#tile roofs new york

[gkeithroofing]

What are the Advantages of Tile Roofs in New York

Tile roofs have been a popular choice for homeowners due to their durability, aesthetic appeal, and long-term value. If you are considering a new roof installation, here are some compelling advantages of opting for a tile roofing contractor in New York.

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So, tile roofs in New York offer numerous advantages, from durability and energy efficiency to aesthetic appeal and low maintenance. When considering roof installation, tile roofs stand out as a smart and reliable choice.

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[roofingbronx]

Tile Flooring Installation Long Island

Tiling is a popular choice for home renovations due to its durability, versatility, and attractive appearance. Whether used for floors, walls, or backsplashes, tile provides a long-lasting and easy-to-clean surface that can add value and beauty to any home.

[miraavx]

New York Tile

[amorchai]

𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐌!𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔.

written for my old blog but never posted!

pairing(s): tasm!peter parker x reader

words: 873

warnings/tags: proposal + nervous pete.

peter was surprised you hadn’t caught on yet. anytime you held his hand, he was terrified when you would ask if he’s okay, having noticed him shaking and sweating, anytime he would speak to you he would stutter but after asking him if he was alright, you would shrug it off when he replies, ‘course.’

all he would say was that he was overwhelmed from the party, people around the house as a gathering on the same day as your anniversary with peter. while one hand held yours, his other was stuffed in his pocket where his finger ran over the ring box. 

gwen winking at him knowingly as he smiles back scared, no one else in the party knowing that peter was hopefully going to have a fiancée by the end of the night.  

“are you sure you’re okay?” peter drags his eyes away from watching his feet slightly kick the tiled floor in your shared kitchen, jumping in surprise while you lightly tug his hand for him to focus. “what—? oh, yeah. yeah i am, baby. i just— i’m just slightly overwhelmed.”

it wasn’t too busy, just some friends and family over, music not too loud, but you knew his heightened senses meant he could get easily agitated by these things. “do you want to step outside for five? we could go up to the roof?” you ask. 

“hm?” he mumbles again, eyes looking back at the floor before back at you, “oh— um. s-sure, that would be great, thank you,” he replies, watching your expression which continuously grows more worried. he doesn’t understand why he is this nervous.

but as you begin to walk out of the kitchen, pulling him behind you and politely passing people with a small, “we’ll be right back,” peter realises that it was the moment it was going to happen. he knew you both wouldn’t want it to happen in front of everyone, a quiet moment on the roof atop their flat where everyone they love was waiting downstairs sounded perfect. 

you didn’t speak again until you opened the door to the roof, entering the airy space and looking onto the city of new york, dark skies contrasting with the lights within windows of buildings and on the busy streets, “that’s better.”

peter felt like he could breathe again, the wind floating past as he takes a deep breath, walking beside you as you near the rooftop edge, leaning against the wall. your shoulders touch as you lean in close to him, peter watching you as you gaze around the city in front of you. 

your hair breathing against the wind, your eyes slightly squinted as well and peter can’t help but lean in to kiss your cheek gently. 

you smile, turning your head to look at him, “you okay, spidey?” you ask him, hand re-finding his as you lace your fingers together with affection. “never better,” he replies, both of you smiling at each other giddily before instinctively leaning in to kiss you softly. 

both of your bodies turn to each other, peter’s spare hand tangling slightly into your hair as he pours all his love he has for you into the kiss, overwhelmed at the feeling of what’s to come, and you don’t even know yet. 

you lightly gasp once he pulls away, both hands moving to settle against his chest as you catch your breath, peter tucking a few strands of your hair behind your ear as he watches, “i have something i wanted to ask you.” 

nodding, you feel your eyebrows tug together as you wordlessly usher him to ask and peter feels nauseous and light headed as he reaches into his pocket to pull out the ring box.

you look down where his hand was, eyes widening slightly as your hands cover your mouth while gasping. peter steps back before falling onto one knee and opening the box, “i’ve been nervous this entire night to ask but after waiting for years, i don’t think i can wait another minute from asking you to marry me.”

he rambles slightly, yet able to not tumble over his words as he speaks, peter’s eyes gazing into your tear-filled eyes, his not far behind. “so, will you marry me, y/n?” he asks. 

his cheeks hurt from the widest grin plastered on his when you nod before saying, “of course i will,” he goes to reach into the ring box but before he can take it out he feels you collapse into his arms, pulling into a tight hug as you both begin to cry. 

peter’s arms secure you to him, one holding the back of your head while the other gently across your waist while grasping the box. “i love you, i love you so much,” peter repeats into your hair lowly, both of your faces wet from tears as the exciting next step in your relationship begins.

finally, you pull back as you both stand from your kneeling positions and you both laugh together through slight sobs as peter slides the ring onto your finger. you both keep laughing together, in disbelief as he uses his thumbs to caress the tears away from your cheeks before leaning in to kiss you again.

