#high rise

[humanoidhistory]

Rocket Building in Saitama, Japan, built in the 1980s to house an astronomy museum, now mostly apartments.

(Sabukaru)

[takenbtwind]

Been binging Tom Hiddleston media and I have an important chart for you all

[germanpostwarmodern]

Bonifazius-Türme (1974-78) in Mainz, Germany, by Johannes Krahn

[nestedneons]

By novanoxone

Music on

[one-time-i-dreamt]

I was in a high rise apartment complex getting a manicure (I do not get manicures irl), and whales started attacking the Exxon gas station next door, causing it to explode. I was safe because I was in a high rise.

[389]

Rebirth I Tomasz Artur Bolek

[scipunk]

Blade Runner: Black Lotus (2021)

[in-her-jeans]

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Burnt Out 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, anxiety/stress, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Robert Laing

Summary: you're stressed out and ready to escape, but the way out might not be as glamourous as it seems.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You flinch as you peel away the hangnail. Ugh. You need to stop doing that. Your hands are a mess. Short nails, brittle too. The skin and cuticles are fraying but not on their own. You can’t help it. A nervous habit. Stress. 

You’re not sure how much more you can take. It’s not a choice. Nothing in life is your choice. You didn’t even choose to be alive. Your parents always treated you like your existence was forced even on them. That barely matters. You haven’t seen either of them in years. 

You still your hands and go back to typing. If you don’t get this done, you’ll be in for another lecture from Mr. Brenner. ‘You haven’t finished the group reservation? You’re going to mess everything up again!’ 

Yeah, yeah. That’s how it goes. You can’t do anything right. It’s probably why you ended up here. You deserve this purgatory. 

As you import the files from the travel site and review for discrepancies, you hear the doors. Great, you’ll come back to it. You check the time. It’s not even noon. More bad news and the messenger is the first to be shot. 

You glance over the front desk and do a double take. Guilt speckles over your cheeks. The man is handsome. Tall and trim. You don’t know why you notice but you do. His blonde hair is neatly parted, yet there’s a small wave to it. He wears a fine grey suit which probably costs as much as a week of your minimum wage. 

It shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t even occur to you. You deal with all sorts. The traveling businessmen, the body builders in town for the convention, and even those meeting for some forbidden tryst. Hotels are not the place for judgement. 

“Hello, sir, welcome to Sapphire Suites,” you smile. You usually only bother when Brenner is around to fume down your neck. “Do you have a reservation?” 

“I do,” he answers in his lilted accent. Oh. Deadly. “I understand I’m well ahead of check-in, however, I only came to inquire if I might leave my bags with you until then.” 

Polite and he reads the fine print. What more could a girl ask for? Usually, you’d be annoyed. Why would you come so early? Our housekeeping isn’t even done their first floor. Not today. He’s too pleasant to be irritated. 

“Well, I can certainly see if your rooms are ready. We weren’t booked up last night so it’s possible.” You offer. 

“That would be wonderful, so long as it doesn’t put you out,” he steps up to the desk as the wheels of his bag quiet. “Robert Laing. I believe I’ve got the executive.” 

You already know it’s ready. It’s expensive and rarely booked on weeknights. It’s only a Tuesday. 

“Let me see, Laing...” 

“L-A-I-N-G,” he spells it out. “No one expects the I.” 

“Oh, thanks,” you backspace and put in the proper spelling. Yep, it’s green. “Good news, it’s set. I just did the keycards so I’ll go grab yours.” 

You go back to the carefully organized folio, arranged by room number. You spent your first hour swipe and coding each one. You take his and bring it back with the liability form. 

“If you don’t mind, there is a waiver,” you put the paper down. “I’ll need a piece of ID as well. And a credit card.” 

“Of course,” he slides out his wallet and provides both cards. You take them as he looks over the form.  

You go to scan both and upload them into his file. You return them as he signs with a metallic pen, slipping it into his front pocket before sliding the page across. You thank him and scan that as well. You come back to hand over his keys and give him the spiel. 

You retract your hand as he looks down at it. You try to hide your chafed and cracking fingertips. You’re mess. Your name tag is barely hanging on and the scarf is crooked and only half under your collar. 

“Your WIFI and room service details are in here,” you point to the sleek little folio with his door cards. “Everything you need should be in your room. The pool is behind me and the private spa rooms can be booked by calling down. Oh—did you need a parking pass, sir?” 

“Please, Robert works for me,” he insists, “I flew in so not driving. Might I put in a request?” 

“Um, okay?” You stare at him anxiously.  

“Any recommendations for in-town activities? I’m egregiously early for the conference and I get restless pent up in hotels,” he drawls. “Perhaps a shopping center or if you’re permitted, any worthwhile bistros?” 

“Geez, I forgot to mention, there’s Ruby’s. The restaurant attached to us, just that way when you head out the doors. They have a patio but it’s getting a bit chilly. And er, the bar, The Gem, that’s on the second floor.” 

“Wonderful,” he covers the key folder with his hand. 

You smile. If Mr. Brenner was there to witness your immaculate customer service, he might just lay off of you. Or he’d ask why you didn’t smile more often.  

“You’ve been amazingly helpful, dear,” he says. “I do hope the day doesn’t prove very hectic for you.” 

“Thank you, sir—Um, Robert,” you correct yourself as his brow tweaks. 

“And you...” he leans forward to read your name tag. “Beautiful name.” 

“Thanks,” you swallow dryly, “enjoy your stay.” 

Finally, he leaves you. You watch him go, his bag rolling after his long strides. You don’t move until he’s closed up in the elevator. You want to cringe. You’re a mess and on top of that, you’re awkward to boot. It’s not that you don’t want to be good at your job, it’s that you hate it, and you’re no good with people. But work is work. 

You retreat into the back room and dig in your purse. Your lips are chapped and raw. You layer on the medicated balm and sigh. You take out the little daisy-shaped mirror and check your reflection. Aren’t you so stupid? Look at you. A man like that would never waste his time with a front desk worker ant, let alone someone so repulsive. 

[humanoidhistory]

Perth Council House by Howlett and Bailey Architects.

(Red & Black Architect)

[postpunkindustrial]

Dead Tech Sampler - No Wave From Japan LP

Well since I'm doing 80's Japan here is a solid well rounded comp of experimental/noise/psych. You have the Punk/Prog of Ruins, the Psych of High Rise, Noise of Null and Hijokaidan, early Boredoms and more. A solid line up.

You can get it from my Google Drive HERE

[humanoidhistory]

"Kowloon Walled City—Caged Balconies," 1990, photo by Ian Lambot.

(M+)

[aneverydaything]

Day 2300, 9 October 2024

Yellow on the Golden Lane Estate, London

Today I found some time to visit the Golden Lane Estate near the Barbican in London and to take some urban photographs which I hadn't done for a while. The Golden Lane Estate was built in the 1950s and is now Grade II listed. For more urban photographs of London including the Golden Lane Estate, visit my tumblr London Edge