#his design is surprisingly busy i had a bit of trouble fitting those glasses on his face

[askkwieon]

Art trade with @themisfitsedge ! Thanks for the opportunity, this was really fun!

[mugsywrites]

Homesteading AU that will never be Chapter 2

This is chapter 2, with Merle. Warning for Merle’s thoughts, his head is an ugly place to be. Racism, homophobia, abusive thoughts, etc.

Chapter 2: Merle

Three days later the busy truck stop has been deserted. There are a few trucks scattered by the side of the road.

[STUFF]

This stillness is shattered by the roar of an engine getting louder and louder as a XXford pickup truck peels off the exit, pulling into the truck stop. A man gets out of the truck with a rifle slung over one shoulder, on edge.

[STUFF]

Merle Dixon has no psychic twinge or premonition that three nights ago his brother dragged his boyfriend into the shadows for a kiss not far from the spot where he’s pissing. If he did would have moved over to the side to be sure and water that little patch of grass. Since he doesn’t he finishes, gives the old joystick a shake, and zips up.

[STUFF, Merle Arrives at the Desus House]

After Merle makes sure that Daryl is definitely gone he goes through the house room by room looking for clues on where to search for his sweet baby brother and his sweet baby brother’s pretty boy roommate. He doesn’t dwell on the fact he would have done this even if there was a map on the wall with Daryl’s exact location circled in red ink. Doesn’t on the fact he’s just plain curious; he hasn’t seen or spoken to his brother in almost three years, something he still has trouble believing. All on account of Daryl’s prissy little roommate. The faggy little roommate who had gotten ahold of Daryl’s brain via his dick. The mouthy little roommate who made Daryl buy this house in this shithole town full of bleeding hearts, jigs, and democrats instead of splitting the insurance money with Merle. Aside from the paltry amount Daryl put aside for “when he got out”. The pussy little roommate who kept Daryl’s balls in a sack ‘round his neck for all Merle knew.

Pansy Palace is only big and fancy if he compares it to Daddy’s place up in Sedalia. If he’s being objective then it’s a modest two story colonial-style house that is good sized for a couple with some space left over if said couple were planning on adding some brats. Not that Darlina and his ladyboy roommate need to worry about that. The staircase to the second floor is just opposite the front door. To the left of the staircase is a small kitchen, to the right is living room that opens into a dining area towards the back of the house. There’s a half bath and an office and sliding glass doors that lead out to a patio.

Merle scans each room, cataloging everything in detail. Aside from the kitchen—with cupboards open and in disarray—the rooms look well-lived in but tidy. Merle thinks of Daddy’s place again, where he has not set foot since he was thrown in the clink over five years ago. He and Daryl lived there ever since Will Dixon, their shitheel old man, had a heart attack while watching Wheel of Fortune over twenty years ago. Casa Fagola, home of Darlina and his roommate, looks to be just about as old but in far better shape than Will’s place with its fraying carpets, peeling paint, and leaky roof. The furniture in Fudge-packer Manor matches, something Merle finds irrationally annoying. It looks newish and store-bought, not snatched from a rummage sale or flea market.

New house wasn’t good enough, he needed new furniture too, Merle thinks to himself, his mouth twisting in an ugly line. He thinks back to this spring, a few weeks before his parole hearing that was a waste of everyone’s fucking time. Merle had been edgy during that time, he knew goddamned well he wouldn’t be paroled. Too many black marks on his record after five years in the pokey. Fights, possession of contraband, destruction of other inmates’ property, mouthing off to the guards. He knew he wouldn’t be paroled, but this small sliver of him kept thinking what if. That was the thing, you could tell yourself all the livelong day that you knew you wasn’t getting out, but there was that little voice. What if. Same cocksucking voice he heard when he bought a scratch off ticket, peeling off slivers of latex while what if what if what if jabbered away in his head. That sliver of possibility was crueler than an extra five years on his sentence. Kept imagining what he’d do on his first night out of this place. Pussy being the number one item on that list, a steak at Texas Roadhouse right behind, and finally some crystal. Once he’d satisfied those appetites in that exact order he would track down his dumbass baby brother and help him find his nut sack again. It was with those thoughts swirling in his head that Merle was told he had a request for a visitor, a Mr. Paul J. Rovia. Merle was about to say he had no idea who Paul J. Rovia was when it clicked.

My friend Paul, the one I told you about. He’s moving in with me.

That last conversation he’d had with Daryl, when his sweet baby brother told him that instead of investing his little windfall with Merle’s help he was going to buy Fag Manor here in libtard central. Daryl had gotten up and left when Merle had made it clear what the consequences would be. After everything Merle had done for him Daryl had chosen some namby pamby little queer. He kept waiting for Daryl to come crawling back begging for forgiveness when the roommate fucked off somewhere after bleeding Daryl dry. But year after year passed with not so much as a letter. There were times he almost broke down and called Boyd down in Sedalia to ask if he’d do a favor for his pal Merle. A little one at that, especially since Merle would’ve gotten less time if he’d snitched on the rest of the gang. Just find out where his sweet baby brother was hanging his hat these days, find out who if anyone he was still living with. Simple. Merle never did go that far, in the back of his mind he knew Daryl would spot Boyd and would figure out instantly who’d sent him and why. There was always the chance that even though Daryl had embraced full time faggotry there was enough Dixon in him to start some shit. Shit that would end badly for everyone involved.