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amorchai © ─ all rights reserved. no reposting/translating/copying will be tolerated.

[reticulating-splines]

WIP - West 70th

1880s-1910s row of Upper West Side townhomes.

Been working on this row of late 19th c. brownstones on and off for the past year now, so needless to say when I heard about For Rent I was hype.

Download Here

This initially started because I was homesick for NYC during the pandemic. Specifically for the area of the upper west side my dorm was in while I was a student. I mainly blame this experience for my obsession with historical architecture - walking along central park west past the Dakota on the way to the subway, smoking on the stoops of the brownstones late at night, going to classes in the wedding cake that is the Ansonia - it was just everywhere, and so, so beautiful to look at.

Except a lot of it is faded glory - buildings subdivided, details chipped or covered in the thickest coats of grime or paint. So I wanted to replicate some of the old New York from around the turn of the century. The one I read about in the Luxe series and saw in the Samantha movie lol.

The basement or garden level of each four-story brownstone will be dedicated to the original purpose as the main workplace of the service staff. Unfortunately no room for the actual garden, so laundry lines and planters are on the roof. There are bedrooms and bathrooms for a cook and a housekeeper/butler, along with the staff dining and the kitchen. The butler's pantry is directly upstairs from the kitchen, and the top floor is almost exclusively made up of staff bedrooms and washrooms.

I usually do the service areas first because they're the most interesting, and there was nothing more interesting than a full edwardian brownstone kitchen. Lots of exposed piping, beadboard, subway tile, and shelves of clutter. Has a separate scullery, pantry, and stairs down to a basement storeroom to keep your best champs-le-sims nectar in. There's also a servant's bellboard in the kitchen and the staff dining room. It along with the "boiler" system are made with tool and CC-free.

The main entrance and parlor are doing their best to continue the gothic revival theme of the exterior. The library and dining room follow in the enfilade starting in the parlor. Since this first house is a corner lot, it has a bit more width and space than a true brownstone. The only actual brownstone I've been inside of is Lady Mendl's, so ofc I had to have an extensive tea setup. Def took a lot of inspo from these two pics alone for these rooms.

The main stairwell and picture gallery lead to three large bedrooms on the second floor, and then up to the children's room and nanny's bedroom on the third floor. I really like skylights. I learned the importance of decent lightwells in staving off depression one semester when my window looked out onto a brick wall

The master bedroom and the children's room above it both have their own private sitting rooms and bathrooms. All rooms have either fireplaces or cast iron radiators.

There's no way this is going to be finished by the time For Rent comes out, so im just going to release it in whatever state it's in when it does come out. The exteriors and interior room layout for all the townhomes will (hopefully) most likely be set by then anyway.

Now available for download!

Also the anniversary of Chez Cromwell is coming up! Ive been gone for the better part of the year due to starting a new job, but I havent been idle. C.Cromwell has been updated for infants and ceilings, which led to me redoing the exterior and almost every room, so a rerelease is coming v soon! Sneak peek below. Happy Thanksgiving!

[connorsnothereeither]

What do you think your characters’ would have as a job irl?

I’ve honestly been cooking on this for a WHILE trying to come up with an answer.

I don’t think Ulysses should be a doctor. I think he maybe went to medical school, before either dropping out or finishing the degree and moving on to something else. A researcher or historian of some kind. Maybe he specialises in historical epidemiology or something along those lines! Or even the study of burial practices and funerary rites.

Virgil I’ve said would have a YouTube channel where he does in depth media deep dives, but I think as a full time job he would work in an archive or library.

Leopold I think works as a bartender, but is working to try and become a writer. I think he could be trying to pay his way through college (he is, after all, only in his mid twenties) but could also just be working to keep his house of adopted stray teenagers afloat

Dan is tricky… Ell definitely works in and got him a job in construction for a while. Some kind of physical trade like concreting or bricklaying maybe. Or even roof tiling. I think Dan would have spent his life so far hitchhiking and backpacking, and hasn’t really had a stable job outside of that. I don’t think HE knows what job he would even want.

King Morgan would be a high ranking business CEO in some field. Eventide Kingdom politics but it’s like,,, the cutthroat New York corporate business world lol

[lumosinlove]

Vaincre

June part iv

I’ll tell you the truth

But never goodbye

Remus thought about practice and all the sounds he wouldn’t be hearing again for a couple of months now. A din he desperately hoped would come again in the Fall.

The quiet bustle of the boys arriving. Yawns and some early morning groans. Bags being tossed down into stalls. Velcro and stick tape. The skate sharpener across the hall. The shivery sound of a bucket of pucks being scattered onto the ice. The slap of pucks and bodies on the boards rebounding in a high-roofed, empty rink. The ping of the goalposts. Bursts of laughter between drills. Showers stuttering into a hard, hot spray and the echo of voices off of tiles.

