#A.M. Architect

[moochilatv]

A.M. Architect presents: Hydra

New material from the audio and visual art project by Diego Chavez & Daniel Stanush.

Hydra offers a glimpse into a place where technology has evolved to offer near-limitless creation, and a group of elusive tech-savants that turn their abilities inwards to create a new vision of themselves - will technology bring lead them to nirvana or is their self-experimentation blurring their essence and identity?

Hydra was created through generative, machine-learning technology, incorporating a workflow moved from storyboard to Midjourney image generation, producing over 1,500 still images, to video utilizing @runwayapp and Stable Diffusion, before being run through a @touchdesigner network that switched between videos in synchronization with music, before finally running through a circuit-bent @bpmcanalog video mixer to add noise, grain and glitch effects.

Check the videoclip:

Vocals: @jedcraddock_music Recorded at @earbender_studios

For A.M. Architect, everything is interactive. A concert by the electronic duo isn’t just a concert. It’s a multimedia installation, a visual show, an interactive technology demonstration, and more. That technological curiosity, that bold desire to merge disciplines, animates A.M. Architect’s upcoming album, Avenir, out February 7th, 2025.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by A.M. Architect (@a.m.architect_)

The album showcases the duo’s multifaceted approach to electronic production, with Stanush’s musical training and melodic sensibility guiding Chavez’s knack for soundscapes and sonic manipulation. The result is a rich tapestry of pulsating beats, grainy loops, cinematic sensibilities, and charged vocal samples that cull from sources as varied as old crime movies and obscure country singers. 

The new single “Hydra” is an intoxicating swell of sputtering, polyrhythmic beats and soulful vocals. With a two-step beat and undulating synths, the song achieves a lush ambience reminiscent of Boards of Canada, and crystalized some of the new technical approaches for A.M. Architect as well. The video features imagery created through an audio-reactive touch designer network that would change video clips based on audio input—a play on the central theme of using technology to change how we’re perceived and what that means for our identity.

[hersurvival]

[dlyarchitecture]

[davidbrussat]

Best trad buildings of 2022

Best trad buildings of 2022

Capital Square, in Richmond, with the original Life Insurance Co. of Virginia under construction to  next to city hall to the center left of the Virginia State Capitol, designed by Thomas Jefferson. It grows ever more difficult and hence ever more depressing to construct these annual roundups of traditional architecture. I feel a bit of guilt arising from the headline “Best trad buildings of…

[sports-on-sundays]

and I can change / CL16 / Part 2

Summary: dad!Charles x French!ex!reader - Charles would do anything to convince you to forgive him. He'd do anything to revive his family.

Warnings: Again, Y/s/n is 'your son's name'. And again, his age is unspecified- you decide what you think. crying (LOTS of crying), mention of drunkenness, mention of sex, mention of cheating, broken relationships, broken family, censored cussing

Requested?: Yeah! Requested by some sweet souls who read part 1! @barcelonaloverf1life @architect-2015 @emz2092 @cilliansgirl @lunamelona @lightdragonrayne @leclercgirl16

Author's Note: You guys asked for it, so I gave it! I hope you enjoy! Same song as inspiration. Also I'm thinking after this part I'll write a part 3, and then after that maybe a little epilogue, to wrap this up. Tell me what you think. Also, this is the link to part 1 / and the link to part 3

"Y/n, people change.

"And I can change, too."

You lay on your bed, engulfed in the darkness of the room surrounding you. The darkness seems to go deeper than just your surroundings- deeper, and into you.

Over and over the scene plays through your mind. Those words that Charles had uttered. The way he had clutched your hand in both of his, as if it were his only lifeline. In that moment, the desperation his eyes had denoted was incredible.

Charles, why? Why couldn't you let go? You're making it all so much more complicated.

But you know what he would say. Why? Why, Y/n? Because this isn't just about myself. Don't you see the brokenness in our son? Don't you see it?

Guilt washes over you, and then rage.

I shouldn't be the one feeling guilt. He should. He's the one who messed up our family. He's the one who's fault it is!

The way he cried, though.

The desperation.

The thing is that he is feeling guilty. Or at least so it seemed.

But does he really deserve a second chance? Do you?

Your phone rings at 12:00 A.M. On the dot. Charles has always been on the dot. Unless he's drunk, that is.

Why is he calling?

Right when I'm thinking about him, too.

Although this really isn't too surprising, when you consider it. For the past week and a half or so, you've stayed up until roughly 2:00 in the morning, staring at the ceiling, thinking, unable to convince yourself into peace and slumber.

And now a call comes.

Charles, why?

It feels terrible as you answer. "Charles. Don't call me."

"Y/n," he says in a calm voice. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" you snap, trying to keep it down. Your son is sleeping (hopefully) in the next room.

"For reacting so emotionally. I'm sorry. For years this has weighed on me, but crying and begging won't get us anywhere."

"We're not going anywhere, whether you cry and beg or not." You hang up.

A month after that call where you rejected Charles for what you hoped would be the last time, there's a knock on the door on a Saturday. You walk to it, and freeze when you look through the peephole.

Why is Charles Leclerc here?

Anxiety hits you. The house is a mess, you've got no food to give him, you look like a mess in your pajamas and unbrushed hair-

How can he just show up at your door like this?

It's obnoxious.

You honestly are about to pretend you aren't home, but then Y/s/n suddenly runs in, squealing, "Mama, who is it?! Is it the mailman?"

You sigh at your son's strange fascination for the mailman. You're not completely sure why he enjoys the young, dry, monotone mailman, and for years just assumed because he was generally a nice bloke, and little kids are weird, until you realized with an ounce of dread that the mailman resembles Charles, in a way. After that, you've never encouraged his enthusiasm for the mailman, just in case that was the reason, whether conscious or not.

"No, no," you sigh, unlocking the door. "It's not the mailman, love."

"Who is it, Mama?"

As you swing the door open, you murmur, "Well, love, none other but your father."

"Daddy!" the little boy, still in his Lightning McQueen pajamas, squeals, running to hug his father. You glance away, staring at the floor.

Charles hugs your son, kissing him, and exclaims, "Aw, there's my little buddy! How are you, man?"

"I'm good, Daddy! Are you coming to live here now, Daddy?!"

"Ugh- Not quite..." He picks up your son, and looks to you, immediately saying, "Sorry it's such short notice."

You grit your teeth, murmuring, "You mean no notice?"

"Right," he nods with a quick exhale.

While the presence of your son is a burden for you, preventing you from showing your true feelings, it may be an advantage for Charles, to get across what he needs to get across. Whatever that may be.

Because this is all just a game. Everyone with their own different motives. Y/s/n wants Mama and Daddy to love each other because he wants one place to live. Charles' motives are unknown, but probably are just manipulative and selfish- about making himself feel better. And your motive? You don't want to relive the past, so will avoid Charles at all costs.

