Virgil snorts and adjusts his position so he's laying more comfortably on Roman, like he's bedding down for the long-haul. "I'm not moving from this spot until dinner at the earliest."

Virgil makes good on his promise. Their roommates come home to find them there, napping the afternoon away. When they wake to the smell of cooking meat, they drag themselves up from the couch and shake the blood back into their limbs. The four of them sit at the table that night to eat and talk.

Roman opens up.

And when he eventually has the money to spare, he doesn't buy a new blanket.

He doesn't need one anymore. He has them.

[bugsbenefit]

there's obviously no way of knowing how recent the photos we've been getting are, like if Millie actually filmed that coffee bts video in the last few days/today or if the clapperboard they shared is from the last few days or older. but Millie IS wearing the same outfit El has on during the rooftop scene with Mike we got videos of which is a fun detail

actually curious because it looks like they're doing another layered El fit for the final season again based on the few shots we've actually seen of her. namely these, which all look like variations of the same outfit with different layers missing

an additional jacket for the scene on the roof, the sweater and jacket gone in the bts video (even though she could have just taken it off for off camera temperatures) and with the sweater+ jacket+ shirt removed in in the close up of her wrist (the pants in the close up look lighter to me but the shirt is incredibly similar colour wise so not dead set on that one, might also just be the lighting tho)

either that's all in the same episode-ish, which is possible OR they're having her wear that outfit for longer and lose layers over time, like her final s4 fit that starts out multi layered when she escapes NINA and ends in only her all white base layer when they reach Hawkins

[delusionalbitchinthehouse]

This is inspired by this post, thanks @coffeeghoulie for the idea ! I don't know if my interpretation of the lyrics is like. Exactly what it's meant to mean ? But I basically went "character A thinks they're not good enough for character B". Also I couldn't for the life of me decide if I wanted it to be Mountain about Swiss or Swiss about Mountain, so I decided to write both perspectives ; this is Mountain about Swiss, the other part will come later don't worry :) Also just a head's up, Mountain judges himself pretty harshly in this, but he's obviously biased and it's not at all what I actually think of him. (I love him to bits)

In the late afternoon light, Mountain watches Swiss. Sprawled on the couch, loose and relaxed, his cheek resting against Rain's, eyes half-closed and a content purr rumbling in his chest, the multi ghoul is a sight for sore eyes.

Mountain's chest aches as he takes in that soft smile pulling at Swiss' lips, the easy way he shuffles to make space for Dew as the fire ghoul unceremoniously flops down on the couch. Dew says - something, Mountain isn't sure what, but it makes Swiss laugh, a full-belly laugh, his head tipping back, throat bared and fangs out, the gleeful sound bouncing off the walls like a siren song, drawing Mountain in, stealing the breath from his lungs.

That stabbing pain in between Mountain's ribs is back in full force. There's something so unbearably good about Swiss. Sure, he's a hellspawn who will occasionally crave blood and violence, snarl and hiss and dig sharp claws in until skin splits and flesh tears, but. It's in the way Swiss seems to always know what everyone needs and is always willing to give it freely if he's able to. A smile, a hug, a kiss, some time alone, a warm meal, conversation, praise, pleasure, reassurance, laughter, music. Goodness, oozing out of him.

Swiss gives and gives, and does it with a smile and the knowledge it will help. He'll mask generosity behind a smokescreen of nonchalence and carelessness, hide his genuine worry under layers of cockiness and distract from his big heart with the glint of an even bigger grin - because he knows, too, that comfort is sometimes easier to accept that way.

It's sweet. He's sweet. Too sweet.

Mountain, folded in an armchair on the other side of the room, watches golden light splash on Swiss' features, drip in the smiling lines around his mouth and the joyful creases around his eyes, mesmerized. The pressure in the earth ghoul's chest increases.

Because Swiss is good, Swiss is sweet, and Mountain...Mountain feels inadequate. Too long limbs never knowing how much they should squeeze during a hug, useless tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth whenever he tries to find reassuring things to say. Always missing clues, no matter how much he tries to pay attention. Selfishly hidding away in his room or the greenhouse far too often, even as others might need him.

Where Swiss can cheer him up in a second, validate his feelings and worries with a few words, make him feel seen and understood in a way he never knew he craved, Mountain isn't sure what he has to offer to the multi ghoul. Long silences and slightly awkward embraces, carefully arranged flowers to try and express the knot of feelings blocking words in his throat.

And yet Swiss always comes to him when he's feeling down, for some reason. Mountain isn't sure why. He doesn't fell worthy of such trust, doesn't feel worthy of him. But he will never turn Swiss away, not for all the gold in the world.

Swiss laughs again, pulling Mountain out of his thoughts. Their eyes meet across the room, moss green and liquid gold. Swiss' smile softens around the edges. Mountain's stomach flips.

[half-dead-ham]

Friends of a future

Soooo, instead of making continuations of all of the rest of my fics, I have instead decided to write another plot bunny!

I think this'll be my last bit of writing for now, as I wanna prepare for ship week. I got a few interesting things planned for it, so keep an eye out for some cool fics!