He wanted it all again. The crowds and video tape sessions. The signings and the chance to meet fans. The wins—even the losses. Even the press conferences. He wanted to see his best friends every day. He wanted to win.

They didn’t have a destination, but neither Remus nor Sirius tried to change that. They walked through the New York streets, downtown, where everything felt a little bit like a movie set. Most places were shut tight for the night, but it still felt alive.

Sirius looked handsome in the city lights. In his jeans and t-shirt. More importantly, he looked relaxed. More relaxed than Remus had expected, anyway.

“You’re calm.”

Sirius didn’t look over at him, but a small smile appeared on his face. “Maybe I just look it.”

“Okay, fair.” Remus squeezed their tangled fingers together. “I just meant that you don’t seem…”

“Miserable.”

“Well, sure. That word works.”

“I’m just…” Sirius looked down at him. “Not sure if it’s sunk in yet, maybe. You?”

“No. Not really.”

Sirius squeezed his hand back and Remus felt his engagement ring press into his skin. If anything good came out of this, it was that he would not be taking of his ring any time soon. He caught it glinting in the passing lights.

“New York really never sleeps,” Remus said.

“Neither do we, apparently.”

It was helping more than sleep, though—the walking. It was starving off the soreness they were bound to feel soon. He’d already glimpsed a bad bruise forming near his knee.

“Either way,” Remus said. “I like these walks of ours. It feels different than Gryf.”

“Ouais,” Sirius agreed. “At least we both have rivers.”

The next street they turned onto was not asphalt, but cobblestones. It wound and bent, going against the grid of New York that Remus had become accustomed to. He leaned his head back to look up at the lit apartments above. It might have been two AM, but he could see shadows moving around, or the colorful flickers of televisions.

“Did you talk to Logan?” he asked.

“Non, not really. I mean, on the ice I did. But I don’t know. I wanted to get out of there.”

“Yeah.” Remus sighed. He fought the urge to start talking about the game. Part of him wanted to know each and every single one of Sirius’ thoughts. The hit in the second. The odd, sloppy breakaway in the third. That last buzzer attempt.

“You want to talk about it don’t you,” Sirius said.

Remus laughed, then groaned, hiding it in Sirius’ shoulder. “Yes. No. I don’t know.”

It was something special, to have someone who could read his mind. He closed his eyes, inhaling Sirius’ familiar scent and trusting him to guide him on the street. Sirius’ hand disappeared from his and wrapped around his waist instead. A kiss was pressed to Remus’ temple.

“Curb,” Sirius said softly, and Remus stepped down to cross the street then opened his eyes.

“Magnetic,” Remus said. “Do you remember them calling us that?”

“No one needed to remind me.”

Remus tightened his arms around Sirius’ hips and pressed a kiss over his shirt. “I know. I was just remembering.”

Their passes had connected so thoroughly this series. So well. It was awful, almost mean that the passes that stuck in their minds the most were the ones that had missed. 

“How about we keep remembering…” Sirius began. “But how about we do it with fries and milkshakes.”

Remus looked up. The idea made his mouth water. “Yes. What made you say that?”

Sirius just smiled and jerked his chin forward. “Là.”

There was a diner on the corner. Many of the booths in the window were filled—Other people in search of late-night snacks. The neon sign out front read 24 HOURS and Remus could see a group of girls with milkshakes and a basket of fries in front of them.

He reached up to wrap his arms around Sirius’ neck and pressed a hard kiss to his cheek. “Love of my fucking life.”

He felt Sirius smile. Sirius reached for his hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing his ring. “Ouais, it’s true.”

He held the door open for Remus.

They were shuffled into a leather, worn booth and given giant seemingly endless menus. Remus found that he could hardly sit still. He kept laughing to himself. At one point, when Sirius gave him an amused, dazed look, he’d had to cover his mouth.

“You’re wild on adrenaline,” Sirius laughed.

Remus wondered if that was it. If adrenaline was what this was. These weird, surprising tight bursts of joy bubbling over in his chest. Surely he should be feeling low. He had just lost part of his childhood dream yet again.

Was adrenaline fueling the smile Sirius gave him when their two chocolate milkshakes and order of fries arrived? Did adrenaline cause Sirius to skeptically watch him dip a fry into the thick chocolate? Did it make them both laugh when Sirius tried it, made a face, and quickly switched back to ketchup?

Or maybe something had changed.

“You know, I always wanted to talk about games with you,” Remus said.

“Always?”

“You know. Before.” Remus brought the straw of his milkshake between his teeth. “I always wondered what you were thinking. Even when you were mean to me.”