But now here Mr. Paul J. Rovia wanted to come for a visit, wanted to look Merle in the eye and talk to him. Merle didn’t even consider turning the request down, he wanted to look Paulyanna in the eye and talk to him as well. He told himself that it was just so he could tell the roommate to go fuck himself once and for all, and that was part of it, but it wasn’t the main reason.

The main reason was that he hadn’t seen his brother in almost three years, had no idea what he was doing, no idea if he missed Merle or thought of him at all.

[STUFF]

[STUFF]

Mr. Paul J. Rovia was already sitting at the little booth when Merle was escorted in. He didn’t stand,  looked up and met Merle’s eyes with a bland expression that did not match his chilly blue eyes. He was handsome, with bluish-green eyes, high cheekbones over a neat beard, and glossy hair that tumbled down to his shoulders. Merle’s first thought was that the guy looked like paintings of Jesus in his grandma’s sitting room growing up. His second thought was that he hadn’t expected the roommate to be this good-looking. His shirt was fitted tight enough for Merle to see he had the lithe, compact little body of a gymnast with surprisingly well-muscled arms and shoulders. Despite that, without a beard he would have looked like a girl with that glossy hair and a wide mouth framed by full red lips that looked like they’d been designed to suck cock.

Merle’s third thought was to wonder— not for the first time— if Daryl had lied to him about how much money was in his insurance settlement, or how much the lawyers would take, or a combination of the two. No way little Mr. Hot Piece would look twice at a bit of redneck trash with the last name of Dixon unless he had good incentive. So. Money, and lots of it. His sweet little Darlina had told Merle that he got a lawyer via his good friend Paul, the very same guy who swooped in like a vulture when he saw a dying Daryl beside the road. Probably called the lawyer before 911.

They studied each other for a few minutes, Mr. Paul “Jesus” Rovia and his pretty dick-sucking lips and bland expression. Pretty good poker face, but it didn’t take Merle long to guess that he was pissed. When Merle realized that he gave him a lazy grin, and that poker face slipped for just a minute before Jesus grabbed the phone on his side of the glass. Merle’s grin widened as he picked up his own phone, “Who the fuck are you, then?”

Jesus rolled his eyes, “You know who the fuck I am. Paul Rovia, you signed off on my visitor’s request. I thought we should chat.”

Merle sucked his lip against his teeth, “You got me. I know who you are— my sweet little Darylina’s best lady friend,” he was surprised to find himself reluctantly respecting the fact that guy got straight to the point like that. Little fucker. “You’re purtier than I thought you’d be. Still roommates?”

Merle’s reluctant respect shattered when Jesus replied in a bored voice, “Yeah. Plus we’re still regularly sodomizing each other, which is a bonus.”

White hot rage descended on Merle then. “Boy, you don’t know how lucky you are this glass is between us. You should march out of here before I decide to try and break it.”

[stuff, convo is identical to the one they had in Ripples, but with Merle’s reactions.]

“Heard you’re up for parole, that is if you didn’t fuck it up. How’s that going?”

“Why you askin’? Gonna invite me over for Sunday morning shopping trips for panty hose?”

“I’m honestly curious about something, Merle. Do you legit think comparing me to a woman is going to piss me off? Or implying that I’m less of a man or whatever because I like dick? Besides, it’s not like you have room to talk, what with you in here getting dicked down on the regular. Guessing you’re the most popular guy on your cell block.”

“I don’t need to know about your jerk off fantasies, you fucking fudge packer, or the disgusting shit you done to my brother,” Merle snarled.

“Oh Merle, your secret is safe with me. I spent a lot of time in juvie, I know guys like you. Loudest homophobes are the quickest to lie back and grab their ankles or follow you around begging to suck your dick.”

“Ooh creampuff, do you want to wrassle with me?” Merle hissed, “You want an ass beating to get your rocks off you don’t need to go through all this, just say the word.”

“Daryl may be scared of you, I’m not,”

“You lying little cocksucker. I dunno what kinda shit you put in his head, make him run off—“

“Holy shit, do you not know?Thought you’d be pleased, I think he’s more scared of you than he ever was of your Daddy. Apple didn’t fall far from the tree there in your case.”

“I ain’t nothing like our daddy, you candy ass little scrotum. Daryl ain’t scared of me.”

“He is terrified of you; he’s had me spend the past three years learning how to shoot a gun and looking over his shoulder because he’s worried you’ll have your inbred white supremacist buddies come beat him or kill him. He’s been a basket case since he realized you could be getting out soon to beat him or kill him personally.”

“Look at you sittin’ there in your fancy clothes with your yankee accent acting like I’m some kinda monster, to hurt my own kin, my blood. You see a guy like me and see nothin’, see a guy who won’t listen to your bullshit—”

“You know what I see when I look at you?” Jesus interrupted, “Trash. Straight up fucking garbage. And it’s really important that you realize I don’t see that because you’re poor, or from Buttfuck, Georgia, or are into redneck shit like hunting and fucking your cousins. Except for that last one I could be describing Daryl and I think he’s pretty great. No, you’re garbage because of the shit you choose to do. To him especially.”

“So why are you here then, if I’m the bogeyman?”

“I’m here because—even though you’re trash and don’t deserve him—Daryl for some reason still loves you. Which makes you also my fucking cross to bear. In my ideal world you’d fuck off somewhere and never come back, but I think he misses you. If you could choose to stop being a dick for thirty minutes then he wouldn’t mind hearing from you, so feel free to give him a call and let him know you’re not going to kick his ass. But if you show up and hurt him in any way or try dragging him down to your level I’m going to kill you.”

Merle stared at him in disbelief before he chuckled, “Oh sweetheart, I would love to see you try.”