Charles' and Y/s/n's motives align more with each other than your's.

You look at your son. Who you love so much. He looks at you with hope. Charles looks at you with... a very similar expression.

These two.

How can you love one and hate the other?

They're both family, as much as you hate to admit it. Because one of them, you wish you could erase.

No. But you don't. Because if you'd never met Charles, Y/s/n would never have been born. And you can't even begin to imagine your life without him.

You hold the door open, and gesture to the couch. "Sit down, Charles. I'm going to get dressed, and then put the kettle on." You say all this through gritted teeth.

How can he just walk in as if he owns the place?

He nods. "Thank you, Y/n." You watch in the doorway to the hall as Charles sits down on the couch with his son on his lap. You watch as he says softly, picking up a toy car from off the rug, "This car is awesome, Y/s/n. Where'd you get it?"

"Mama got it for me! For my birthday!" Y/s/n takes it from his father's hand with much pride, and starts driving it across Charles' chest, up onto his neck, and eventually onto his cheeks. The whole time, Charles laughs, his hand on his son's back to keep him from tipping off his lap.

"That's a super cool car. Does it have a name?"

"Uhhh," Y/s/n frowns. "Zoom! Because he goes zooooom!"

"Oh, it's a he?"

"Of course," Y/s/n says, as if this fact should be obvious. Then he giggles, "Because girls smell."

"They smell?! No way. Girls don't smell."

"Yeah, they do," he crosses his arms, frowning at his father. "You don't know any girls. You only know... Uh, Cah-los."

Charles laughs out loud. "The only person I know is 'Cah-los'?"

"Yep! And Uncle Arthur and Uncle Lorenzo, but that's it!" your son claims in a very matter-of-fact tone.

Their conversation continues, but you finally turn to leave and get yourself fixed up. You quickly shower, brush your teeth and hair, put on moisturizing cream, perfume, and deodorant, and put on a beige hoodie, grey sweatpants, and slides, before going to make tea. The whole time, you mind swirls.

Why is he here? Why is he here on a Saturday? Why is he here, without even asking to come? It's so... obnoxious.

You finish making two cups of tea, finding with awe as you make them that you remember exactly the way Charles likes his tea, and you're doing it automatically.

Because I used to do this so much.

You walk back in with the tea and see the two boys sitting on the rug now. Charles is tickling Y/s/n's tummy, and both of them are laughing- Charles with more of a chuckle and Y/s/n with more of a squealing giggle. When Charles sees you, he slowly stops, saying with a little sigh, "Alright, bud. Mama's back with my tea, and I mean to drink it."

"But Daddyyy!"

"Nope!" he grins, standing up, ruffling his son's messy hair. He then walks to you, and you hand him his tea. He lights up when he tastes the tea and looks at you, muttering softly, "My God, you remembered how I like my tea...?"

"Don't jump to sh*t, Charles," you murmur, soft enough for Y/s/n not to hear.

"Right," he sighs, sitting down again on the couch.

You set your tea down, walking to your son. "Alright, love. I want you to go in your room now, okay? Remember the Lego plane you were building? Why don't you work on that? I want to see it once it's finished, okay? And if you need anything, call, okay? Don't come in here. Just call, and one of us will come."

He looks questioningly. "Why, Mama?"

"Me and your father have important things to talk about. And if you don't listen, there will be consequences."

He blinks, pouting.

"I'll turn on your storybook audio for you. Come on." You bring him to his room and get him set up, until you're sure he's completely distracted with the Legos and the storybook. Only then do you come back to the living room and sit down awkwardly next to Charles.

He's still wearing his red windbreaker from when he was outside, and a black scarf hangs loose around his neck. His hair is a bit messed up, but he looks perfect, like always.

Too perfect.

"Let me take your scarf and jacket. And your shoes."

"Right," he says with a swift nod, handing you his scarf, coat, and sleek black boots. You put them by the door, and sit down, viewing the cozy grey sweater adorning his frame. You have a passing thought, considering how much unnecessary money he might have spent on such a garment.

"So?" you ask in a tense voice. "What is this all about, Charles?"

"There are some things we need to work out. You're right- one of the many things I've done wrong to you is always being a f*cking coward. You're right. I didn't say what was on my mind, and I faked it, and I kept quiet, because I didn't want to upset you. But now I see that the only thing I can do now is speak up, be honest, and be a man. You rightfully left me because I wasn't being a proper man. I wasn't being your proper man. I was being a terrible husband and a terrible father. But now we need to uncover what's true- we both have different views, both of which are likely exaggerated or incorrect in different ways."

"I don't care, Charles," you say quickly, flat out trying to ignore his admittance to wrong. Perhaps because you don't want it to be true. Because if he's sorry, that means you have to forgive him.

"So you're telling me you'd rather believe lies, just because it makes you feel better? What kind of thinking is that?"

You hate to admit that he's right. So you say nothing.

There's silence. But then he says, "So tell me what happened."

"You know what happen-"

"Tell me, Y/n." His voice isn't rude, but definitely firm.

You swallow, shaking your head. You don't want to work this out. You want to forget Charles. But clearly, that's impossible. "You were irresponsible. You'd get drunk, never be home, never help me. I'd be all on my own... You... You'd use me for your own pleasure but never show true, selfless love... Then you came home drunk saying stuff about a pretty woman and sex and getting pregnant... So you cheated... And I divorced you because I couldn't take it any more." You can't believe it, but you're trying not to choke up as you whisper, "Charles, what we had seemed perfect. Until you messed it up." Your mouth tastes like poison.

Charles stares down, his eyes swirling with everything but empty, at the same time. "Y/n," he whispers. "I was terrible. You're right. I was never around because I was immature and scared. I didn't understand. To get away from it, I drank and had fun with friends."

Your lip curls. "You're not the victim."

"And I never said I was! I was scared of being a father. I was scared of messing up. I wasn't ready and I let everything happen too quickly. I was a coward and I left you. Even though you divorced me, I was the one who left you. That's what happened. I was stupid. I was a terrible person. It's all my fault."

"Why would you be any different now? There's no way for you to prove that. Before the marriage you were fine. It was when we married that you went downhill. It was like... you couldn't stand me."

He looks torn apart. "I loved you. I... I... I still do. I knew I wasn't being a good husband or father and to forget about it, I drank."

"And why wouldn't you still do it now?!"

"Because I don't. I feel more guilt now than I did then! I feel more responsibility now than I did then! And that was my greatest fear! Responsibility! But now I don't drink excessively! Now I don't avoid reality! Because I need you... Our son needs us. Together. Don't you need me?"

"Not the you I know."

"You don't know me anymore. I'm not the same person I was." His voice is so uncommonly firm, it slightly shocks you.