Sirius groaned and covered his face with his hands. “Arrêt.”

Remus reached across the table and tried to pull his hands away. “I did! Sirius, don’t hide, come here.” He laughed when Sirius wouldn’t. “Sirius.”

Sirius let out an exaggerated sigh and pushed himself up from his side of the booth, only to slide into Remus’, arm along the back behind him and tight against his side.

“Wh…” Remus began.

Sirius leaned forward and stole the fry from Remus’ fingers with a short tug of his teeth. “You said come here.”

“That was my fry.”

“Too late.”

“Meanie.”

Sirius just made the sound that Remus associated with both him and Logan—a very Quebecois sort of tisk of disapproval (in Logan’s part, mostly jokingly aimed at Finn). Sirius’ arm slid from the booth to Remus’ shoulders and he kissed him. Remus tilted his chin up into it and let himself relax.

“Chocolate and potatoes?” Sirius asked as he dipped to kiss Remus’ jaw. “Really?”

“Sweet and salty,” Remus replied, trying not to let his eyes slip closed. They were in a diner.

“Weirdo.”

Remus hissed at a playful nip to his neck and Sirius pulled back. Sirius dragged his milkshake over to their side of the table and took a long sip. Remus could tell he was thinking. Remus had always been able to tell when he was thinking. Even when he hadn’t been able to figure out anything else about Sirius.

“Tell me,” Remus said.

“I wish I hadn’t broken that stick,” Sirius said quietly. He dropped his head back and closed his eyes. “Re…”

“I know,” Remus said. “I know.”

Sirius let out a frustrated sound and rubbed at his eyes. “Merde…I don’t know what gets into me. Well, I do…”

They had both been expecting them, but as the clouds of loss edged back into their peripheral vision, Remus sighed. Sirius tightened his arm around Remus and tilted their heads together. Remus closed his eyes as they took each other’s weight.

“Julian said it best,” Sirius said. “I wanted this for you.”

“And you.”

Sirius pressed his lips together. “I—yes.”

Remus arched a brow, confused by the conflicted look on Sirius’ face. “What, what’s that look?”

Sirius sighed. He smiled, just a little. A bewildered sort of smile. He hooked his fingers into the plastic fry basket mindlessly, the greasy paper crinkling at his touch. His eyes went a little unfocused as he thought. Their blue-gray looked so fair in the diner’s light. “I keep wondering why I’m not as upset as I usually would be. I keep trying to, like…” He moved his free hand outward in a small sharp motion, palm forward. “Push myself towards being that upset. Which is insane. Why do I feel guilty for feeling slightly okay about this?”

“I…” Remus nodded slowly. “I get that. I do. Hey, but that’s good. It’s good you feel okay, you wouldn’t have been okay other years. That’s why I said you seem so calm I’m…I’m fucking proud of you for it.”

“Ouais. I guess…” His expression turned almost shy. “I guess me too.”

That made Remus smile.

“What I mean is…I’m gutted.” Sirius picked up a fry. “I want to throw something, I want a do-over…I want to be angry at Logan.” He tossed the fry back, turning to look at Remus. “But the thing that I keep thinking about isn’t the game. Isn’t the Cup. It’s you.”

Remus’ smile faltered. He looked down. “Yeah? Well… you keep catching yourself feeling guilty?” Sirius nodded. “Well, I keep catching myself thinking that this was it. That I’m finished.”

“You’re not. Re.” Sirius’ hand cupped his shoulder and Remus turned his head to look down at it. He could have drawn his scar in perfect alignment even while not being able to see it. Sirius’ fingers, over his shirt, traced it perfectly, too. He watched Sirius do it once, then twice. It was so much apart of him that even Sirius could map it into his skin.

“Loops.”

“You almost never call me that anymore.”

“Well, right now you’re my teammate as much as everything else and I’m telling you you’re going to get there.”

Remus smiled. He felt the waver in it and so did Sirius. “Telling me as my Captain?”

“As your Captain,” Sirius confirmed. His fingers traced the scar again. “As your friend and teammate who watched you…watched you take every part of your life back from Fenrir.”

Remus surprised himself with a laugh and tears springing to his eyes. “Fuck. I did, didn’t I?”

“Ouais.” Sirius kissed a tear away. “You fucking did.”

“Oh my God,” Remus whispered as the tears pressed harder at him. He tucked his face into Sirius’ neck and Sirius wrapped him up tight. His voice was warm and familiar in his ear.

“I’m telling you as all those things, and I’m telling you as someone who loves you more than anything. Ever.” Sirius’ hand spanned his back, rubbing gently. “D’accord. I think that was most of my English for tonight.”

Remus laughed tearfully again, and then let out a quiet sob, shoulders hitching. “I don’t know if I’m crying because I’m sad or relieved or what.”