“Please, a child could get rid of your dumb ass. Cut the brake line on your bike. Or set the shack you live in on fire one night when you’re all pilled up. Or just walk in blow your head off instead, cops would find you and think one of your tweaker besties went nuts. Nothing of value would be lost and no one would miss you except for Daryl. He’s used to that by now.”

Merle laughed again: “Oh honey bunch, you are feisty. Hissin’ and spittin’ just like a kitten. You know what I think? Think you the one that’s afraid. Daryl knows I’d never hurt him, I think you’re afraid once I get out he’ll find his balls again and quit buyin’ you houses and whatever else you got him doing.”

“Whatever helps you live with yourself. Saddest thing about you isn’t that you’re trash, it’s that you don’t have to be. You could just, y’know, stop. Like I said, he still loves you for some fucking reason and would be happy to see you if you could act like a human being. But guys like you never do. Goodbye, it wasn’t nice meeting you.”

[STUFF]

That night Merle found Fabrizio in the showers and gave him the nod. Later when the little Guinea fuck had his mouth around Merle’s cock he heard ol’ Jesus mocking words, bet you’re the most popular guy on your cellblock, playing on a loop in his head. When closed his eyes instead of imagining past conquests like Ruby Sawyer or that sexy bitch XXXX, it was Jesus. Imagined how those full lips would look swollen and bruised and red after, and as he did he arced his hips forward and came with the force of a gunshot.

That night he laid awake in his bunk while Ellis Crowder snored and farted in the bed above him, restless and angry, still hearing Jesus’s mocking voice.

What with you in here getting dicked down on the regular.

Fucking fudge-packer and his fucking disgusting fantasies. Fucking Daryl and his tender little heart. Merle should have sat down with Daryl back when he was still young and impressionable and explained a few things to him. Like how getting your dick sucked when you were behind bars-be it juvie or prison—was one thing. Hell, some guys were better at it than women, could make it feel fucking amazing. So Merle understood that part of it, how a guy could give you a blowjob so good you saw stars. How you could maybe get addicted to it, start thinking that thing was ok full time. Easier and more convenient than going after a woman. Especially sweet young ladies like his precious little Darlina. Too late now.

Loudest homophobes were the quickest to lie back and grab their ankles or follow you around begging to suck your dick.

Merle felt a spike of rage, remembering the little queer claiming he sodomized Daryl, and his hands twitched involuntarily as he imagined wrapping them around Jesus’ neck and squeezing. Never, Merle thought, Daryl’d never! His brother might be tender-hearted and sweet but Merle’s time making him into a man couldn’t have been completely wasted. The kid was tough, and the thought that he’d let Mr. Pretty Boy Jesus do that to him was absurd. Getting your dick sucked was one thing, fucking a guy was one thing—after all, a mouth was a mouth and an asshole was an asshole whether they were attached to a man or a woman. A man needed something beside his hand for five years. But by the same token a dick was a dick, and only fags liked those in their mouths or up their asses. Fags got off on doing that kind of shit. Take Fabrizio, Merle hardly ever beat him off afterward as a thank you for services rendered but the guy still came running with his mouth agape when Merle or any other guy with more muscle than fat gave the nod. Fuck, when Merle was back in juvie and didn’t know any better he’d given his fair share of head in exchange for some of his own, but he hadn’t enjoyed it. Some tit for tat, quid pro quo, I scratch your back you scratch mine. That was before Merle realized some guys would…how did Jesus put it? Lay back and grab their ankles or follow you around begging to suck your dick. That’d never been Merle, little queer was probably just projecting; he’d probably be the one in juvie to do all that. If ol’ Jesus was in prison now he’d be the most popular guy not just on the cell block but the entire dang prison. Guys’d be lined up by the dozens to run a train on him and he’d love every second. He’d be good at it too, Merle knew that for a fact, had to be good to get Daryl so whipped he was buying houses and refusing to see his brother who was rotting away in jail.

[STUFF, he’s back in the Desus house looking at their shit]

The walls are covered in collages of photographs of various sizes. Many of them are black and white so at first Merle dismisses them as some arty farty shit they’d gotten at a tourist shop. But then out of the corner of his eye he catches a glimpse of something familiar and takes a closer look. It’s a shot of a rocking chair in the middle of a field, taken at around sunset. Its only when you look at the figure seated in the chair that you realize how big the thing is, fifteen feet high at least. The man in the chair has his arms stretched out like Jesus on the cross and can just barely touch the chair’s armrest and his feet don’t touch the edge. In the light of the shot his features are indistinct and shadowy but the silhouette is enough for Merle to recognize his brother.

[He has a flashback to when Daryl was a little boy, around five or so. Sitting in his rocking chair with a stuffed Kermit the Frog, and Merle telling him that only fags had stuffed animals. ]

On one wall there’s a framed menu of a place called the Sweet Shack Barbecue. It’s designed to look a little like an old-timey newspaper, with inked etchings of smiling pigs dressed in top hats and tuxedos. One drawing has a group of pigs with wide smiles sat down at a dinner table. On the table is another pig, only this one is on a plate with an apple in its mouth and little x’s in place of eyes.

He finds Daryl in another photo. This one is a closeup of a regal moth cupped delicately in the palm of a man’s hand, and Merle can just see the corner of the little blue star Daryl has tattooed on his wrist.