You stare into each other's eyes.

He goes on, "That night, I didn't cheat. I was intoxicated. A young woman was trying to seduce me, but I refused because I had you. You, my beautiful wife, both inside and out. I wanted to convey to you that I said no because you were my wife. However, I failed to communicate this properly, and the next morning, I had completely forgotten the conversation. I chose not to tell you because I thought it would be better if you didn't know. I was afraid you would be angrier with me for being in that situation. I was a coward, and I didn't want you to be upset with me. I didn't realize for years that you believed I had cheated. If I had known, I would have assured you that I didn't cheat, just like I am doing now, and that I never would. Because I didn't. Despite all the mistakes I made, cheating on you is something I would never, ever do. I have always loved you, and only you, far too much for that."

Your hands tremble in your lap as you stare at him, listening.

Now you're the one getting emotional.

Charles leans in close to you- too close for comfort- and whispers, "I've changed... Please. I just want a second chance... To right my wrongs and give you and our son the lives you deserve. I need to give my all to you... I need to make it up to you... It's... It's crushing me."

"Why do you need a second chance?" Your voice, for once, isn't aggressive. It's gentle. Softer. Your voice cracks as you say, "You should have done it right the first time."

You see him swallow. "And you know what? I didn't. I f*cked up. I f*cked up everything. I f*cked up your life and I know it. I'm sorry. I wish I could go back in time and fix it and make it all better. I was stupid, Y/n. I was terrible. I hurt the most beautiful woman and her baby in the world. I'm the least." He takes your hand again in both his, but this time it's a gentler grasp.

"But you're not. You're famous. You have so many fans."

"Do you know how many times I've thought I don't deserve all this? If only I could share it all with you."

"Charles," your voice cracks again, and an unexpected, terrible longing fills you. "I want to believe you, but I can't. I'm broken, Charles, because of you. I can't afford to let you break me again..."

A tear rolls down your cheeks, and immediately he reaches up with his thumb, gently wiping your cheek, "No, Y/n, please don't cry... I don't want you to cry because of me any longer... Please..."

"Charles, I can't do this..." more tears fall.

There's hurt and confusion, but mostly longing and guilt in his eyes. "Please... If you'd only trust me, then we could make this right. I could make this right, after all I did wrong."

You can hardly believe yourself as you let your broken, silently crying self fall into Charles. You allow yourself to rest your head on his shoulder, and you allow his arms to wrap around you, giving you his warmth. "Charles..."

"Yes...?" There's a painful hope in his voice.

"I don't know if I can do this..." you cry into his shoulder now.

He whispers right in your ear, "Just give me a chance. Let me be there for you... Let me prove to you... Let me..."

You can't give him a yes or a no. Two sides war inside you- the mask and the face. You feel him stroke your hair as you cry, at the same time as remembering stroking his hair when he was drunk and needed comfort.

This is some sort of paradox, isn't it?

"Charles," you murmur, leaning away after you've gained control of yourself. "The answer is 'I don't know' right now, okay... Consider it... better than hating your guts with an adamant 'no.'"

As he gazes into your eyes, he leans closer. Softly, he places a tender kiss on your cheek and whispers, "I'll be ready whenever you are. And I'll never, ever stop waiting for you."

Weeks pass, and Charles can't understand why, after all that happened that day, still you insist on avoiding him like the plague.

Well, the reason is just that- avoidance. You're avoiding Charles because you don't want to face the possible truth. You're avoiding him because you don't want to make big decisions. You don't want to try again. You don't want to...

Well, you don't want to fall in love again.

And on that day, the way he treated you...

It reminded you of the man you married, and not the man you divorced.

And that scares you. Because you'll never forget the man you divorced.

So you're stubborn and resistent, and you're avoiding him.

So you sit, staring at the screen of your cell phone. Rereading the text on it. Over and over.

Charles Leclerc: I'm sorry for such a long text Y/n but you probably won't read it anyway, so what does it matter? I need to talk with you and you're doing exactly what I've done, what I'm apologizing for. For years I avoided this stuff and one of the reasons we split was that i couldn't stand up and address and tell you my problems. I was being a f*cking coward. And I've said sorry more times than I can count. I thought you might be on the road to forgiveness, to giving me a second chance. I know you felt the same way as me when you leaned into me and let me hold you when you cried- there's something more here, and I don't want you to ignore this. Can't we just try this? Please Y/n? I'm finally willing to step up, be a man, work through all this sh*t with you. Talk about it. I'm finally willing to be brave, and as soon as I am, you're doing the same thing you've yelled at me for years for doing- staying silent.

Charles Leclerc: I love you, Y/n, and this is a problem I desperately want to fix, but the truth of the matter is that you're being a f*cking hypocrite.

Me: How does it feel to be in the position you put me in for years?

You feel mean for typing that, and you're not sure how much you mean it. Maybe you meant to be kinder.

But the anger took over and your thumbs did the talking.

Charles leaves that message on read.

You sit in the cold metal chair, surrounded by pudgy, middle-aged parents and their gross kids all around you as a lone young mother sitting by herself. You're only here to see your son, and none of the other aspects of this situation bring you an ounce of joy.

All of a sudden, a shiver runs down your spine as a firm hand gently lands on your shoulder. Your head snaps up, meeting the gaze of Charles Leclerc. A look of disdain crosses your face, causing your heart to ache as you bluntly ask, "Why are you here?"

Charles takes a seat beside you in the vacant chair and casually remarks, "I've come to attend my son's school concert. And you?" A glimmer of amusement dances in his eyes.

Your jaw tightens in pure irritation, and you manage through gritted teeth in a tense, quiet tone, "Why did you choose to sit next to me?"

Charles hesitates, his expression softening, as he makes an effort to hold your gaze. "Well... Because I..." He swallows and says, "I'm not going to give up on you. That's why. So I figured I'd sit down next to you to watch my- our- son's concert. So..." Abruptly, he reaches for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. The veins in his hand are visible as he clasps yours tightly.

Your muscles tense, yet for some reason, you don't pull your hand away.

So throughout the whole school concert, Charles sits, gripping your hand, and seems to refuse to let it go.

And the moment the teacher is done on stage after the little production, thanking people for helping and the kids for doing such a great job and other stuff you don't listen to, Charles turns to you and says, "So, we have some minutes to spare."

Your eyebrows scrunch together. "Come again?"

He chuckles, but it doesn't feel called for. "You weren't listening to her? She said the students can be picked up from their classrooms by their parents in fifteen minutes."

Your jaw clenches again. "Charles, why?"

"Because I know you want it," he says incredibly earnestly. The inside of your heart melts as the outside hardens.

"But I don't think I do."

"But I know you do. Now come on." Your ex-husband stand up, pulling you up with him.

"Where are we going?" you ask. "And please let go of my hand. You've been holding it so long, it's starting to get sweaty."