“I don’t know either,” Sirius said. His voice held a teasing note. “But our waitress looks like she’s going to bring us free pie.”

Their next laughs were realer, and Remus pulled back. Sirius made a soft sound and thumbed away the tear tracks on Remus’ cheeks. Sirius still looked tired. The strain of the game was still there, but there was a happy, weightless flush to his cheeks that Remus had never seen before.

Sirius dipped a fry in his chocolate shake and held it out to Remus. “Sweet and salty night.”

Remus let Sirius feed him the chocolatey fry. Sirius dipped his own in ketchup and popped it into his mouth. Remus looked over his familiar profile. He’d seen it in shadows and bright lights…he would see him soon in the lake house’s sunset.

“Next year, mon loup,” Sirius said. “You and me. It’s not the end.”

Remus nodded and let Sirius tuck him back under his arm. “You and me.”

~

Logan was leaning against the side of the rooftop bar between Luke and Alex, listening to everyone swap stories and enjoying the warm wind on his back. It was good to be with Percy and Will again. He was glad now, basking in the New York night, that he hadn’t ruined this year for himself—at least not the entire year. He was glad he could stand here laughing with them about old times. The desperate fog of sadness from his first month still haunted him, but it was easier now. That was all he could hope for.

His rum and coke was sweet, but not as good as it was when Finn made it for him. The chicken wings on the table were spicy, but not as balanced as Leo’s. What had started with promises of a big, wild night had mellowed out quickly. It seemed like the team was content to simply be together, basking in the high of the win. Logan was basking with them. Just a little. Even when part of his heart, part of his mind, part of everything that was him, was at home with Leo and Finn.

It was close to three in the morning and Percy was in full form, joking with him about all the girls trying to get his attention. It was true—their group had been clocked the second they came in.

“I swear that’s the sixth one,” Percy sighed, looking over at the bar. “We’re just stars in your galaxy huh, Tremzy.”

“It’s the eyes. Nothing’s changed since college,” Will added. “Thank God Finn isn’t here.” Will had stayed out with them, which was rare. Usually he went home to his family before long. Logan was happy he was here. He’d always loved how loud his laugh was. It reminded him of Freshman year, hanging out in the kitchen of OKN house with Finn and Percy, watching Will cook the house dinner. He’d been such a good captain. The best, besides Sirius.

“What would happen if Finn was here?” Saint asked. He was standing at Luke’s side. Luke kept stealing sips of his whiskey—and narrowing his eyes playfully when Logan smiled at him.

“He, ah, sort of forgets what flirting is,” Logan explained and Alex nodded, pointing at Logan like it would enhance how true that was.

“I mean, maybe it’s more like he’s too good at it?” Percy offered.

Logan laughed. “He talks to everyone and it’s only when they ask him for his number after like, twenty minutes of talking—”

Alex laughed. “Then he’s like, oh no.”

Logan tried for a Finn accent. “Oh, shoot, sorry, I’m actually…”

Will threw his head back with that wonderful, infectious laugh. “Wait, that’s so dead on.”

Logan smiled. “But it was so so wonderful getting to know you! Those pictures you showed me of your dog—Man, they made my night.”

“All right,” Saint held up a hand. “I get it.”

“Yeah stop, it’s creepy now,” Alex said. “That’s scary good. Maybe better than mine.”

Luke scoffed. “Dude, you can’t have a Finn impression. You are a Finn impression.”

“Whoa, whoa.” Alex held up a hand. “If anything, Finn is an impression of moi.”

Logan smiled. He glanced at his phone. One new message, but from Noelle telling him he was coming to lunch tomorrow. It was late.

“Hey, hey,” Percy said, making Logan look up. “I know that look…Nu-uh. Not yet.”

Logan raised his eyebrows, smiling. “Perc.” He put on the Finn voice again. “C’mon, give me a break.”

Percy shuddered. “Okay, I didn’t mean to open this can of worms. This terrifying can of worms.”

“Perc, he beat his boys out today,” Will said. “If he wants to go home, let him.”

Percy put his hands against his chest. “But I haven’t even gotten to the best part of my day yet!”

“How could we ever guess,” Saint said flatly.

Percy winked at him. “Sebastian…Cassie Baker smiled at me today.”

Logan laughed and finished his drink. “Ouais, I’m out. You can moon over my ex-girlfriend without me.”

Alex finished off his drink, too. “I’m done, too. This was fun, boys.”

Percy spluttered. “What? It is young. The night. The earth—is young!”

“I have two boyfriends in my bed, warm and asleep,” Logan said, pushing up from the wall. “And my bed is usually very cold and very empty. So. This was fun. Goodbye.” He looked over at Luke, knocking him lightly in the shoulder as a way of saying goodnight. Luke jerked his chin in reply.