Ao3; [here]

~~~~~

Danny didn’t know where he was.

  Not that that was completely abnormal for him. He’d been tossed through enough portals and rips in space-time that at this point he didn’t question it too much. But this was a little different, if the similar consistency of smog and looming neomodern architecture was anything to go by.

  Not to mention that this shift was completely out of left field, usually he had some idea of how he got to a different time and/or place. Danny did think his being here in what he could only guess to be a future Gotham had something to do with where he was before, at least. So what happened before?

  Well.

  Danny had gotten a call. A call from the Justice League. A call to help deal with one of Lex Luthor’s newest inventions to deal with Superman and his posse of super friends with some sort of annihilation ray. That was pretty normal, as Danny had been on the roster for about a year and a half by now.

  They had beaten Luthor and his goons with only a little bit of a struggle, as alongside Danny, they had also called Shazam and a few other unorthodox heavy hitters to help deal with whatever Lex had up his sleeve. They had taken out Lex early on, and after they did the men Luthor had hired ran for the hills. Hopefully they still got their pay for this job.

  What else… They had just regrouped, and were waiting for the B team to come and safely dismantle the device Luthor had paraded around when it went off… Oh.

  It must’ve hit him.

  Or he moved someone out of the way of the beam? Everything was a little fuzzy at that point.

  What did Luthor say in his villain monologue about what his newest death ray did? Something about transferring particles to a dimension where they couldn’t arrange into anything of substance? Something along those lines. Maybe. Danny wasn’t really listening. But he does remember a stray magic blast hitting the machine, with some worrying sparks coming off it for a bit afterwards, so maybe its function was messed up a little because of that. Also Danny being made of an extradimensional substance that spans the multiverses might have something to do with it…

  The pain in Danny's back flared, reminding him where he was currently. Right. Gray sky, smells of smog, tall glass buildings and flying cars, billboards for unrecognizable products. Focus Fenton, focus.

  Reaching up, Danny grabbed the ledge of the crater he must’ve made as he fell. He sat up, noticing that he was currently on the roof of a building. Ancients, he hoped he didn’t have to pay for that. He peeled himself out of the Danny-shaped hole and stood, taking a better look astound with his better vantage. It seemed to be almost sunrise, if the mornings here were anything like the mornings in his Gotham, the smog that constantly covered the sky turning a lighter shade of gray to his right. So morning, maybe. New dimensions had weird natural laws sometimes, but for now let's go with morning.

  The flying cars were new, nothing like anything Danny’s seen while universe hopping for the League or CW, so another checkmark for this being a reality he hadn’t been to yet.

  Letting his feet leave the ground and turning invisible, Danny floated off the roof and towards the street below. Not many people were out walking at what he could only guess to be god awfully early, so the streets were quiet. The multi layered roads threw him off for a little, but he supposed if you had flying cars you didn’t really need roads. He wondered if this was actually the future, or if this was just some place more technologically advanced. (Did that matter? Was there a difference? Why was Danny so fixated on the fact there were flying cars here when he regularly meets with superheroes in a satellite?)

  “Good morning Neo-Gotham! Beautiful weather we're having, expect  partially cloudy with a seven percent chance of rain!”

  Danny’s head snapped to one of the display TV’s on the other side of the street, the announcer reading off the morning weather report. The TV display gave him good information within a few minutes of listening in after moving nearer to it.

  He was in Gotham, at least, a future version of it.

  It was a Tuesday.

  And he was at least thirty years ahead of his own time.

  Thirty years… Danny shook his head, no time to run down the rabbit hole of where he and his family might be at this point. For all he knew, he might not even exist in this universe.

  He flew straight up to better get his bearings. Even with the different look, Gotham was still familiar to him. Practically a third home away from home with how often he visited the city. A final look across the horizon and Danny started flying. There was one more thing he had learned from that TV.

  There was a Bat in this Gotham too.

     The trip to the Wayne estate was easy, though its look in this dimension was noticeably more gothic than the one he was used to. Even in the morning partial sun the house's figure cast an imposing shadow in the grounds. Still, the place said Wayine on the gate, so he knew there was someone in there he could plead his case to. Maybe he’d even get to see a grown up Damian. Now wouldn’t that be fun, a Damian Wayne all grown up and CEO of Wayne Enterprise. Danny had to snort at the idea.

  He floated himself through the front door, taking a moment to observe the almost familiar surroundings. Everything was… off. It was like someone had someone read a description of the manor's interior, then built a new manor off the description alone. It was large, with cavernous high ceilings in neutral grays, with entrances leading off to a sitting room and study. There were stairs and a hallway leading further into the manor and to the second floor, and Danny knew if he phased down he’d find a bat-shaped secret hiding in the basement.

  The whole place was eerily quiet though, and empty, and if Danny looked close enough he would be able to find dust on the frames hung on the walls. Alfred would never let it get dusty in here, and there would always be at least one person up by now. Maybe they’d all moved out? They weren’t really the ones he was here to see anyways.

  Now… would a certain Bat be up and about in the cave by now?

  Knowing Bruce, probably.

  Danny let his feet drift to the floor, then through the carpet. He sank through the ground, until he hit the pocket of caves hidden underneath the estate, illuminated only by the monitor and display case lights of Batman’s souvenirs.

  “Damn, even the cave got the uncanny valley treatment…” Danny grumbled to himself.

  He must’ve come at a bad time, as just before he regained tangibility a batarang flew through him, rebounding on one of the stalactites behind him.

  “Woah!” He exclaimed as he watched the throwing weapon clatter to the concrete floor. Danny whipped his head around to where the batarang had come from, only to see-

  “Holy shit, you’re so old!”

  A glower was all Danny received for his comment from the man sitting back down in his chair. The man -who Danny really hoped was Bruce, or his comment would be really insensitive- was built, wide in the shoulders and bulky, like he worked out regularly. Despite this he was hunched, shoulders slightly dropped as he held a cane in one hand. His gray hair and wrinkles made sense for his age, but Danny jokingly wondered just how early he had started getting that colour.

  “Phantom,” Danny perked up at that. Bruce knew who he was, that was a good sign.

  “I thought you said you wouldn’t come back to the mortal realm after you died,” Bruce added as he turned back to face the batcomputer.

  That was… Damn.

  … At least he knew there was another version of himself in this universe? Positive thoughts, Fenton, think positive thoughts.

  “Yeah, uh, ‘bout that, Bruce…” The older man kept his chair at a half turn, keeping one eye on Danny from his periphery as the ghost descended to the floor.

  Danny scratched at the back of his neck as he walked forward, stopping just far away enough that he wouldn’t make the bat overly paranoid. He didn’t know where to look as he explained this next bit, so he let his gaze wander over the memorabilia as he spoke.

  “So I’m not the Phantom you know?” He started, getting a single raised eyebrow in response. “Like, I’m probably at least somewhat similar since you recognized me, but… Y’know… League stuff came up, and I got hit with something…”

  “You’re saying that you are a Phantom from a different universe to this one, that was most likely hit with something that transported you here, to this dimension?” Bruce filled in. Danny smiled at that, letting his gaze rest on Bruce again.

  There was one thing you could always count on a bat for; their sharp minds and ability to read inbetween the lines.

  The half-ghost snapped his fingers and pointed at the seated bat, “Exactly!”

  Bruce just narrowed his stare as he inspected the being before him, taking a more in-depth look with their decreased distance. One long inspection later and the bat finally asks, “Why do you think I can help you?”

  Slightly confused, Danny deflated. “Uhhh, ‘cause you’re Batman? Even if you can’t help, there's still the League we can contact. One of the magic users has to have a spell that could send me back, right?”

  Bruce swings his chair back to face the batcomputer, hiding his expression away from Danny's view.

  “The League disbanded years ago, Phantom. I’m retired.”

  “What‽” Danny exclaims. “How are you retired‽ Everyone thought you’d be the caped crusader till you keeled over, and even then you’d fight out of your grave if you had to!”

  A huff was heard from behind the back of the chair. “I had a minor heart attack,” Bruce lied. Danny could smell the lie too, which meant that even for Batman it wasn’t good.

  Danny sighed. As much as he knew that was a lie, he also knew that right now Bruce was the only one that could possibly help him at that moment. He didn’t know what had happened to the other members of the League, and if what the man in front of him said was true (and that is a very real possibility) he wouldn’t even have a good way to contact them if he tried. Danny could let a blatant lie slide if it meant getting help.

  “Okay, so I got no Batman, no League, and no sure way to get home. My only options are to try a random portal in this dimensions’ Zone or wait to see if someone will come to my rescue.” Even as he mumbled them Danny knew neither option sounded good. Going into this dimension's version of the Ghost Zone would run the risk of not only him getting lost but also him finding himself from this universe. Danny didn’t know what this dimension’s version of him was like, but he could think of a few reasons for why he would swear off the mortal realm, none of which he particularly liked. As for getting lost…

  But the ‘stay where you are till help arrives’ method might not work in his favor either, if it was just that one blast that hit him that was changed by the magic, and not the whole weapon. Using the thing again would run the risk of someone ending up in a dimension they couldn’t be in, a thought that did very unhappy things for his core. That leaguer would effectively die trying to save Danny, and it would eat him up inside if that ever happened. Even if they did manage to get someone to this dimension using the weapon, that still left them with no way out. The person that came here to get him would be stuck here, same as Danny, unless they come with a fix-it to bring them home too.

  Who knows how long that would be in the first place. Days? Weeks?

  “Phantom,” an unusually soft tone broke Danny from his thousand yard stare. The ghost refocused to see Bruce giving him an uncharacteristically soft look. He tried to give a smile to the old bat, but he was sure Bruce wasn't fooled by it.

  “What’s up, B?” Danny asked with forced levity, to which the softness only grew.

  “You don’t have to figure this out on your own, you know. I may not be Batman anymore, but that doesn’t mean I’m above helping someone in trouble.”

  “Even for someone you don’t actually know?” Danny hated how wet his voice had suddenly become.

  “If you’re anything like the Phantom of my universe,” Bruce gave a small grin. “Then I’d really just be returning the favour.”

  There were things behind that smile, stories and memories shared with someone who shared Danny’s face. If it were anyone but Bruce offering aid like this Danny would almost say it was out of pity. But Batman didn’t pity people, not like this.

  Danny chuckled wetly, clearing his throat before he spoke next. “Heh, you must be getting soft in your old age, B. I gotta remember to tease my Bruce about it when I get back.”

  Bruce rolled his eyes at the joke as he hefted himself out of his chair. “Come on, Phantom,” he called behind him as he shuffled to the stairs. “We need to get your cover story set up.”

  Danny just grinned away the damp in his eyes as he followed behind the older man, changing forms as he walked up the stairs.