He clicks his tongue and doesn't respond to either of these, then guides you down various hallways until you reach the school's exit. Finally, he sits down with you on a bench outside the school, and releases your hand.

"What are you doing?"

"Let's just hang out here for the next ten minutes, okay? We should talk," he says awkwardly, facing you.

"I don't get it. Charles, there's nothing you can do to-"

Charles interrupts, holding your face gently, gazing into your eyes. "Please, don't. Don't say that," he pleads, his thumb brushing your cheek. "There's something we can do. We can make this work... Please..."

His desperation, his begging, makes you want to cry. "Please just let it go... Let me go..."

"No, I don't want you to be trapped... Don't you see you'll be more free with me? You won't have to work as hard.. I'll take care of you and our son... I'll take half the work in the house you have to deal with... I'll... We'll... I just want you to believe that we'll be happier... I'm not saying we need to jump to anything today. I'm just saying, let's be kind to each other... Let's go out to eat sometimes, or go to our son's events together. Let's act just a little bit more like a family, even if we aren't yet. I just want to- I need to- I- I- I..." He trails off. His hands fall off your cheeks, and his shoulders slack. His head goes down.

It's like just the hard look in your eyes alone crushed him.

Like that alone is the huge weight he's bearing.

"F*** me, Y/n... F*** me," he whispers, his hands in his lap trembling. "I don't deserve you. I hurt you. Doesn't matter how much I changed. I still have to live through the consequences of my actions, don't I?" He seems to be talking more to himself, but you have no idea at this point. "Just f*** me." He exhales shakily, before suddenly standing up. He stares you right in your eyes, and your heart breaks when you see the hurt, the destroyed desperation. "It's fine, Y/n." He's trying to keep a level face. But his voice cracks. "I'll leave you alone. I'll let you go. I can see all this is just hurting you more. I never meant to hurt you more. I never meant to bring up the past to hurt you. I wanted to help you... I wanted to help you heal..." He drags a hand over his face. "But clearly I f***ing didn't. Clearly I messed it up again. I f***ing messed up again." He swallows. His eyes glimmer with wetness as he practically whispers, "The last thing I want is to hurt you. So I'll drop it. I'm just being selfish again, aren't I? I think this would be better, but you don't. And that's hurting you. And I never wanted to..." He swallows, his nose crunching up. Suddenly he yells, "I never wanted to hurt you ever again, because I love you, for f***'s sake! I love you, but I did hurt you, because, in the end, no matter what, I'm going to f*** it up anyway! So bye, Y/n!" Suddenly he turns on his feet. Like he doesn't want you to see him cry again. But you can hear the tears in his voice when the last thing he calls back is, "It will go back to normal, and we can pretend none of this ever happened! Pretend I'm a stranger! It's the best for you, anyway, apparently, and all I wanted was the best for you!"

You stare in shock as you watch him get in his car and drive away. You remain seated, gaze straight ahead. Tears well up in your eyes, and your body quivers, yet you manage to compose yourself, rise on unsteady legs, and compel yourself to return to the school to pick up your son.

But that just wasn't right.

I should have stopped him. I should have called him back. I should've.

How far can revenge go before it's gone too far?

For days, the guilt, the hurt, the rue- they weigh on you. Every moment of your days, it consumes your thoughts. Regret and confusion and anger fill you in every step, engulfing your every move. And if you thought you weren't getting any sleep before, now it's even worse.

You long to fix it, but you are unsure of how. Despite everything... You can't see how Charles isn't being honest. You want to have faith in him. A small part of you may even want to love him, just a little bit.

You're also fearful. Fearful of reaching out to him, because you don't know what you'd do. You have no idea.

But now you're dropping your son off at Charles's house. You swallow, and suddenly, on a whim, when you see Charles walking outside, waiting for Y/s/n, you get out of the car, too.

"Mama?" your son asks with a confused expression, still maintaining a little smile on his face.

You smile back down at him and say, "I'm walking you up to your daddy's house today, is all."

He shrug and nods, apparently accepting this.

He's such a good kid.

As you approach Charles, your smile twitches while you study him, but you say softly, "Hey, um... I... We..." Your tone sounds weak.

"Yes?" Charles asks, looking up. He looks perfect. As always.

Your eyes lock.

Please, Charles. I don't know how to say this. Please just understand.

His eyes remain blank. You let out a sigh.

And suddenly, you hug him.

Charles seems taken aback for only a moment, before he immediately hugs you back and says softly, "Hey... Want to come inside with me and Y/s/n?"

You nod. "Yes... Yes, please."

So Charles leads the two of you up to his flat. You sit down together on the couch, once again.

Last time you did this was the moment Charles cried out to you.

"Y/n, people change."

You swallow at the memory.

Is this another paradox? This time, will I be the one crying out to him?

Y/s/n is about to hop on the couch between you, but suddenly Charles scoops him up and says, "Hey, hey! I didn't get my hug from you yet, did I?!"

Your son giggles, getting comfortable on his father's lap, before giving him a big hug. "I scored a goal, Daddy..."

"You scored a goal?!" he grins. "Seriously?"

"Yeah! Mama cheered me on! I scored a goal when I played football!"

Charles looks so bright. Happy with his son. So proud. He doesn't get to see him as often as you do. "No way. You've got to be joking. Was it the winning goal?"

"Yep!" your son says proudly.

You find yourself smiling.

"Oh yeah, what was the score?"

Your son shrugs. "Dunno! But we won!"

You smile and mutter softly, "I think it was 4-1." Y/s/n plays in the little league team affiliated with his school.

"Yeah, but my goal made it 2-1, so I won it," he brags to his father.

Charles grins. "Oh, I'm sure it did. You know, I don't know where you got that talent for football from. Do you think Mama is good at football?"

Your son just shrugs with a grin, enjoying the affirmation from his father. "Dunno! But Mama is good at cuddling and playing with me."

Charles laughs. "Yeah, your mama takes good care of you." He glances at you with sparkling eyes, before looking back down at his son.

The two continue babbling on about sports and football and what not, until Charles finally ruffles his son's hair and says, "Well, buddy, I reckon it's time for me and Mama to have some alone time."

Y/s/n frowns. "Aw, why?"

"Because I want to talk with Mama about things that you won't care about. Boring grown-up stuff. Doesn't sound very fun, does it?"

Y/s/n shrugs, still looking uncertain.

"Hey, don't look so down. How about this? I'll go put on Cars for you. How's that sound?"

Your son grins at this, immediately jumping up, his demeanor changing abruptly. "Yeah, yeah!" he squeals, and you watch as Charles leaves with him to go set him up with that in another room.

But soon Charles is back. He gently shuts the door behind him as he enters the room, and immediately sits down next to you, facing you once more. "Hey, Y/n..." he says in a tentative but gentle tone.