“Tremzy.” Percy actually pouted. “No, non, no.”

“Ouais, yeah, ouais,” Logan said. Percy grabbed onto his arm and made a show of putting most of his weight on Logan to keep him in place. Logan did nothing to help him and Percy began sliding towards the floor.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Will dragged Percy back to his feet with a fond shake of his head. “You’re so embarrassing.” he nodded to Alex and Logan. “You two have a good night. Don’t beat yourselves up too hard. It was a good game.”

“Yeah.” Alex sighed but nodded. “It was.” He looked up and called over to the bar. “A round for these guys, Hank!” He tussled Percy’s hair. “My parting gift, Perseus.”

Percy sent them a mournful look, but looked willing enough to accept the drink. “Fine.”

Even Saint cracked a smile.

“That really was a good Finn,” Alex said as Logan followed him down the stairs to the main restaurant and out the door. A breeze picked up on the dark street.

“Merci.” Logan shivered a little in his thin shirt. “Are you calling an Uber?”

Alex sent him an unimpressed look.

Logan sighed. “You’re walking, aren’t you?”

“What do you take me for?”

“Fuck,” Logan said, but followed him.

It was like walking with Finn—Logan didn’t have to think about directions or finding his way around. He knew they lived near each other but would have to split up at some point. Alex would tell him when they did. For now, the air felt good against his skin and the silence was gentle. Sometimes he still felt like he could hear the game in his head.

“Finn asked me once to try and take the shot for you if I could,” Alex said.

Logan wasn’t surprised. Alex touched his elbow briefly to get him to turn left.

“Luke offered me the same,” he said. “It…it is what it is.” But that wasn’t quite right. “Non. It fucking hurts.”

“I know,” Alex said. “I’ve had that with Kasey. You want to apologize when there’s nothing to be sorry for.”

Logan half nodded, half shook his head. “I don’t know. I wish I had gotten to see Le before we left. I thought he needed space. I thought I needed space…I guess we did. I don’t know.”

“Yeah,” Alex said.

“Adrenaline’s wearing off,” Logan said. “I miss him.”

“You’re walking home.”

“I know,” Logan said, eyes down. “But I miss him.”

Alex’s hand appeared on his back, rubbing gently.

“Is Kasey doing okay?” Logan asked.

Alex was quiet for a long time. When Logan looked over, he was frowning down at the ground and fiddling with the small, dark diamond he wore.

“Alex?”

Alex guided him right. The light was red but not a car was in sight. “It’s…really hard for me to tell right now actually.” He stepped up onto a low wall and balanced for a few steps before jumping off again. The temperature had dropped. Logan thought it felt like rain.

“You’re the one who told me to talk to Finn when I was worried about us,” Logan began carefully, and frowned when Alex sort of flinched. “You’re not the type to not take your own advice.”

“I don’t know,” Alex said. “Sometimes I am.”

Logan supposed that was true enough. No one always practiced what they preached. Logan watched their feet as they walked, waiting for Alex to say more. They had fallen into sync. They were quiet for a while again. Alex lead him straight, then left, the straight on again. Logan knocked their shoulders together at one point. Alex knocked back.

“I’m not…worried about us,” Alex said suddenly. “Exactly… I just wonder—I wonder if I’m…” He rubbed a tired hand across his face as they avoided a puddle at a curb. Logan was beginning to think this was about the wedding. He didn’t blame Alex if it was. If Leo and Finn suddenly decided to get married, he’d crawl out of his fucking skin.

“You should tell them,” Logan said softly. He realized he was replying to unsaid things, but if anyone might understand even a sliver of Alex’s situation, it was him.

Alex’s face tightened. “Tell them what?”

Logan thought for a moment. “Whatever you want. Whatever you need to.”

“What I need to?” Alex repeated. “What I need is to show them—show them that I…” Alex gave a sharp shake of his head. Just as suddenly, Alex switched topics. “Thanks for coming out tonight.”

Logan looked up at him. “Alex—”

“I hope—did I force you? I’m sorry, Tremz.”

“What? Non, non. I…I’m glad I came. Really, I am. But—”

“Okay,” Alex said. “Just checking.”

The streets turned to cobblestones and took on curves. There were still a few apartment glowing. Logan liked that. It felt like Gryffindor. There was always a light on. Finally, Alex stopped.

“You’re right,” Alex said. “I’m left.”

“Oh, I thought you were agreeing with me.” What he meant was you can talk to me. “Al, can I do anything?”

Alex smiled. It was a little tight, but he gave Logan a playful shove in the right direction. “No. Thanks, Tremz.”

Logan didn’t believe him, but he didn’t know how to push either.