~~~~~

     Terry had just come through the door to Wayne manor when he heard a voice. It was unusual, as regularly he met Mr. Wayne in the cave or outside when he had to chauffeur him to Wayne Powers Enterprise. The voice sounded young, maybe just a bit deeper than his. Terry followed it through the halls, keeping quiet in case it was just some robber trying to make a quick buck of a billionaire's stuff.

  “So you really think you can get paperwork for me while I stay here? Wouldn’t it be harder to forge an identity in the future than easier?”

  “You’d be surprised, technology has only gotten easier to hack into as advancements continued, and Wayne-Powers is usually at the forefront of that development nowadays.” That was… Mr. Wayne? And he sounded almost… Happy? Terry turned the corner to the kitchen, very confused at the tone his employer was using for the unfamiliar voice.

  Two heads turn to him from a small table by the window, two mugs of coffee steaming in front of them. Mr. Wayne was probably the most relaxed Terry had seen him outside of his public persona, just ‘cause he was sitting next to this, this, this guy.

  The dude was tall, and skinny. But like, the kind of skinny you get when you run or swim a lot? The kind of skinny that gave a guy lean muscles, even if said dude was trying to hide those muscles under a baggy sweater and loose jeans. Honestly he looked like he came out of one of his mom’s old yearbooks, with the old clothes and haircut, would fit right in with kids from when she was young, it was weird. The guy looked him over, eyebrows raised in mild surprise before turning to Mr. Wayne, eyes still trained on Terry.

  “So this is your new assistant? He looks… different to how I would imagine.” Terry bristled at the comment, and this guy just smirked at him in response! The nerve of this guy!

  “Terry,” Mr. Wayne redirects his gaze warning laced in his tone. “This is Danny Fenton, he’ll be staying with me for the foreseeable future and starting as my bodyguard.”

  Bodyguard? Bodyguard‽ Mr. Wayne doesn’t need a bodyguard! He was Batman! The guy could still throw Terry on his ass on a good day! Why would he hire this skinny dreg to be his bodyguard?

  “Is this telling me you’re replacing me, Mr. Wayne? Cause I’m sure I can take this dreg any day of the week, just give me a chance!” Terry begged as the two sat at the table just looked at him. After a few beats Danny burst out laughing; fully clutching his gut, tears in his eyes, gasping laughing.

  It was a little insulting.

  “Ancients! Oh Ancients, it's just like what I heard about when Tim and Jason met! Holy crap!” Danny managed to squeeze out between gasps as Mr. Wayne pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. This didn’t relieve Terry, but it did make him so much more confused.

  “Terry,” Mr. Wayne huffed as Danny’s laughter started to die out. “Danny isn’t replacing you, he has his own hero persona. He’s simply going to be staying with me until he’s able to return from where he came from,” He explains.

  Well that was a relief, Terry dropped his shoulders as he relaxed slightly, still staring at the guy sitting with Mr. Wayne. Now Terry just had questions, like what did Mr. Wayne mean by ‘returning Danny to where he came from’? And who was Jason? 

  Mr. Wayne stood, moving to put his coffee mug in the sink for washing later while Danny took a sip of what was left in his. Silence fell on the kitchen then, Terry stewing in his questions, Mr. Wayne shuffled off to his study, leaving Terry and Danny in the kitchen alone.