You swallow. "Hey, Charles..." You feel yourself getting nervous again. "You're so... You're so good with Y/s/n."

He smiles. "You are, too."

There's no, And I'm sure we'd be even better with him together.

Charles meant it when he said he'd give up on it.

But you move closer to him. You take his hands. "This is a lot for me, Charles. I'm scared. I'm having issues with trust."

He nods slowly. "I know... I know..."

You swallow, and hug him again.

He holds you, hugging you back. He kisses your cheek. He whispers, "I understand if you're afraid. I understand if you're scared, or if you're having issues with trust. I'm so deeply sorry I've broken you like that."

Y/n, people change. And I can change.

The words come crashing into your mind like a ton of bricks, emerging from the depths of your memory.

"Charles-" you break in, your voice cracking. "Those words have haunted me."

"What words...?" he mutters softly.

You swallow. Breathe slowly. And you whisper, "You said to me 'Y/n, people change. And I can change.'"

"I have changed," he whispers.

"But," your voice cracks. "You said a lot of other s***, too. I remember, during our honeymoon..." A tear rolls down your face as Charles continues to hold you. "You said I'm yours and you're mine. You said we'd be forever. You said you'd do anything for me. You said we'd have three kids together, and you'd never stop loving me, and we would be a happy family. You said we'd grow old together, Charles. That's what you said. But all those promises- they were broken... They were broken."

"You didn't want them to be," he whispers calmly. "But don't you realize? Perhaps those promises were not broken, but rather, they have just not yet been fulfilled."

You look up at him, blinking. More tears roll down your cheeks. Charles gently wipes them away.

"I want to be able to fix what I did wrong. I want to be able to fulfill those promises I made to you. That's what I want, Y/n."

"Charles..." you breathe.

He looks so perfect.

"Yes?" he asks gently.

Your lip quivers, and you lean into his shoulder, and you sob.

And he lets you.

For however long, he holds you there, rubbing your back, letting you weep. Finally, you get a hold of yourself, and slowly pull away. You wipe your wet eyes with the backs of your hands, before sighing. "Charles, if we were to do this... If I were to give in..." You sniff. Your voice cracks again as you utter, "Please, don't hurt me again. I can't survive it again. I can't let you put me through that again..."

He pulls you to him again and whispers in your ear, "I won't. I won't. I won't let you down this time. Please don't be afraid of me... I want to love you... Let me love you... If you'll just let me, we can fix this... We have have a relationship in which we communicate more. Oh, Y/n..." he sighs. "Don't you realize how much I care? I- I would give my life for you."

You blink, staring at him.

Everything looks so promising. That's why you're scared.

It almost looks too promising.

"You say you would give your life for me. But would you really? Maybe you would you give your life for me if it meant losing it. But would you give your life to me while you're still alive? Would you clean the dishes? Would you help me when I'm sick? Would you grab an extra ingredient from the store if I needed it? Would you drive Y/s/n to school when you could? Would you really? You're gone half the year, as it is."

His jaw clenches, then un-clenches. "I would do anything and everything I could do for you. I want to share my life for you. Until death. And I'm one hundred percent sure on that. I've had years of thinking about this." There's hope in his lovely eyes.

So much hope.

You sigh, staring down at your lap.

"Y/n. I'm sorry. Please. Not only do I need your forgiveness. But your son does, too." He hesitates. "And I hope you know no matter what happens, the guilt of what I've done to you will weigh on me my whole life. That's why I want to fix it."

You gently slip your hand in his and whisper, "Please don't hurt me."

He wraps his fingers around your hand, holding it. "I won't."

You nod slowly, another tear rolls down your cheek, and it feels like all the molecules in your body are being ripped apart as you barely whisper, "Okay, Charles. We can try this again."

[aureumaze]

and there stood a figure,

a paradox in a suit and tie,

a saint of sin, a thief of time,

an architect of forever built on sands,

a boy in a borrowed crown,

a man wrapped in contradiction,

with the conviction of a preacher

and the faith of a liar.

—a.m.

[ddrqoyote]

173 Influential SCPs

I went to SCPper, found the most upvoted articles by users who've made at least one SCP, and sorted by time. These aren't necessarily the 173 best articles on the site, but I think they're likely to be the most influential. Longtime fans have probably read most or all of these but maybe this could be a starting point for newcomers.

I think sorting by time is important because the Foundation's been around almost 17 years. Writers come and go, trends come and go, new writers are influenced by what came before, and later articles are often longer and more complex than earlier ones. Just sorting by most upvoted bounces you around time; on the main wiki you read mostly series 1 articles then get dunked into SCP-5000. I hope this is a more natural progression, and that by the end people have more context for what's going on.

Using upvotes from writers only is important because the more writers like an article, the more likely later SCPs are to be influenced by it, so those articles are more likely to be important for understanding the wiki as a whole.

I might do an alternate version of this list that replaces the extremely long articles with shorter SCPs.

If you have trouble understanding one of the articles (some of the later ones get LONG), look it up on r/SCPDeclassified. If you would prefer audio narration/explanations, The Exploring Series and TheVolgun are both excellent. And of course, make sure to look in the sidebar on the wiki for guides, lists and explanations.

SERIES IV AND LATER ARE IN REBLOGS DUE TO TUMBLR'S POST LIMIT

Series I Era

SCP-173 - The Sculpture - The Original

SCP-093 - Red Sea Object

SCP-294 - The Coffee Machine

SCP-682 - Hard-to-Destroy Reptile

SCP-055 - [unknown]

SCP-914 - The Clockworks

SCP-085 - Hand-drawn "Cassy"

SCP-184 - The Architect

SCP-231 - Special Personnel Requirements

SCP-990 - Dream Man

SCP-999 - The Tickle Monster

SCP-835 - Expunged Data Released

SCP-701 - The Hanged King's Tragedy

SCP-586 - Inscribable Object

SCP-610 - The Flesh that Hates

Log of Anomalous Items Vol I

SCP-087 - The Stairwell

SCP-049 - Plague Doctor

Revised Entry

Document Recovered from the Marianas Trench

SCP-426 - I am a Toaster

SCP-096 - The "Shy Guy"

SCP-106 - The Old Man

SCP-140 - An Incomplete Chronicle

Kill 682

SCP-001-Bright - The Factory

SCP-666-J - The Roaring Flames of Hell

SCP-895 - Camera Disruption

SCP-5308-J - The Collection

SCP-8900-EX - Sky Blue Sky

black white black white black white black white black white gray

Eldritch Application

Nobody Knows

SCP-871 - Self-Replacing Cake

SCP-001-Mann - The Spiral Path

Series II Era

SCP-1000 - Bigfoot

SCP-902 - The Final Countdown

SCP-993 - Bobble the Clown

Transcript of Dr. Clef's seminar, "Reality Benders and You: How to Survive When Existence Doesn't."