[STUFF]

A pit bull with its mouth open in a wide, doggie grin leaning out of a motorcycle sidecar. Its wearing a red bandana with the University of Georgia logo and matching red goggles. Merle thinks of the “Warning: Pit Bull” sign on the side gate and guesses this is Darlina’s pet dog. They always had a mutt or two around since they was kids, and his sweet baby brother adored them.  Merle felt his fingers close into his fist at the overt faggotry of it, dressing your dog up.

[STUFF, IN THE KITCHEN]

The fridge is covered in kitschy souvenir magnets—St. Petersburg, Tarpon Springs, Cumberland Island, St. Augustine, Savannah, Gatlinburg, Asheville, Helen. There’s also a black magnet with “GO DAWGS!” in bright red, and another one with Uga, the white bulldog that’s the Georgia mascot. On the side of the fridge is a whiteboard with a blue marker on a string. He recognizes Daryl’s chicken scratches that make up the written to-do list.

1)Lou’s rabies shot 2)replace brake lights on Paul’s bike 3)Mow lawn 4)shoot douchebags on Oakhurst St

Underneath the last item is a note written in neat block letters: babe don’t shoot neighbors until I’m back & can bail you out.

[Merle goes through the house some more]

Merle isn’t a man who’s ever understood himself well, so he doesn’t bother to analyze the way looking at Daryl’s house makes him feel. Pissed off, jealous, afraid, guilty. The house isn’t what he expected at all. Not the frayed mess of Daddy’s place, but neat and homey. It's like finding out he never knew Daryl at all. He isn’t sure what he expected to find—he had a vague idea of some faggy shit like rainbows all over everything, nude portraits on the wall, a fucking gimp costume hanging from the hook on the door or a collection of dildos on the shelf. He doesn’t find anything like that, not in the living area or in the master bedroom.

He does find a box of condoms that looked old as fuck and a mostly empty bottle of Astroglide that doesn’t.

[project-runway-rankings]

Season 1 Episode 11- The First Finale

This season was a standard bearer for finale collections to come.  All three showed a distinct point of view and what designers could do with reasonable amounts of time and money.  Not every collection was perfect but they all did have their redeeming qualities and pieces.

Side note: I will go to my grave defending Wendy regarding the Wendy Pepper situation.

Onto the collections

3. Wendy

This collection was the epitome of Wendy Pepper.  There were many things both wrong with and, but also many things quite beautiful and refined.  As a designer she never really found herself on the show, vacillating between her aesthetic and what she thought the judges wanted to see from her.  She was truly a designer who designed for the American woman who didn’t need crazy silhouettes or outrageous fabrics to feel bold an beautiful.  Rewatching this finale show, I liked it much better than I did the first time, though it is still not without it’s faults.  Could I be looking at it with rose colored glasses?  Possibly, but that’s the beauty of nostalgia.

Like I said, she designs for the everyday American woman.  That coat, though puckered, is the definition of luxe and the color pallet is extremely rich in it’s tones.

That jacket is everything and I really wish I owned it.  The sheen is a great contrast to the matte finish of every other piece in her first two looks.  The shirt and pants, though well made, are fairly basic.

There is no reason for this to be at NYFW.  There is interest in the color and texture but the actual design is a 50′s throwback with no innovation.

Part of the problem is that the model looks like a strung out heroin addict, and part of the problem is the actual design.  The skirt is a nothing piece and the top is a chewed up mess.  This also has no relation to her first 3 looks.

It was smart of her to add a suit to her collection, but this suit was a bad decision.  It’s pretty basic in its cut and finishing and the fabric is turning me off big time.

Now we enter the gown portion of Wendy’s show which has no relation to the first half.  The problem was her show was too disjointed for a 10 look showing.

This dress from the back is cute and I like the fabric play, but the front is sloppy.  I don’t get her obsession with rouching down the sternum.

Benjamin would get eliminated in season 11 for creating this same look out of the same fabric FOR A 70 YEAR OLD WOMAN

The abrupt change is fabric is a bit jarring, especially because it is literally an inch below her waist.  This color though...she needed to run with it, it was in the best pieces in her collection.

Wendy’s finale piece was stunning, and is my favorite thing Wendy made on the show.  The corset is interesting as it a new take on the corset and the proportion of the skirt is perfect.  And I can still tell this this a Wendy’s look as it mixes sportswear fabrications with elegant designs.

2. Kara Saun

It seemed like Kara had this thing in the bag considering her astounding success with the judges on the show, winning four challenges and never being in true trouble with the judges.  Her shoes were clearly in breach of the contract and if I were Tim Gunn and the producers I would have made her nix them the day of the show.  The actually clothes in her collection were very good, and would have probably won if she created one cohesive collection.  She created two collections, one of 40s menswear and one of gorgeous evening gowns.  They just didn’t mesh.

Unfortunately it looks more like a costume than a fashion show.  Get rid of the hat and pair that jacket with a pairof brown cigarette pants and that jacket would sing.  I love the colors.

This dress is gorgeous and has absolutely no relation her first look outside of color.  I can see them in the same collection if we has some transition in between.

Why were this look and her opening look separated by a gown?  This is much less costume and shows serious detail work. Just get rid of the hat again.  I could see many women wearing a version of this as a jacket.

Back to gowns.  This is less successful than her first gown,  The cut of the top makes her hips look big and it doesn’t look fitted properly.  The bow adds enough drama to make it suffice-able.

This is the best of her 40′s pilot inspired looks.  The jacket is divine as is the top underneath.  I love the metallic green of the pussy bow and sleeves.  That cropped pant length surprisingly works on her this look.