  “So,” Terry drawls awkwardly as he moves to take up the spot on the table vacated by his employer. “You’re a hero?”

  Danny snorts into his mug, “Yeah, I am.”

  “Anyone I know?” Terry asks curiously. He’d met a few heroes since he started working for Mr. Wayne, but someone matching Danny's ice blue eyes and messy black hair didn’t fit anyone he knew.

  “Not likely,” Danny replied with a huff. “Apparently in this dimension I’m a dead recluse, so even if you had seen me, you wouldn’t’ve recognized me.”

  … What?

  “The hell you mean ‘I’m a dead recluse’? You’re either one or the other, no way you can be both.” A ‘dead recluse’ made zero sense, maybe he died a recluse? Or he’s so reclusive that everyone thought he was dead?

  Dany chuckled at the face Terry was making, laughing at his confusion. “Oh no, I’m definitely both,” he remarked. “Or, well, just one right now, I haven’t gone recluse yet and I hope I don’t for a while.” He added, glancing away with a thoughtful expression. Terry just scrunched his face up.

  “No offence, dude, but you don’t look dead?” Could he take offence to that? Terry didn’t know how someone could look so alive while dead (or is he just messing with him by saying he’s dead?) but Mr. Wayne had mentioned in passing a few of his old colleagues that have come back from the dead, so maybe it wasn’t that rare?

  “Also that doesn’t really answer my question,” he adds. “You’re a hero, and I’ve met a few heroes, so do I know you? Or of you maybe?”

  Danny tilted his head in thought, twisting his lips as he considered. Terry waited on baited breath as the teen across from him thought.

  “I don’t know?” He finally landed on. “Not really sure what you’re learning in school here, so I wouldn’t be able to tell you.” Danny took another sip of his coffee with a shrug.

  Well that was unhelpful.

  Terry was starting to get a weird feeling crawling up his spine, like someone pressing ice onto his back. Was he imagining things, or was Danny breathing slow? And not just like really deeply or holding his breath, no, like really slow. He just watched Danny for a minute, trying to count the seconds between the other teens' chest movements.

  Yeah, way too slow.

  Trying to forget that he noticed anything, he looked up, only to notice his hair. It was swaying slightly. The window behind them was closed, and there wasn’t a draft in the kitchen. Terry looked away entirely then, thinking he may have stayed up too late after patrol last night if he was starting to see things.

  “Okaaayyy,” Terry drawled, deciding that just looking at the guy was gonna make him question his sanity. “Who’s Jason then?” He asks instead to get the conversation going again.

  Danny froze, mug halfway to his lips. He turned to eye Terry with an odd expression, as though it should be obvious who Jason is.

  “Jason? Y’know, Jason Todd?” Danny tries, only to receive a blank look from the other teen. “Jason Todd? The second Robin Jason Todd? The Red Hood Jason Todd? Crime lord and anti-hero extraordinaire?” Danny tried to keep up the lines, but nothing sparks recognition in Terry. Was there ever a crime lord in old Gotham named Red Hood?

  “The second Robin was Tim Drake?” Terry corrects confusedly, receiving a shocked expression from the other end of the table.

  “No? Tim was the third?” Now both of them were lost. They stared at each other, confused and concerned. Terry knew there was no third Robin, unless you counted commissioner Gordon as Batgirl, but it didn’t make a lot of sense if you counted her. Danny’s face twisted so much it looked like it hurt (and hurt to look at) until something passed and the look cleared, leaving comprehension, like a light blinked on over his head.

  Terry followed as Danny stood up, heading straight for the hallway and leaving his mug on the counter, leaving Terry to clean it up. Putting the cup in the sink beside the other one, Terry hurried to catch up to the other teen, jogging as he saw Danny duck into Mr. Waynes’ study. He made it just in time to catch Danny walking through the grandfather clock.

     Danny speed-walked into Bruce’s office, eyes set on the grandfather clock against the wall.

  “Gonna go into the cave for a sec’ B, somethin’ I wanna double check.” He didn’t wait for an answer before he phased through the clock and descended the stone stairs into the basement. Jumping the last three stairs, Danny turned to face the costume display.

  The five costume displays.

  The old Batman suit, the Nightwing suit, the first Batgirl suit, and Tim’s Robin suit. The last case is empty, but that hardly matters.

  “Where are the rest?” Danny mumbles to himself forlornly, searching for where the other suits might be stored. There’s nothing. No Orphan suit, No trace of Damian’s weapons, none of Jason’s extra helmets. Just the four suits in five cases.

  “What do you mean, ‘where’s the rest?’” The new kid, -the one that looks like Damian but wrong- Terry panted as he half-ran down the stairs.

  “I mean, where are the other suits? Where’s Orphan? Signal? Spoiler? Red Robin? Even if they moved out Bruce would still have a duplicate of their suit!” Danny’s voice was rising to something slightly hysterical, but there was just no way Bruce didn’t adopt the others here. It was Bruce's thing! He had an adoption problem, everyone knew that! His kids made fun of him for that!

  “Those other heroes? I haven’t met them if they are, and I don’t know why you would think Mr. Wayne would keep their suits on display.”

  Danny felt heavy at those words. Heavier than even before he died. His knees gave out under the weight and Danny sank to the floor, thoughts going a hundred miles an hour under a sheet of ice.

  Terry didn’t know Red Robin even though he knew Tim? Did Bruce just never meet Jason as a kid? Damian’s mom just never dropped him off at the manor? Was he even born? Was Cass being used as a weapon for the League of Assassins here like she was going to be in his universe? Where was Steph? Were Duke's parents still in the hospital? Batwoman? BlueJay?

  Did they just not exist here?

  Danny’s ears were ringing too loud with his questions. He didn't notice Terry (Blue eyes, angular jaw and cheekbones like Damian but the eyeswerewrong) kneeling down in front of him, confused and worried, until he was flinching back from a hand on his shoulder. Groaning, Danny leaned back on one arm, grinding the other hand's palm into his eye to ground himself.

  Now was not the time, Fenton. You do not freak out about universal differences on the floor of the batcave with some random Bruce adoptee in front of you. Get it together.