SCP-001-Swann - The Database

Bees

SCP-006-J - WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT THING

10:30 A.M.

Ethics Committee Orientation

SCP-1959 - The Lost Cosmonaut

SCP-____-J - Procrastinati

SCP-1048 - Builder Bear

SCP-001-EX-J - Records of the CKG Gathering

SCP-1893 - The Minotaur's Tale

SCP-1983 - Doorway to Nowhere

SCP-1733 - Season Opener

SCP-1230 - A Hero is Born

SCP-1322 - Glory Hole

SCP-1370 - Pesterbot

SCP-1193 - Buried Giant

SCP-1545 - Larry the Loving Llama

SCP-1981 - "RONALD REAGAN CUT UP WHILE TALKING"

SCP-even number-J - An [Adjective] [Animal]

SCP-1867 - A Gentleman

SCP-1609 - The Remains of a Chair

SCP-1440 - The Old Man from Nowhere

SCP-1425 - Star Signals

SCP-1173 - The Islamic Republic of Eastern Samothrace

SCP-1171 - Humans Go Home

SCP-1678 - UnLondon

UIU Orientation

SCP-1437 - A Hole to Another Place

SCP-1958 - Magic Bus

Quiet Days

Why Change?

SCP-186 - To End All Wars

Treats

SCP-348 - A Gift from Dad

SCP-1295 - Meg's Diner

SCP-1342 - To the Makers of Music

SCP-1504 - Joe Schmo

The Executions of Doctor Bright

SCP-1471 - MalO ver1.0.0

The Young Man

wowwee go kill ursefl

[neathbound]

London, 21-3-99, 1:53 A.M.

A sallow middle-aged man stumbles off a ferry, recently arrived from the Cumaean Canal. The man's eyes dart, frantic, from place to place, behind his thick bifocals; his hand runs endlessly over his balding head: an unconscious gesture of comfort.

It is unclear whether his patchy blond stubble is the result of having forgotten to shave, or if it's all he can grow; it is unclear whether his scholarly clothes are stained as a result of his entry to the Neath, or if they needed cleaning long before that; it is unclear whether his clear agitation and anxiety is due to the newness of his surroundings, or if he is always like that. It is clear that his badly bloodshot eyes do not compliment the deep bags beneath them.

He avoids the dockworkers of Wolfstack - even they intimidate him - and finds his way (not without a shout of fear the first time he sees a Clay Man - and the second - and the third) to the University, where he looks only marginally more comfortable.

He openly stares at the devils of Benthic, at the strange symbols and experiments, mouth half-agape; he finds a suitably human-looking individual and manages to stop them, stammering badly.

Eventually, he manages to convey to the Approachable Scholar exactly what he is looking for: "a young woman, called Amalia," he says, in a wavering, reedy Welsh accent, "and... someone called the Radiant Architect?"

When the Approachable Scholar asks what he wants with the professor, he fails to hide the candid bafflement that crosses his face. When he composes himself, he finds the words he's looking for.

"I'm David. Their ex-husband."

[flowerfan2]

They all get nightmares, it’s nothing new.  But something different is going on with Eddie, something worse, and Steve is losing his mind.

He notices it first when they are staying at his house, Eddie disappearing in the middle of the night and getting back into bed sweaty and shaky.  Then it happens again, and again.  The lack of sleep is clearly taking a toll on Eddie, and Steve will find him taking cat naps on his couch or in the car. His eyes are sunken, and he’s stopped playing D&D, stopped playing his guitar, stopped doing anything except sleep during the day and shiver with fear at night.

Finally one night when he disappears Steve confronts him, just wraps his arms tight around him and asks him what’s going on.  But Eddie won’t give any details, just mutters “nightmare” like they always do.  Steve strokes his hair and rocks him close, and doesn’t comment on the fact that Eddie seems even skinnier than ever.

It goes on for another few days, Steve starting to keep track of whether Eddie is actually eating anything at all, and thinking about whether he should say something to Wayne.  They’re spending the night at Eddie’s when Steve is startled awake by the sound of the walkie.  “What – I’m here – what’s wrong?”

It’s Dustin, and he says that he was riding his bike home from Mike’s and saw Eddie heading to Steve’s house.  On foot.  And Dustin thought Steve should know.

Steve doesn’t question this, just throws on shoes and speeds over to Loch Nora.  It’s after 1 a.m. on a hot summer night, and when he gets out of his car and bursts into his house, the air conditioning raises goosebumps on his skin.  He shouts for Eddie and runs through the halls, but he’s not there.

His heart sinking, he goes out back.  Past the pool, at the edge of the woods, he sees Eddie crouched down.  “Eddie?” he calls, and there’s movement in the trees just past the edge of his vision.

Eddie turns towards him, his eyes wide and glinting in the moonlight.  “Steve – you can’t-”

But he can, and he does, his nailbat solid in his hand as he approaches.  “Eddie, what’s going on?”

Eddie glances out at the woods and then back to Steve, shaking his head.  “It’s nothing.”  He looks as if he’s seen a ghost.  No, nothing as simple as a ghost.  A demon.

Steve reaches out for him, his whole body aching to give comfort, but Eddie ducks away.  “Really, Steve, drop it.”  Eddie skitters past him, into the house where he sits down on the couch and buries his head in his hands.

Steve comes inside, sets the nailbat aside and sits down next to Eddie, trying to get his breathing under control.

“Here’s the thing,” he starts, his voice tight.  “You’re not okay.  I don’t know what it is, but you are so not okay.”

Eddie lets out a muffled sob and presses his hands tighter against his face.

“And I am utterly unable to take it, Eds.  You know me – you know me, I am coming apart inside over this.  I love you, and I’m losing you.  I feel like my heart isn’t just breaking, it’s being chewed up by sharp demobat teeth and shredded.  You have to tell me what’s going on.  You have to let me help.  Please.”

Steve can feel the tears running down his cheeks.  

“There’s nothing anyone can to do help.”  

He’s never heard Eddie sound so broken.  “I won’t get anyone else involved if you don’t want me to.  I swear it.  Just let me in.  Even if no one can fix it.  Let me help you bear it.”

Eddie looks up at Steve and his face is streaked with tears too, but there’s a flicker of hope in his eyes. “Okay.”

*****

If you like my tumblr ficlets, it would mean the world to me if you checked out my longer fic on A03 – I’m currently posting an AU where Eddie is a hot architect who specializes in accessibility:  How Steve Did His Civic Duty and Fell in Love With Eddie Munson.