Had she used a piece like this to transition from her pilot looks to gowns I would have liked the show as a while much better.  The belt is a bit much but I love that she was able to show so much skin up top yet still create a classy cocktail dress.

The length of the hem bothers me, but other than that this is a solid entry.  It just doesn’t wow me.

When Kara gets it right she really gets it right.  This was my favorite looks of her collection and I would fight for that jacket.  The fur placement at the elbows should never work, but she made it work.

It’s the same top she has made at least twice before in this collection, and shirt doesn’t add anything new.  The fur on top is bulky.

It is gorgeous and red carpet ready, but it doesn’t wow me.  They were referencing Gucci with this look all episode and I couldn’t agree more.  It is still a wonderful finale piece.

1. Jay

I am a sucker for three things: A bold runway, saturated colors, and cozy winter wear, all of which Jay possessed.  This show was not without it’s faults but overall it is one of the best in PR history.  He was able to make 10 distinct winter wear looks without it ever getting repetitive and even incorporated a gown.  And the idea to use the headphones was genius as it gave his entire collection a cool girl vibe.  Loved it.

My least favorite piece of his collection.  I don’t like the color of the wrap and the skirt to legging proportion is off.  The design of the wrap is cool, I just wish this was in a bright yellow instead of gold.

I have a love hate relationship with this look.  I love the colors, the top and the leather belt, but I hate the skirt.  2004 was an interesting time. This look also seems odd in the context of the super saturated artificial colors of the rest of the collection.

Full transparency: I HATE pins. Don’t ask my why I don’t know, it’s just a taste thing for me. That being said everything else about this look is killer.  The fest is cool and hits his model in all of the right places.  The pant’s are cool and slouchy and go well with the relative sleekness of the top underneath.

A few times in Jay’s collection you get a breath of fresh air and this is one of them.  It is such a soft and whimsical look, yet I could see a hip New York woman rocking it.  And the fabric manipulation of the skirt is 100% Jay.

It’s no secret that Jay knocked it out of the park with his blue section.  This probably my favorite look of the entire finale and set a standard for future seasons.  It oozes luxury.

That print is killer and goes great with the rest of his collection.  It is for a younger audience than the rest of his collection for sure but you need that.  My only issue is the massive cuff on the jeans, it makes her look short.

One of the more successful hoodie looks on Project Runway.  I wish this was in a bright saturated color to make it a little more special, and those leg muffs are a no no.

I love the use of this color to break up the dark blues and maroons, but the top is just too busy.  I think he was going for an airier look, but it just looks a bit tortured.

Give me that coat.  Jay won ebcause he showed an extremely clear point of view as a designer: new American Sportswear with traditional high end techniques.  The way he quilted the leather and wool(?) together made for a truly special piece.

I honestly can not find a flaw with this look, and I would consider it a near perfect dress on today’s project runway.  The way he integrated a red carpet gown so seamlessly into a winter collection without throwing a coat on it was amazing.  Only a few other designers (Sean and Ayana off the top of my head) have had such a striking closing piece. 

[blahblahblippyblah]

The Adventures of Blitz and Hearth (before TSOS)

Chapter 2: The Last Time Blitz Went to Nabbi's

full story: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11389974/chapters/25506363

When they approached the bar Nabbi greeted them.

"Blitzen son of Freya how are you doing? And who is this friend of yours?"

"Hi Nabbi son of Loretta. I'm fine. Just tired is all. This is my friend Hearthstone son of...." he trailed off and looked up at Hearthstone how had been watching him talk. Hearth had obviously picked up what he was saying because he quickly signed.

“Hearthstone just hearthstone”. He used the h sign for his name.

"Ummm Hearthstone just Hearthstone" Blitz translated. Nabbi frowned slightly but didn't say anything. He turned back to Blitz.

"Should I even bother asking how you found yourself in the company of an elf?" Nabbi asked.

"I wish you wouldn't" Blitz said.

"I'm guessing this is what those lights were for huh?" Nabbi said.

Hearthstone started to sign. “Blitz found me saved me…” But his signs stopped quickly when he saw the confused expression on Nabbi's face. He signed “Sorry” looking down at his feet.

Blitz patted his shoulder. He didn't know why the elf was sorry. But Hearth gave off the feeling that he was ashamed of having to sign because he was deaf.

Blitz tuned to Nabbi. "He’s deaf. But it's ok he can read lips pretty well. Plus I'm pretty good at translating."

Nabbi nodded and gestured for them to sit.Blitz tapped Hearth's shoulder to make him look up from his shoes. He pointed at the chairs and they sat beside each other.

"Great chairs. That one is Hindcushion made by yours truly, and that one under your elf is Bottomboiler also made by yours truly." Nabbi went on.

"Very nice” Blitz agreed. "Two meads please Nabbi"

Hearth tapped on Blitz’s shoulder. And shook his head.

"Actually one mead and some Sergent Pepper for my friend" Blitz corrected.

Nabbi came back with two mugs filled with chilled liquid and introduced the cups. When he was finished he went off to serve some other patrons.

The bar was more crowded then usual today. Then Blitz remember it was the weekend. He took a big sip of mead and shook his head. Hearth was sticking his finger in his pop popping the bubbles that came to the surface. He looked glum. Well more so than usual. It was hard to tell with Hearth. His face was always a clean slate of emotionless rock.

Blitz waved to get his attention then signed. “You ok buddy?"

Hearth nodded and signed back. "I should be asking you that. What happen today?"