  Taking a large breath in through his nose, Danny took a moment to clear those panicked thoughts, pushing them in a far off corner of his mind to be addressed later, preferably alone (probably while he was trying to sleep) and shutting a mental lid on them with an exhale through the mouth.

  Okay. Okay okay okay okay. He can do this. Just, breathe.

  Danny opened his eyes, not remembering when he closed them, to see Terry still crouched in front of him looking like he was trying not to look concerned. He was failing.

  “Terry,” Danny murmured, “I’m going to say some names, and I want you to tell me, yes or no, if you know them.”

  “But wh-”

  “Just, please.” he stressed, “I just really need to know if you know these names.”

  Terry’s face contorted, but he gave a nod. Giving himself a moment, Danny collected himself enough for whatever potential outcome he could receive with this. He can do this, it’ll be okay.

  “Dick Grayson-” “Yes,”

“Stephanie Brown-” “No,”

“Barbara Gordon-” “Yes,”

“Cassandra Cain-” “No,”

“Duke Thomas-” “No,”

“Selina Kyle-” “Yes,”

“Kathrine Kane-” “No,”

  Okay. That's four to three against him. Danny didn't know how to feel about that exactly, but it wasn't great. He had one more name on the tip of his tongue, but with how things were going he didn’t know if he should say it. If Damian did exist in this universe, then he had the potential to put everyone around him in danger just by saying his name, something he wouldn’t stand for. If he didn’t… Terry was loyal to Bruce, and Danny didn’t want to get the old man’s blood pressure up with any of the names attached to the youngest Robin. Damian was the last one to check, but could he deal with almost every one of the bats he was close with not existing here?

  “Damian,” he pushed out after a long moment, unable to decide on the ‘Wayne’ or ‘Al Ghul’ surname.

  “What, no last name?” Terry asked sarcastically, to which Danny gave an eye roll and a shake of his head.

  Terry sighed, standing up to let his strained legs stretch. “Then that's a definite ‘no’. Was that the last one, or are we playing more guess who?”

  Danny huffed, putting his own feet under him to stand as well. He began to walk back to the stairs, not really sure what he should be thinking right about now, so he deflected instead. “They still make that old game?”