[rabbitcruiser]

Jasper National Park, AB (No. 15)

The Jasper Park Information Centre National Historic Site, located in Jasper National Park, Alberta, Canada, is the primary visitor contact centre for visitors to the park. Sited in the Jasper townsite, it was built as the park administration building in 1913-1914, and became the visitor contact centre in 1972. It is located in Athabasca Park, which is not included in the National Historic Site designation.

The Information Centre was one of the first rustic style buildings to be built in a Canadian national park. Conceived by park superintendent Lt. Colonel Maynard Rogers and designed by Edmonton architect A.M. Calderon, it incorporates local materials and construction techniques. The design is unique. No two windows or doors are the same, and the different peaks of the roof were meant to remind a visitor of the surrounding mountains.

As built, it was a multi-purpose building. The ground floor was the park superintendent's residence and the park's administrative office. Upstairs, there was a library, a small museum and a drafting room. The basement included a fish hatchery. The building served as a landmark for arriving train passengers on the Canadian National railway line that runs through the park. The administration building was the prototype for future construction in the Jasper townsite, and influenced building designs throughout the Canadian park system.

In 1936 a separate residence was built for the superintendent. The fish hatchery moved out in 1941 to a site near the confluence Athabasca and Maligne rivers. The first park information centre was built in 1949 near the Canadian National line in front of the main building. In 1972 the information centre moved into the old headquarters. In 1988, the Jasper Park Information Centre was designated a Classified Federal Heritage Building and in 1992 it was designated a National Historic Site of Canada. The upper floor is used as office space

Source: Wikipedia

[southeastasianists]

Imelda Marcos envisioned Manila as the cultural center of Asia. Fresh from a successful staging of the 1974 Miss Universe Pageant, where a specially built theater was completed in just 77 days, she wanted a film center that would rival the famed Cannes Film Festival of France.

Employing a celebrated architect of that time Froilan Hong, a building inspired by the Parthenon in Athens was to be constructed in the Cultural Center of the Philippines complex in Pasay City. UNESCO was even consulted for the structural designs of the auditoria and the archives. With three months to spare before the scheduled film festival, the deadline was tight. To make it work, some 4,000 workers were employed to work in three shifts across 24 hours. The lobby was finished in 72 hours by 1,000 workers—a job that was supposed to entail six weeks.

The frenetic pace of construction didn't allow for proper precautions. On November 17, 1981, at around 3 a.m., scaffolding collapsed and workers were trapped in the quick-drying cement. Immediately, a blanket security and a media blackout were imposed for fear of creating a scandal. No rescuers and ambulances were allowed until an official statement was prepared. Rescuers were only allowed after nine hours. Of course, by then it was too late. At that point, 168 workers had died or were buried in the cement. 

Two months later, the first Manila International Film Festival took place from January 18 to 29, 1982.

After an earthquake in 1990, the building was abandoned because of structural damage. It was rehabilitated and leased out to the private sector, but after it caught fire in 2013 it was abandoned once again.

[caedmonofwhitby]

'Landscape with Rising Sun. December 1, 1828, 8:30 a.m.'

Joseph Gandy

English artist, visionary architect and architectural theorist

Watercolour

From Met Museum, New York

[qiuthewhumps]

It's every day bro: [04/07/2024]

Chronic pain / Massage / “I'm used to it.”

[KLEIO & SHOU AU] — 1459 words (really soft tbh not that angsty)

CW: may be wrong portrayal of chronic pain (sorry in advance)

@whumperless-whump-event

☆…━━━━━·:*☆…━━━━━·:*☆…━━━━━·:*☆

The first sign that something is wrong is the time. Kleio stares at the clock, blinking once, twice before tilting his head at the damn thing like it has insulted him.

9:00 a.m. Just right for breakfast. Too late for Shou not to be up.

But he pretends it isn’t. He slumps against the counter, waiting and idle. He gazes at the table, as if doing so will magically manifest his lover. The food on the table is still fresh, two omelets plated on the table as any other Saturday morning for the last two months has been. He waits like he has been for the last fifteen minutes before the clock has hit nine.

Fifteen becomes twenty… Twenty becomes twenty-five minutes.

Kleio is tapping his fingers against the counter, impatience slowly settling. He never likes waking Shou up since he knows that the architect tends to work late into the night, but Shou is usually up and about by nine at the latest. It was 9:10 a.m. already, is it—

A meow breaks Kleio’s thoughts. Qiu, their ginger and white mainecoon, is staring at him from the cool tiles that make their apartment floor. She sits there like she owns the place, meowing as she nudges her silver bowl to Kleio. Her tail flicking across the floor, waiting for attention. Oh, has he fed her today?

Maybe not. Kleio sighs as he takes the bowl back to the corner of the dining room. He fills the bowl up with dry food before placing it down, quietly watching as Qiu starts taking small bites of her given portion. He’s halfway to putting back the cup they use as a scoop for Qiu’s dry food before realizing Qiu’s awake. She’s walking around the apartment even. Qiu doesn’t get up until both of them are awake as an excuse to stay in their bed.

So, Shou’s awake. That simply raises more questions as Kleio finds himself already heading to the bedroom. He knocks on the door before promptly deciding to just let himself in.

Kleio makes a small little hum for Shou to notice him as he closes the bedroom door. He walks over to the edge of the bed, taking a seat on the end of the soft mattress. He observes how Shou is hidden under the comforter, hiding maybe. From what? He wants to ask, but instead all that comes out is, “So?”

A shift from the covers. A pause before the ball on the bed made of the comforter simply curls more into itself. A muffled mumble that’s incoherent is Kleio’s reply.

“Love? You have to speak up.” Kleio slowly moved closer. He sees where a tuft of white hair peeks out. He comes closer, a hesitant but gentle pat to the head. Scarred fingers easily combs through the white bed hair. The ball under the cover seems to relax the slightest bit which makes Kleio make a soft sigh. “Can I remove the covers?” He asks instead when he receives no repeat.

There’s a silence, and Kleio takes it as permission as he carefully lowers the comforter, giving Shou all the chances to hide himself again. The comforter falls around Shou’s neck and Kleio hums as he stares at the man he loves. The tired eyes; an almost pained expression with the way his eyebrows quirk. “Why are you still here, Shou?” A soft question. He makes sure none of his impatience before shows. It’s almost so easy to change his voice if it’s for this one albino man.

The silence is stiffening but Kleio doesn’t back down as he gently ruffles his lover’s hair with the tips of his fingers, waiting. He’s a patient man… Usually… Perhaps only for Shou… And maybe Qiu.

“It’s nothing. Just the usual, y’know? I’m used to it and all,” Shou mutters out in a quiet voice. However, Kleio isn’t dumb. He can see how the other curls up into himself. How he looks like he wants to just hide in bed. Kleio can’t stand it, and he has to say it, or they’ll pretend the elephant in the room blends in with the floor and walls.

“That sounds a lot like… Bullshit.” It garners a rough laugh from Shou.