They stood there in front of each other for a moment. Alex huffed out a laugh and hugged him hard. A hug Logan associated with Finn, with Finn’s parents. They both did the little shoulder pat that their mom hugged with, too. It made Logan smile.

“We’re gonna be okay,” Logan said.

“Yeah,” Alex replied, muffled by Logan’s shoulder.

When Logan had crossed the street, he turned. He felt like he hadn’t tried hard enough, and he’d already made that mistake once tonight with Leo.

“Mais—I’ll say one thing?”

“What’s up?” Alex nodded, waiting on the corner.

“What you said earlier,” Logan said. “In the locker room and just now. About showing them. That we can be both lovers and—” He almost said enemies. “Opponents.”

“The…oh. Yeah?”

“I think…I think I won a hockey game today,” Logan said. "And I love my boyfriend. If I had lost a hockey game, I would still love my boyfriend. When there are no more hockey games, I’ll still love Leo. And if someone, some fucking reporter wants to link those two things, then they can go to hell.”

Alex was shades of blue and silver across the narrow street.

Logan shifted, a little nervous now. “I don’t think…I don’t think we have to show anyone anything. If it’s okay for me to say…”

Logan thought of the hell this year had been. He thought of Leo, holding him when they’d found out he was going to New York. Leo, tumbling into their living room in the middle of the night when Logan had come home from All-Stars. Leo and his soft kisses in the bright hospital hallway while they waited to see if Finn was okay. None of that was a show. Leo might like to put on a performance on the ice for the fans, but everything else about him was instinct, real and pure. Logan admired that. He’d put up fronts for Finn for so long, fronts that he was still tearing down.

“You don’t have to show Kasey and Nat anything. Not, like, a happy face or that you’re okay. That’s not…” Logan shook his head. “That’s just a bad habit, Alex.”

Alex tilted his head up to look at the faint moon over the city. It wasn’t full, but it was getting there.

“Tremzy…” Alex said slowly. When he smiled, the moonlight lit up his face. “You know what?”

“Quoi?”

“You’re fucking right.” Alex put a hand to his chest. The necklace glinted between his fingers. “You’re so fucking right.”

Logan let out a breath. He smiled back. “Yeah? I don’t know if that made sense in English.”

“Yeah.” Alex’s voice cracked, his brown eyes were bright with tears, but when Logan made to step forward he waved him off.

“Well,” Alex said. “I’m going home now.”

There was a lot of relief in that word. So much that it made Logan smile and feel choked up, too. “Me too.”

Logan tried to open the door as quietly as possible, going slow and expecting darkness.

Only, the lamp above his couch was on, turned down to the dimmest setting, and Finn was looking at him from just below it. He was wearing his faded NASA t-shirt and sweatpants, socked feet crossed on top of a pillow. His sling was draped over the back of the couch, his arm resting easily atop another pillow which also propped his book up.

Sleeping against his chest, was Leo.

Logan wanted to crumble to his knees.

“Oh,” Logan mouthed. He kept perfectly still.

Finn folded the book closed silently. He had his glasses on. Hi, his soft eyes said, and then with a glance down at Leo and a palm on his back: Don’t worry, I’ve got him.

Logan set his keys into the bowl by the door as quietly as he could. Leo. He toed his shoes off. Leo. He walked over to the couch and knelt beside them.

“You are so bad at sneaking,” Finn whispered—so quiet. “Did you have a good time?”

“Ouais,” Logan whispered back. He settled a palm beside Finn’s on Leo’s back, eyes trained on his sleeping face. He looked so peaceful. Logan leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss over his t-shirt. He looked up at Finn so he could read his lips more than hear him. “Had a good walk with Alex.”

Finn’s eyebrows raised, surprised. “Oh? Alex…is very good to walk with.”

Logan nodded. He would tell Finn he was a little worried tomorrow.

“Is he okay?” Finn asked softly.

“He will be,” Logan said. He nodded towards Leo. “And ours?”

Finn rubbed a slow hand down Leo’s back with a sigh.

“Lo…”

So far, Leo hadn’t stirred, but at Finn’s touch Logan felt the change in his breathing. Logan could always tell when Leo was awake. Slowly, Leo’s eyes opened. His cheeks were flushed. He regarded Logan sleepily for a moment. Logan felt Leo’s muscles tense as he remembered.

“Hi,” Logan said softly. “Hi, Le.”

“You—” Leo began, but his voice was hoarse and he had to begin again. “You should be out celebrating.”

“I did,” Logan said. “But I want to be here. Merde, Le, I wanted to be here fucking hours ago, I…” Logan shook his head. He was upset with himself, more so than he’d allowed himself to realize earlier tonight. “I should have come and see you. Soleil, I didn’t know…I didn’t know if you’d want…God, I love you, what can I do? Is there anything?”