Blitz took another swig of mead and signed. “I had a bad day at work. I thought when I was done trade school I could open up my own fashion shop. You know custom clothes designed by me. But I can't get enough to even start a shop, and I don't know how much longer I can last doing what I do now. I kind of feel defeated. The only person who encouraged my designing was my dad and now he’s dead."

It took a while for him to sign but Hearth stayed attentive.

"Tell me about the shop" Hearth signed.

Blitz paused for a second starring at the elf. No one ever asked him to talk about his designs. Usually other dwarves laughed at him when he said he wanted to be a fashion designer.

"Well as you have probably noticed by now I love fashion.” Hearth snorted at that his mouth lifting slightly at the corner. “I have ever since I was little. I have this great idea about a line of fashionable armour that doesn't look like armour so you could wear it casually but always be ready for a surprise attack. I also have tons of other idea. I have sketches and patterns all ready, and I've been designed a few. But opening the store is a far off dream."

Blitzen went on while signing then he stopped talking and only signed the last bit.

"Dwarves don't recognize fashion as a real trade. They think I'm stupid and wasting my life. They would rather go on dressing in their same old unstylish clothes"

Hearth raised his hands and signed. “Saw some of your drawings on the desk. They are beautiful. Dwarves don't know what they are missing. They are (sing I didn't know but got the gist it wasn't very nice) idiots."

I smiled at Hearth. That was the only nice comment I had ever gotten on my work. Well unless you count my mom, but I don't since my mom has never said it with as much feeling.

"You will get your shop. I know it" Hearth finished.

He lifted his hand to pat Blitz’s arm. He hesitated before actually touching. Like his arm was an angry dog he was scared was going to bite him. But he got over whatever it was he was scared of and rested his hand on Blitz’s arm.

The behaviour stirred up the questions Blitz had been holding in since Hearth woke up. Blitz had been holding back because the guy was weak, and he didn't want to overwhelm him. He was obviously still going through something but Blitz figured now was as good a time as ever.

“Why were you trying to get to Midgard?” Blitz asked.

Hearth looked away from Blitz and down into his pop again. His hand were sitting in his lap twisting in each other and blitz noticed his leg was shaking. He gave the elf a minute before he decided to shut down the question. But surprisingly when he looked up Hearth was signing very slowly so Blitz would get everything.

"Parents hate me. I'm an embarrassment. Elves aren’t supposed to be deaf. I am worthless. Couldn't stay there any longer.” Hearth’s hands froze in the air and started shaking.

He didn't look up from his lap. Blitz wanted to reach out and reassure the elf, but he didn't want to frighten him with a touch so he sat and waited for Hearth. Eventually the shaking died slightly and Hearth looked up at Blitz. His face was still the same expressionless stone but Blitz saw that his eyes had become usually wet and green.

"I don't know what to do now. I'm lost. Can't go home. But don't know where to go" Hearth finished.

At this Blitz reached over and put his hand on the elf’s lap. Hearth didn't flinch this time.

"You can stay with me as long as you like. We will figure something out" Blitz said. Hearth nodded which Blitz took as both an acknowledgment he understood him.

He signed “Thank you” and wiped his eyes on his hoodie sleeve.

"If you are staying were going to have to get you some new clothes" Blitz said as he signed.

"I agree" Hearth signed. "Parents made me wear this. Always white. I hate it."

Blitz frowned again. What kind of people treat their son like this he thought. Blitz didn't need Hearth to tell him all the details but he was too intuitive to not make the connection. Hearth's parents had abused him. And for being deaf none the less. He felt anger roar in his chest.

He looked over and saw that Hearth was watching him. Hearth looked frightened at the anger that was now showing in his face. Blitz quickly forced his expression back to neutral and finished off his mead. Nabbi came over and offered him another. He then began pretending to wiped glasses but sneaking glances at Hearth as if he was an interesting slide show. Hearth didn't notice he went back to popping pop bubbles, and taking small sips.

Halfway through his mead the pub door opened in came a bunch of stalky muscular dwarves. They were all dressed to NUT (Nidavellir University of Trades) sweaters. Blitz recognized them. He hung his head as to avoid being noticed. Unfortunately it's kind of hard not to be noticed in a small bar when you’re sitting beside a very tall and pale elf. The guys spotted him and stated walking over.

Blitz waved for Hearth's attention and signed

"Come on. We should get out of here before..."

"Well if it isn't Blitzen son of Freya" The biggest guy in the middle said. He and his gang were directly behind him now. They smelled of beer and aerosol cologne. The smell should have been a crime in itself. But the shorts with sweaters and boots should have been punishable by death.

Blitzen pursed his lips and turned to face them. “Hi Justin son of Kate."

Blitz grabbed Hearth's arm and went to guide the both of them around the gang, but Blitz was blocked.

"Listen guys I don't want trouble. Look I'm leaving." Blitz was blocked again.

Behind him Hearthstone glared at the gang leader. His eyes were piercing now. The looked frightened Blitz slightly, it reminded him of the animals you see on t.v. When they circle each other ready to fight. Blitz protective stood in front of Hearth. If he knew Justin and his gang, which unfortunately he did they wouldn't just try and mess with Blitz. The odd stranger hanging out with Blitz would be 2nd on their list.

"Haven’t seen you in campus Blitzy. Heard you finished early. How's that fashion thing working out?" his voice was full of taunting. His cronies chuckled.

Blitz continued to try and get him and Hearth around the group.

"Not well from what I heard. But no surprise there. Like father like son huh. Never has a family been such bunch if failures" Justin continued.