“I’m fine, I promise.” Shou turns his head at Kleio, giving a soft reassuring smile—strained. Kleio can only seem to focus on how the other looks. Tired, Pained. Exhausted. Fatigued. It doesn’t sit right to Kleio at all. If anything, he finds himself disliking it more than he probably should.

“Is it worse today?” Kleio presses the issue, taking his hand away from the other’s head. His eyes narrow at the lack of a response he receives. His gaze is evidently being avoided. There’s that tense silence before Kleio bluntly asks, “Where?”

“Nowhere,” Shou replies with hesitance, and it wins the most obvious lie Kleio has heard in the last month. Kleio lets the silence sit between them, waiting for his lover to crack. A minute passes, maybe two. Then, a third before an uncomfortable sound that’s a mix of a grunt and whine from Shou. “My back…”

“Okay, and?” Kleio continues to press as he gently and carefully pulls down the comforter from his lover. He makes a light laugh at how Shou is holding a pillow close, arms and legs wrapped around the soft pillow.

A grumble. “My legs…”

“Lovely,” Kleio sarcastically replies as he slowly tugs the pillow away from Shou. They have a tug of war over it before Kleio tosses it to the ground. “Lie on your stomach. No, you don’t have a choice.”

“Lovely,” Shou repeats in the same tone. He moves to lay on his stomach as his hands hold on to the pillow that was originally under his head.

Kleio stares before sighing. The things he does for this man. He gets up on the bed, positioning his knees on either side of Shou’s figure below him. He gently tugs Shou’s shirt up before starting to press his fingers into the tense pale flesh that makes up Shou’s back. He receives a few flinches in reply as he continues to try to ease the other, but no outright complaints.

They don’t say much. Kleio simply hums as he pushes and tries to ease the other’s muscles. Slowly, carefully. It isn’t the first time they’ve done this, but Kleio is more than aware that Shou is all too ashamed to admit when his chronic pain is worse.

That’s fine, Kleio likes to think. Their routine reveals all the things they don’t want to say but need to be addressed.

He works his way down, careful with the amount of pressure as he starts pressing into the muscle and skin of Shou’s leg. He can still feel the discomfort that fills his love, but this will have to do till they both eat something.

9:45 a.m. Kleio absently notes when he finally gets off of Shou. He sits on the edge of the bed again, offering a hand for Shou to take to help sit up. He watches as Shou struggles a bit, but is able to sit beside him. The albino lays his head on Kleio’s shoulder; he doesn’t find himself minding.

“I love you,” Shou mumbles out after a moment. Three words. Three syllables. Eight letters. That’s all it takes to make Kleio smile at the other. All it takes for a sweet lopsided smile to grace his face. It’s almost pathetic, Kleio thinks. He doesn’t find himself minding again.

“I made breakfast,” Kleio replies instead of repeating those three words turned into four. “Qiu is waiting for us,” he adds as he nudges Shou to lift his head. He doesn’t stop smiling at Shou. He feels warm. The same way he’s been feeling for the last two months.

Shou huffs at that as he stands up almost reluctantly. He offers his hand to Kleio this time. Kleio doesn’t hesitate, taking the offer to stand up. They walk to the dining room together. Their hands are intertwined as they walk the short distance. Qiu is waiting for them by the kitchen window. She immediately jumps off the counter she got herself on to rub herself on Shou’s legs, meowing for attention.

A few caresses and head scritches later, they’re sitting at the table together, eating while their cat soaks up the sunlight from the window. Then after, Shou will have to take his medicine, and then it falls back into some routine they’ve made for themselves over the days without a word. It’s quiet, peaceful, and boring even to some.

Kleio looks over to Shou with a soft expression. He doesn’t find himself minding this at all.

[scaryscarecrows]

Dead Man Walking

DAEZD-Dead Man Walking

You Me At Six-Fresh Start Fever

Metric-Gold Guns Girls

Young Guns-Bones

Three Days Grace-Chalk Outline

Nothing More-Go To War

Architects-Seeing Red

Breaking Benjamin-Crawl

Alice in Chains-Red Giant

Disturbed-Shout 2000

Bones-Happy

AC/DC-Hells Bells

Dreadlight-Grenadine

Deftones-Be Quiet and Drive (Far Away)

Sixx: A.M-Life is Beautiful

Trapt-Headstrong

Architects-Black Lungs

In This Moment-River of Fire

Nine Inch Nails-The Hand That Feeds

Linkin Park-Bleed It Out

Daughtry-It's Not Over

Beware of Darkness-Muthafucka

[mysteriouslytransparentwitch]

energy of King Charles 3, March 19, 2024, it is 7:50 a.m. French time (tarot & oracle)

oracle of energies: we start with the reflective man, he observes possibilities, he reflects on decisions, he consults, he has worked on how to improve the BRF and instigate a renewal. He must have observed some weaknesses and is trying to find a way to improve the situation.

His energy is starting to improve, he is in a very spiritual energy. His 3rd eye is open, he sees certain things and observes certain things beyond appearances and his crown chakra is also open, he receives information from his guides but also he is in a phase of understanding in a global way.

Charles is very worried about the finances for the BRF but also the associations. He worked on how to obtain more resources without getting tired.

There is quite a strategy for him in June.

with the Akashic tarot cards: the cards are heavy and messy. OK there was a talk between Charles and William after this fiasco. We start with the map of loving spirits, I will describe the map to you to better understand. There is a child and there are 3 fairies around this child and the water is agitated. This card is accompanied by the light of the world card but reversed (it is a guide who knocks on the door but the person does not open the door or not yet)

I conclude that Charles left William a few days then there was a discussion but help was refused then William continued to dig his karmic trench which is sterile (there is the architect's card) he is accompanied by a woman who listens and observes. Conclusion Charles left William to learn and see that his strategy was fruitless then William came out a little disillusioned because he came with the act of the inverted rose prince while heading back to the bridge road. I see Catherine as Queen of Parchment lol there was also contact with Charles. There is the map of ego visions. So we're talking about ego in the broad sense here. The King of Swords heads towards the castle to rest. There is something in the air, there is a chess game around health. I see Charles coming as the parchment king, he has a goal in mind currently, I have the garden map (it's 2 children playing) and again the community map. We reflect on the brf system as a whole

[carlpalmer]

tagged by @eddie-rifff to post 5-10 songs i have on repeat. thank you so much friend!!!

mad man moon - genesis

viernes, 3.A.M. - serú girán

dimmu borgir - dimmu borgir

spiral architect - black sabbath

down and out - genesis

eiti-leda - serú girán

un millón de años luz - soda stereo

summer moved on - a-ha

it - genesis

delius - kate bush

tagging: @mikerutherford @shirleywatts @barbieomoviegeek @wanderinstar @thenineofus @blunderbussin if you want to of course!