  There was a set of eyes boring into the back of his head, Danny could feel them, but he ignored them as he started trudging up. A grumble from behind him, followed by soft steps and Terry was on his right, looking every inch the irritated teen he probably usually portrayed to others. There was still that undercurrent of concern, but it was mostly covered by the glare he was shooting Danny’s way. Danny didn’t mind, this new kid had yet to master the bat-glare, so he was basically trying to melt a glacier with a hairdryer.

~~~~~

     Mr. Wayne was still in the study when the two came up. Terry was trying to glare a hole into the side of Danny’s face, with little results.

  “Ah, Danny, Terry, I just got a call from Wayne-Powers, there's going to be an urgent meeting there in about half an hour, so I need you both to get ready.”

  They watched as Danny gave an absent nod as he walked out the door and down the hall, silent as a mouse and deep in thought.

  Terry turned to Mr. Wayne, who let out a huff at the other teen. Teenagers.

  “So,” he drawled, “you gonna tell me what his deal is? ‘Cause that guy is seriously cryptic.”

  “Not surprising,” Mr. Wayne replied with a small shake of his head. “Do you know why he needed to go down there all of a sudden?”

  “Not really,” Terry turned his head back to the doorway, trying to listen for the other teen moving through the house. He couldn’t, and that unnerved him. “He just looked at the suit displays, had a bit of a meltdown, then asked me if I knew a bunch of names.”

  “And did you?” Mr. Wayne asked in the way he did when he started getting into detective mode.

  “Some I did, some I didn’t. I already made a file on the computer you can take a look at later.”

  A hum made its way from the space behind Terry, then the creak of the old chair sounded as Mr. Wayne heaved his way out of it. He shuffled his way over to Terry, placing a hand on his assistant's shoulder.

  “Be careful Terry, he may be friendly, but he isn’t from this dimension. There's no telling what he could be keeping from us. Make sure to take note of everything, no matter how small it may seem.”

  Terry nodded, taking a second to process what his mentor had told him as he watched the retired vigilante shuffle out the door. His brain finally caught up with what was said as Mr. Wayne rounded the corner.

  “Wait, another dimension? Mr. Wayne wait!-”

[breadknight-likes-things]

My Unease Over The War Within Was Wrong

I'm always excited for new World of Warcraft expansions. It doesn't really matter what the pitch of them are, I'll always be excited to play more of my favorite game. That said, I was wary about The War Within. My worries were fairly simple, caves and underground areas in video games tend to be some of my least favorite parts, so an expansion pack based entirely on that, to varying depths, literally, seemed like it could go wrong in a few ways. Thankfully, it was me who was wrong in this assumption. In my head, I viewed a worst case scenario of basically every zone in The War Within being something akin to Dragonflight's Zaralek Cavern. I liked Zaralek, but I was worried that I would be asked to explore Zaralek four more times in one expansion. Caves can look varied, but I assumed that I'd grow tired of being underground all the time. This was unfounded, because The War Within takes the concept of a cave in three wildly different directions that deftly averts the issues I thought I would have with this concept. The only zone in War Within that seems to give off "traditional cave" vibes is The Ringing Deeps, but that zone averts most issues I could find with that by emphasizing the greenery in this underground setting. Its low ceiling does make me feel claustrophobic, but I feel that's the point of that area, it is supposed to be a large mine, after all. Hallowfall and Azj-Kahet fare even better with their approaches to underground zones, both in different directions. Azj-Kahet feels just about as underground as you can imagine. It's a wide, multi layered zone, with a lot to explore and a lot to see, but it feels like this is a place that hasn't seen the light of the sun since it's beginning. It's grimy, dark, and it feels haunted. It's a horror centric design, which WoW isn't a stranger to, but it's one of the best realizations of a zone that's meant to feel scary in the long history of this game. Meanwhile, Hallowfall is the exact opposite. I could go on at length about Hallowfall. Even though the story of the zone makes the dangers clear, and the heavy foreshadowing of what exactly that Crystal is doesn't paint a great picture of the future, Hallowfall feels safe. The glow from the giant Crystal is as bright as the sun, and it doesn't go out. It can be the actual middle of the night, and the zone feels like it's a comforting afternoon. The use of clouds along the roof of the cave helps to the sell the idea of an underground sky, and at all times you really do feel like you're outside, not miles under the ground. The areas in War Within are far more varied than my apprehensions going into this expansion led me to feel, and I'm excited for these new areas to grow on me. I won't lie, I greatly miss the Dragon Isles already, that place felt like a new world, but I long accepted that I wouldn't be seeing a repeat of that level of wonder right away with this expansion. As of right now, I'm just happy to see where the new vibes take me. I'm always excited for new World of Warcraft.

[unnursvanablog]

And now it has arrived!

One of my most anticipated sageuks of the year, Queen Woo - but it has been on my tbw list for AGES because all I really needed to know is that is was a historical drama with Ji Chang Wook in it and I am not about to pass the opportunity to witness that again. I adored him in Warrior Baek Dong Soo (the lighter and more campy version of My Country also starring my all time fav Yoo Seung Ho) and in Empress Ki (which was the first looooong historical kdrama that I stuck around with and watch from beginning to end).

Also, it's not a sageuk set during the Joseon times… which is honestly just such a breath of fresh air. We get so many of them. I adore a lot of them, but Korean history also has so many other stories to draw inspo from.

That was sort of all I sort of knew about it before I went into it. I knew it was about Queen Woo and how she married one of her husbands brothers and was fighting to keep the throne after her husband died. I didn't know it was rated 19 for violence and… nudity, but that isn't really something that bothers me all that greatly if it just works with the story. I doubt this show is going to go all Game of Thrones on us and just show that sort of stuff in there just because.

If anything those scenes that we got actually just sort of amused or make me go… sure, ok.

And since I knew Ji Chang Wook would die (very sad, I wanted to watch him in all his sageuk glory for 8 episodes) so I spent the entire first episode just expecting him to drop dead and just exit the story every moment that he appeared on screen. But we are seeing quite a bit of him, and he seems to have a much bigger role within the story than I thought he would, which I am glad about. I was expecting a very kickass guest role or a cameo or something.

This show so far, I am on ep 2 because I am in my heart and soul not a binge watcher and I prefer to watch my kdramas on a slow but steady pace, and it is sort of the standard sageuk fare… with some added sex which we see way more in like historical movies but not in dramas. But with 8 episodes this will probably just feel like one long, epic movie anyway. It seems to have that sort of feel to it.

There is some scheming old men who want a better position or they want a better way to rule the country without really being on the throne and having to deal with stuff that comes with being a king. They want to rule from the shadows so to speak. There are ladies who want to be queen and scheme and plot to try to get to that position and so forth. it got flashbacks to the times they were kids and it got a man with a heart of gold (probably, or that is how it starts out) who is also a bit of a scoundrall running through the streets, jumping on roofs etc. It's a sageuks, you are having a fun time, you are pretending that you are learning some history and it's bloody and gory, it has Ji Chang Wook looking moody and sometimes covered in blood… what's not to enjoy.

It's all very standard for the genre, but I was very much entertained through it all... or the first two episodes. I just really enjoy this sort of more serious toned historical dramas. The politics can be dry, sure, but if one does it well and have enough of multi-layered and complex characters where we understand everyone's motives and such it actually is a very fun time.