Blitz shook with rage. Beside him he felt Hearth tense up and ball his fist. Hearth moved forward and Blitz grabbed him by the arm. As much as he hated Justin he didn't want Hearth to get hurt.

"Where’d the woodland freak come from?” Justin said jutting his neck towards Hearth.

Blitz felt Hearth shift his weight like he was either about to throw up or charge Justin. He tightened his grasp on his arm.

"None of your business" Blitzen spat.

"It's not every day you see a dwarf with a little elf pet. Or is the elf you boyfriend?" Justin taunted. "Would be fitting a freak with a failure"

Behind him Hearth tugged his arms free from Blitz and started signing so rapidly Blitz could only make out a few words. He didn't know where Hearth has learned such colourful language, but he could have cussed gauntlets off of Thor.

Justin took in this odd sight and sneered. He had obviously gotten the meaning behind the signs. "Well would ya look at that, a deaf elf. No wonder he's hanging around with Blitzen. He was probably thrown into a dumpster and left for any loser to come and find. Good thing for you Blitzen the kid is probably too stupid to understand your stupid clothing gibberish."

Hearth lunged forward and Blitz had to grab him by the waist to stop him. It was a good thing the elf was as light as a pillow.

"Leave him alone Justin" Blitz snapped at the gang.

"Were not going to do anything. We just want to teach the spaz some manner".

Justin stepped forward but Hearth was too quick. He squirmed out if Blitz’s arms and slammed Justin right in the gut. Justin bent over wheezing. For a light tall skinny elf Hearth could punch hard. Blitz should know he was punched by a weakened Hearth. After a week under artificial sunlight he could only imagine how much that would have hurt.

The guy beside Justin reached out and pulled Hearth down into a headlock. He raised his fist to clock Hearth in the face and Blitz surged forward and punched the guy in the face. The guy let go of Hearth and Hearth fell back on the ground. Blitz stepped in front of him and kicked at the headlock guy as felt fell down.

Justin had come back to his senses and reached up and picking Blitzen up by his shirt. He felt his feet leave the ground and his clothes tighten around his neck. Blitzen thought he was a goner but then a giant bang echoed through the bar. Justin dropped Blitz and stumbled back clutching his head with the rest of his gang. Blitz steadied himself on his knees catching his breath. He looked back at Hearth who was using the bar to pull himself up. His eyes were out of focus and he was struggling to stand. His ankles were doing that odd bendy thing again. Above him the symbol Hagalaz shone. Hagalaz the rune of chaos and destruction Blitz remembered. Hearth had attempted magic again. Blitz went over to Hearth and draped the elf arms over his shoulder so he could help lift him. Behind him he heard one of the cronies yell

"Throw a bomb at us punks. Try this one on for size."

Blitz looked up just in time to see one of them pull a pin out of a grenade and lob it at them. Blitz ducked bringing Hearth down with him. Thank the Gods Hearths spell had really messed with them and the grenade fell on the other side of the bar. Blitz ran forward holding Hearth up with one arm. He grabbing a stool with his other hand and swung it at Justin knocking him on his back. He ran over Justin practically dragging the elf out of the bar as the grenade explode muffled by the bar. When he got to the sidewalk Blitz stopped and draped Hearth over his shoulder fireman style. The guy had passed out. He ran all the way back to his apartment.

[robertkstone]

2018 Lexus LS First Drive: Not My Father’s LS

After more than a decade of driving two Lexus LS sedans, my father switched brands in the late 2000s despite his trouble-free ownership experience. After he left the brand for something new, the LS became a snoozy yet dependable value-alternative to the class-leading Mercedes-Benz S-Class. With the ambitiously redesigned 2018 Lexus LS, that’s no longer the case. When it goes on sale in February 2018, can the new 2018 LS surprise and delight buyers who are new to the brand without alienating loyal Lexus buyers?

The bolder 2018 Lexus LS tries harder to earn its flagship-sedan title with unique interior details, better dynamics, more interior space, and improved proportions that visually distinguish it from the brand’s smaller sedans. Now offered in one long-wheelbase size, the car includes LS 500 (V-6) and LS 500h (V-6 hybrid) models, both with standard rear-wheel drive and available all-wheel drive. Don’t discount the 2018 LS 500 just because it’s powered by a six-cylinder engine—this twin-turbo V-6 easily outpowers the outgoing V-8, with 416 hp at 6,000 rpm and 442 lb-ft of torque from 1,600-4,800 rpm. Acceleration from 0-60 mph comes in a manufacturer-estimated 4.6 seconds for the LS 500 or 5.1-5.2 seconds with the LS 500h hybrid. The LS 500’s 10-speed automatic transmission is responsive after a slight delay, with smooth but not imperceptible shifts. The LS 500h is also responsive, though the hybrid powertrain—which produces a combined-system 354 hp—whines quietly in its sport modes.

About those sport modes—all Lexus LS cars have multiple driving modes that are easily activated by twisting a small stalk just above the instrument cluster. Even without twisting over to the eco mode, the quicker 2018 LS is also more efficient than the 2017 LS 460, with the 2018 LS 500 anticipated to receive fuel economy ratings of 19/29 mpg city/highway with rear-wheel drive and 18/27 mpg with all-wheel drive. Not surprisingly, the LS 500h is also more efficient than its eight-cylinder predecessor, with 25/33 mpg in rear-drive form and 23/31 mpg with all-wheel drive.

Lexus has started to engineer cars that have a pulse, and the new LS fits with that focus. The 2018 LS feels more connected to the road than before, but it’s not overconnected. Although Mercedes-Benz has not one but two sporty AMG variants, there’s a reason Audi doesn’t build an RS 8 and BMW doesn’t make an M8. Full-size luxury sedan customers generally prioritize comfort and quietness over sportiness. The LS delivers on comfort and quietness, though one tester we drove with 20-inch wheels (19s and 20s are available) had some tire noise. If you insist on a sportier driving experience, Lexus offers the LS 500 F Sport, which noticeably changes the driving experience compared to the non-F-Sport model most buyers will choose. The F Sport variant transmits more through the suspension and has some steering feel as well as sharper turn-in, but you never forget you’re behind the wheel of a 206.1-inch sedan. The brakes are much better than those of the last-gen LS F Sport, which were overly sensitive. Also, the standard LS feels softer but still drives well. I found the suspension to be a bit floaty, but if I drove a 2018 LS, I’d simply tailor the custom setting of the multimode driving system to how I want it to respond.

Inside, there’s more rear-seat legroom than before, but the S-Class and BMW 7 Series have the Lexus beat in this measurement. Despite that, if you’re coming from a previous-gen LS or GS, the rear-seat space in the 2018 LS might impress those who refuse to look beyond the Lexus dealership. The interior in the new LS will especially impress if you splurge for the Executive Interior package that will likely balloon the car’s MSRP—the LS 500 will start around $75,000, but full pricing won’t be announced until closer to the car’s February 2018 on-sale date. The Executive Interior package adds exquisite interior details that some will find over-the-top but, crucially, cannot be found in any other car in its class. The door panels are filled with handmade fabric origami-inspired pleats that, in a way, are a 3-D elevation of the quilting design trend we’ve seen across the automotive landscape. The Kiriko-cut glass pieces on the door panels shine brightly (too much for some) and instantly create an impression, keeping consistent with Lexus’ polarizing exterior designs. Unfortunately, the package is only available with a black interior in the U.S. and not with the beautiful burgundy of a non-U.S.-spec car I drove at the launch event. If style is especially important in your flagship sedan purchase, the regular LS models have a more attractive grille than the F Sport model’s darker trim with different detailing. The headlights are oddly shaped, but the spindle grille is a highlight. Lexus isn’t shy about that grille—take a look at the cover of a 2018 Lexus LS brochure:

In case there's any doubt how proud @lexususa is about the 2018 LS' complex spindle grille, here's the car's brochure #MTGarage #lexus #lexusls #design #spindle

A post shared by Zach Gale (@zachgale) on Sep 20, 2017 at 9:34am PDT

As Lexus’ flagship sedan, the 2018 LS also offers a rear-seat package that your millionaire clients should find very comfortable. They probably won’t know that the seat behind the front passenger can be reclined up to 48 degrees (a best-in-class figure, Lexus claims), but they might get a kick out of watching the front seat move toward the dash and fold up, providing more than enough room to stretch out. One very minor inconvenience with this package—if you get an Executive-package car and actually plan on using the front passenger seat, that passenger might end up stepping on the extended-length seat track as they get into the car.

The 2018 LS also offers front and rear massaging seats, a cool multicamera parking system, a full package of advanced active safety tech (including a feature that can provide a bit of steering assistance if it detects the car is about to hit a pedestrian), and the biggest head-up display projection (24-by-6 inches) any automaker has ever offered … yet. No matter how many options you get on the 2018 LS, there’s no way around the touchpad that controls the 12.3-inch infotainment system. You’ll figure out Lexus’ improved system if you give it a chance, but it’s still not as intuitive as what’s available from some of the competition. What would really improve the system is the addition of Apple CarPlay and Android Auto. As long as you’re in an area with cell phone service, these features can make various actions incredibly easy, from voice-commanding navigation to a restaurant whose name and city you know but not the actual address to hearing or responding to text messages. With Lexus Enform, the automaker offers similar functionality I didn’t have a chance to test including one-shot address entry (“navigate to 123 Main Street, Anytown, California”) and local business search (“take me to Paradise Piano Bar”). The Dynamic Points of Interest Search feature is complimentary for three years and available as a paid subscription after that.

Despite that feature omission, the 2018 LS provides a much-improved overall experience compared to its predecessor. The new car is more interesting, quicker, more efficient, and more spacious for rear-seat passengers than the outgoing model. Unlike the BMW 7 Series and Mercedes-Benz S-Class, there’s no 12-cylinder model to solidify top-tier luxury-brand status, but the Lexus still has its own appeal.

  Value remains part of that appeal. With an anticipated base price of around $75,000, the 2018 LS will be priced many thousands of dollars below the base models of the 7 Series and A8, and more than $10,000 below the new six-cylinder 2018 S450. None of the its competitors—except the less expensive Kia K900, Genesis G90, and Cadillac CT6—have more than 400 hp for around $75,000, and we look forward to testing an LS for ourselves.

The LS helped build the Lexus brand nearly 30 years ago and offered owners one of the most important luxuries of all—peace of mind. The Lexus brand and the LS model specifically have mastered long-term quality surveys for years, and we hope the same will be true over time for the new model, which is built on a new platform, filled with new technologies, and powered by a new engine. Lexus is now one of the most popular brands overall in the U.S., but the LS model remains an underdog when compared in sales to a few German competitors. The 2018 LS isn’t as big inside as the competition, nor is its infotainment system going to win many awards, but the car has more spirit than the nameplate has had in a while. For the sake of loyal Lexus buyers watching the brand’s evolution, we hope that a trouble-free ownership experience relative to its competitors is still part of the overall package for this admirably reinvigorated LS.

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