I do think the drama is still very much setting the scenes in episodes 2 and we are still getting to know the main players. And I am still very much learning their names. There are some interesting characters there, like the priestess lady and the lady, the queens sister no less, one who accidentally killed the king because she wanted to fuck him, as well as Queen Woo and the former kings closest advicer, but they aren't the most complex characters yet, but with time they could be.

The queen, who is our main character and the main player in all of this, is somewhat of a girlboss female character and idk if she was adapted that way, of being this girl who wants to be a general but can't because she is a girl, for modern audience or if she was actually like that. But I do find her to be a character who is more than that and she is someone who is easy to root for. And I am excited for her politics and her plots and more of her backstory.

[diabolus1exmachina]

Gordan Murray Automotive T.33 Spider

The coupe and spider were side by side all the way back to Gordon Murray’s first profile sketches, with the boss wanting “to make sure that the proportions would work”.

It should come as no surprise then that the Spider very much resembles the coupe, with the prominent fixed loop proving essential in terms of style, aerodynamics and indeed safety. While incorporating the rollover structure, the singular structure is also better for airflow as opposed to two loops and obviously, is a surface atop which the engine-mounted inlet scoop can float. What doesn't carry over is the glass canopy over the inlet scoop, with a drop after the loop which now creates buttresses, fairing in a vented panel. Coming off the scoop is a small fin, in which the third brake light and rear-view camera sit. Floating between the roll structure and the windscreen will be two removable roof panels which can be stored in the front trunk. In other words, the T.33’s roof and roof storage effectively mimic that of the Porsche Carrera GT.

Unlike the Carrera GT, having the roof off doesn’t mean you have no storage space in the T.33 Spider. Like the coupe, the Spider will feature unique space underneath its haunches, which hinge outwards to open to reveal 90 litres of space each.

Reflecting the more casual implication of top-down motoring, the four ‘Design Range spec themes brought by GMA for the T.33 Spider are a bit of fun. These will be influenced respectively by GMA core values of Return to Beauty and Engineering art. Differentiating the Spider from the coupe, apart from the obvious removable roof, are the new classy multi-spoke wheels. Might we say they go delightfully with the Azuro California-esque paint on this prototype.

The car’s aerodynamics – specifically its downforce generation – are mostly handled underneath the car, with Murray fully leveraging his ground effect chops. That means the T.33’s Passive Boundary Layer Control (PBLC) system carries over, with variable active ducts underneath the car that control how the air attaches to the car’s floor, working in tandem with a simple active spoiler atop its rump.

Areas where convertibles are often stunted over their hardtop counterparts are in weight and stiffness. In-tandem development of the coupe and Spider means the stiffness targets of both have been in the works from very early on. As for weight? The Spider is targeted to be just 18kg heavier than the coupe. Those targets are the same for ride, stiffness, steering and transient handling too, with the suspension effectively carryover bar minor calibration changes.

The most important bit that carries over? The 617PS (453kW) 4.0-litre GMA V12, developed by Cosworth and good for a 11,100rpm redline. Yes, it’s fed by that central air box that’s bolted directly to it, that’s now there to be heard just a few inches above and to the rear of the occupant’s heads. Imagine how visceral the induction roar could be. Unlike the T.33 coupe, the Spider will only be available with the manual transmission, as opposed to having the option of a six-speed paddle-shift gearbox, although there's a rub with that too, given the paddle-shift has been dropped for the Coupe as well, due to low demand.

[krispyweiss]

Robert Plant and Alison Krauss at Rose Music Center at the Heights, Huber Heights, Ohio, May 3, 2023

Emerging from opposite sides of the stage without introduction, Robert Plant and Alison Krauss clasped hands when they met in the middle and launched into “Rich Woman.”

It was the first of 17 selections from 2007’s Raising Sand and 2021’s Raise the Roof - plus a few smartly reimagined Led Zeppelin numbers - the pair played May 3 in opening the summer concert season at Rose Music Center at the Heights in Huber Heights, Ohio. But the first night of proverbial summer was “really fucking cold,” as Plant, in layers with hand warmers in his pockets, put it while Krauss stood beside him with her hands pulled into the sleeves of her heavy winter coat.

“Welcome to Norway,” the maracas-playing Plant said to the sold-out house that remained standing throughout the 90-minute, low-ember-glow of a performance.

Stoking the warm aural flame were drummer Jay Bellerose, who employed mallets, sticks, shakers and tambourine on his kit; double bassist Dennis Crouch; multi-instrumentalists Viktor Krauss (Alison’s brother) on guitar and piano and Stuart Duncan on guitar, mandolin and violin; and guitarist JD McPherson. The latter pulled double duty, opening the gig with a self-described “quick, efficient, (3)0-minute rock ‘n’ roll set” that mixed originals and such covers as Iggy Pop’s “Lust for Life” into a blend of 1950s rockabilly with sax and 1970s, guitar-based rock.

Plant and Krauss went back further, setting songs like “Fortune Teller,” “Please Read the Letter” and “Gone Gone Gone” in hazy, swirling arrangements that evoked misty sounds of bygone eras that wafted through vintage amps. The stage, with lighting and beige and white curtains to give the outdoor shed the ambiance of an indoor theater, bolstered the aural illusion.

Long reluctant to revisit his past, Plant transformed “Rock and Roll” into a country rocker built upon Duncan’s violin. He and Krauss would play twin lines on a dark, moody version of “When the Levee Breaks.” Its bright, sonic anthesis, the slowed-by-half “The Battle of Evermore,” sparkled on Duncan’s mandolin as Krauss subbed in for Sandy Denny on vocals.

Singing gently and passionately, Plant and Krauss wavered out of perfect key only occasionally, the former likely owing to his 74 years and the latter - who ceded all banter to her partner - fighting against the cold air and adjusting her earpiece.

Slightly less than flawless is nevertheless a Herculean achievement - particularly given the unseasonable temperatures and the newness of this leg of the Raising the Roof tour.

Grade card: Robert Plant and Alison Krauss at Rose Music Center at the Heights - 5/3/23 - A

5/4/23

[circus-complex]

Proud Immortal Demon Way | Chapter 1/?

Prev | Next | Chapter List

Rating: M (May change)

Warnings : Graphic Depictions of Violence (May change)

Catagory: Multi

Tags: Original Luò Bīnghé, Luo Binghe's Adoptive Mother, Other Character Tags to Be Added, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

Luo Binghe, an orphan, has been abandoned time and time again throughout his life. Everyone seems to hate him, but he drags on through life. One day, he joins the number one cultivation sect in the world, Cang Qiong Mountain. Even there, his teacher and peers relentlessly bully him. Will Luo Binghe enact revenge, or will he be doomed to sit below others forever?

Also on AO3

Full Chapter Under Cut

On the coldest day that year, a small infant was swaddled with white cloth, tucked into a wicker basket, and lowered into the Luo river. The river was almost frozen, thin layers of ice dotting the surface. The basket drifted down the river, the newborn not even a day old. Luckily, a few old fishermen found the kid. They swiftly plucked him out of the water, afraid he would die. 

Since the baby had been found on the frozen river Luo, they named him Luo Binghe. The three men took care of him for a few years, filling in the role of parents. They sacrificed their own well being to raise him. Sadly, because they always worried about Luo Binghe’s health, they neglected their own. They passed away slowly, one after the other. This child, barely four years old, was forced to fend for himself on the streets. He could barely speak, only able to put simple sentences together, yet he had to sweet talk vendors into giving him food.

He spent two years learning how to steal and run, fight and defend. Both humans and dogs were out to get him. It was a miracle he wasn’t killed. He rarely slept nicely, having to keep one eye open at all times. He slept anywhere he could, as long as nothing would get to him. When things did get to him, he ran. He spent most of his early years running. But one day, he found a place to stop.

Luo Binghe awoke to something – someone – walking near him. He jolted upright, ready to fight. There was no way to run, they were blocking the exit out of the alley. He chose to sleep near the trash of a rich household so no one would see him  – clearly he was wrong. 

“Shh! No need to worry!” A soft voice drifted towards his ears. He lowered his hands, letting them fall to his sides. The speaker wasn’t another kid, but their voice wasn’t rough. “They’ll get mad if they catch you. Come with me.” 

Luo Binghe cautiously followed this strange figure. They didn’t harm him on sight, so there might be some hope. Sadly, he was used to others wanting to kill him. He was the smallest of the kids, so they decided having him around would only drain resources. He had been beaten every day for simply being in their line of sight. The adults always turned a blind eye, why would they bother paying attention to the little brats fighting over food? As long as they didn’t get in the way, it wasn’t an issue. 

Luo Binghe paused. “Jiejie, where are we?” They stood in front of a sad looking house. Scratch that, a shack. Its roof was caving in, and one of the windows was missing a panel. She smiled, and continued to walk towards her house.

“Sit, sit” She beckoned for Luo Binghe to sit on one of the small cushions. She then started heating water on the stove. “I’ve seen you around frequently. Do you not have a home to go to?”

Luo Binghe shook his head. “No”

“Where are your parents?”

“Dead”

“Any relatives?”

“No”

“When was the last time you ate?”

“Three days ago” 

“Have you had any water today?”

“Mn”

“Where did you get it from?” “I stole it from Wu Ming”

The woman sighed, but not at Luo Binghe. She sighed at the world. “Would you like some tea?” “Yes please” When the cup was placed in his hands, Luo Binghe looked at the woman as though she was a god. A gift from heaven. His guardian angel. “Thank you…”

“Wang Xiyan”

“Thank you Wang-jiejie'' He sipped from the cup slowly, and a slightly bitter liquid filled his mouth. It wasn’t something everyone would like, but Luo Binghe quite liked it. He also made a note to repay her later. He was determined to repay every person who showed him kindness, no matter how small the gesture. He was sure that they all deserved everything, since there weren’t many kind ones out there. 

Once he finished his tea, Luo Binghe stood up. He bowed, and turned to leave. 

“Where are you going?” 

Luo Binghe spun around, surprised at being addressed. “I was going to leave.”

“Oh! There's no need for that. You may stay if you would like.”

Luo Binghe stared at her. She smiled nervously, afraid that her sudden offer had scared him. “Uh, I can’t provide much for you, I’m a low level servant. However, I could give you a more stable source of food and water, as well as this small home to live in.”

Luo Binghe was shocked. He couldn’t remember a single time someone had cared for him. He slowly nodded, quietly saying, “Thank you…” over and over. He didn’t notice, but small tears had begun to leak from the corner of his eyes. Wang Xiyan walked over, using a small bit of cloth to wipe the moisture from his face. 

Luo Binghe had found a place to stay. Someone to care for him. A place where he could be a kid, not having to worry about surviving. He could sleep with both eyes closed. He wouldn’t need to attack anyone that came close to him. He could relax. He was safe. He was safe. He was safe…

[caerbannogs]

14 associations: Valoren Stormcrow

tagged by @why-raven ! passing this on to anyone who sees this and wants to join :D

ANIMAL: gaelicat. A curious, charming creature with a feline body and the wings of a bat. It possesses a keen, mischievous intelligence. Gaelicats are an important part of Vanu Vanu culture, with the Gundu using them in fortune telling rituals, releasing them into the Sea of Clouds to receive omens of the future. Their ancient predecessors, the ailouroi, were familiars created to keep watch and bring inspiration as muses.

COLOR: robin-egg blue. Often associated with lightning, water, and the sky, this vibrant shade of cyan is the color of Valoren’s soul.

SONG: Fake Out by Fall Out Boy. The perfect upbeat anthem for a man whose life has been one long, heartbreaking fake-out.

NUMBER: zero. The Fool in tarot is numbered as zero. Valoren also thinks of himself as a non-entity, with no true identity. His sister’s derogatory nickname for him growing up was Valoren Nothing, and it really stuck.

TIME OF DAY: very late night. In the darkest hour that comes before dawn, Valoren has always thrived. He’s practically nocturnal. Not only because that’s when his jobs as a tavern bard take place, but because he finds pace in being awake when almost nobody else is.

FLORA: nightshade. A beautiful purple flower whose scientific name is derived from the Greek mythological figure Atropos, the deadliest of the three Fates. Of course, the plant is infamously poisonous.

SMELL: lavender. Valoren has a custom perfume blend made of lavender, vanilla, and cardamom. He uses the same scent profile in his soaps. You can tell a letter is from Valoren not only because of his signature blue ink, but because it smells like lavender.

GEMSTONE: moonstone. A multi-hued stone that seems to shift depending on what light it's in, moonstones are also associated with tides and, obviously, the moon.

SEASON: autumn. While the weather is often dreary, it only makes for a better excuse to stay home and be cozy. The beautiful leaves also make for an excellent show!

PLACE: rooftops. Valoren often climbed up onto the roof as a child to escape his (less dextrous) older sister’s torment, and they’ve always been a place of solace for him.

FOOD: plum fool. One of the first things Valoren made, a plum fool is a dessert with layers of lightly cooked and sweetened plums and either rich custard or freshly whipped cream.

ASTROLOGICAL SIGN: the spire. It is associated with dominion over others, the noble class, and the element of lightning. Often, the Spire heralds a disaster or upheaval.

ELEMENT: lightning. As an astral element, lightning takes an active role in shaping the world around it, either in creation or destruction. It is the divine wrath of a storm, the spark of inspiration, the flash of brightness that’s alleged to never strike the same place twice.

BEVERAGE: top-shelf bourbon, neat. Valoren fails to see the point of drinks that aren’t either caffeinated or alcoholic. When he’s drinking on his own gil, he prefers a strong drink with complex flavors and just a hint of burning.

[randomvarious]

Today’s compilation:

Montreal Basement CD2 2000 Techno

Alright, folks, this release here marks the end of my little foray into both the tiny and fleeting Distr!ck of Montreal label and turn-of-the-millennium Montreal club music, in general. This journey started some months ago with a look at a progressive house and trance promo mix for 2000's Swirl event, which attempted to house both dance music and hip hop under the same Olympic Stadium roof; then it turned its ears towards a five-year anniversary mix for the popular Sona club; and most recently, it's been rounded out with a trio of these Distr!ck comps.

And out of those three Distr!ck CDs that I've now checked out, this Montreal Basement CD2 release from 2000 is by far the most engaging one. And it's the most varied of them all too. Everything's techno, but it presents a solid spectrum of different techno sounds, from the deep and atmospheric type to the more primal and ravey stuff. I didn't end up really digging most of it, but it kept me on my toes and managed to entertain from start to finish, which is a whole lot more than I can say about the two other Distr!ck CDs I listened to 😅.

So, the best track on here is definitely the first one, which comes courtesy of Misstress Barbara—someone I heaped a bunch of praise upon in my last Distr!ck of Montreal post from about a week ago. And in that post, I specifically marveled at her tribal techno prowess, but with "Endless Passion A2," she manages to craft a sweet techno tune that's not tribal at all. Instead, it's a slightly mechanical thing that has this nicely bonging and softly pulsating synth layer at the bottom and then gets crowned with a bevy of ring-jing-jinging hi-hats. A really lovely, hypnotic, and well-oiled techno groove there. My favorite techno tunes tend to be the ones that feel like they have a lot of cogs in them that are each doing their own little part to make the whole song function, and this one makes for a pretty good example of it. Plus, I also love a constant hi-hat that rustles or jingles too 😌.

But that's really the only song that I think is worth highlighting here. The rest of these are better than what's on the vast majority of the other Distr!ck comps, but I wouldn't call any of them all that excellent. Good efforts, though; nothing listless, at least.

Au revoir to this late 90s-early 2000s Montréal dance fare. Another multi-post electronic trip on the way. Stay tuned for more!

Highlights:

Misstress Barbara - "Endless Passion A2"