Tears filled Leo’s eyes. He gave his head a small shake.

“Okay,” Logan said. Was he allowed to reach out to him? Did Leo want that? “Okay…”

“I’m going home with my parents tomorrow for a couple days, Lo.”

Everything in Logan froze. He looked up at Finn, whose eyes told him that this was what he had been about to say.

“Quoi?” Logan breathed. All the tension came right back into him. The fizzy, heavy quiet drained right out of his head.

“Lo,” Finn said, slightly warning.

It knocked him off balance, sitting back on his knees, but Finn reached out and grabbed his hand. His brown eyes were firm, clouded with racing thoughts and emotions. Relax. Think. Wait. Finn’s fingers squeezed around his own. Think. His thumbs made slow tracks across Logan’s knuckles. It’s okay. Think about him. Think about why.

Slowly, slowly, Logan pulled himself back towards Leo, who was watching him with exhausted blue eyes.

Logan let out a breath, he squeezed Finn’s hand then dropped it and combed his fingers through Leo’s hair. “I…okay. Okay. Whatever you need, Soleil.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to see you play—”

“Shh,” Logan whispered. “Le. Leo. It’s not about me. I know I just—um. Freaked out for a second. I’m sorry. We’ve had enough of that this year, ouais?” He leaned down to kiss Leo’s temple. “Home is always good.”

Finn closed his eyes at that, tucking his nose into Leo’s hair. “He’s right, Le. I…he’s right.”

Leo’s first sob was quiet, just a hitch of his chest, but the second came out in a harsh breath. He turned his face towards Finn’s chest, eyes squeezed shut.

Logan felt Leo’s pain right in the center of his chest. “We love you. So much. Le…” Logan wrapped an arm around his back, and Leo reached out a hand to hold his.

“We do,” Finn whispered. “We’re right here.”

“Always,” Logan said. “And—Le, you played so well tonight.” Logan’s throat closed up and he had to pause before he could talk again. “And I’m so fucking proud of you. You’re so talented and this year has been shit. It’s been absolute shit, Le.”

“I really—love you, I just—I need…” Leo gave up trying to talk, just pressed closer to Finn.

“You don’t have to explain,” Finn said soothingly. “We understand.”

“Ouais.” Logan nodded. “I also would—would want Eloise’s chicken soup.” Logan wiped his eyes clear of tears so he could see Leo better. “Even with full spice.”

It startled a laugh out of Leo, crying and blocked-nosed as it was. “Full spice?”

“Ouais, I would. I swear it.”

“Me too,” Finn said. “It’d make me cry but me too.”

  Outside it started to rain. A crack of thunder and the force of the drops doubled. Logan didn’t realize he’d hardly looked up until the second clap of thunder.

“The storm,” Leo said.

“Can’t hear it,” Logan replied.

Leo took a few breathes, then picked up his head from Finn’s chest and looked at him.

“Hi, pillow.”

Finn laughed softly. “Very happy to be of service.”

“Didn’t think I was going to be able to sleep at all.” Leo pressed a kiss to Finn’s chin and groaned a little as he pushed himself into a sitting position, like he hadn’t moved in ages. He let out a long breath, rubbing at his eyes.

“I love you guys, too,” Leo said. He reached out for Logan. “The ice…Seeing you on the ice…”

Logan shook his head. “I know.” He pushed himself up onto the couch when Leo made free the space on his other side. Finn sat up and slipped his sling back over his head to cradle his arm. He sat facing them criss-crossed and Leo touched his face. Finn kissed his palm.

“Did you guys eat after the game?” Logan asked.

Leo shook his head. “Finn wanted to get me something but…I really just didn’t want anything.”

“You should have something,” Logan said, then he leaned forward for a quick kiss. “Wait.” This. This was something he could do. “Don’t move, either of you.”

Logan moved around in the yellow light of his kitchen with hard-fought for ease. He cracked eggs into a bowl. He poured a splash of milk in, the way Leo had taught him. In the pan, he kept the heat on low, turning the eggs slowly so their soft curl didn’t break. He turned the heat off while they were still just a little runny, slid them onto the toasts—which he had managed to time perfectly—to let them finish cooking while they melted in butter and a few passes of shaved cheddar. Four shakes of chili flakes. He went to the fridge and found the fresh mint that Leo had bought for him. He waited a moment for his kettle to boil, then clumped the mint into three mugs and poured the hot water over them. A little drizzle of honey in Leo’s, a big drizzle in his, none for Finn.

In the living room, Finn and Leo were dozing together. Outside, the sky lit up with lightning and both of their eyes opened. Leo held out his arm.

“You’re back.”

“Of course,” Logan said.

Leo looked over at Finn. “See?”

Finn shuffled Leo closer under his arm. “I do. I do.”

Logan braced himself, setting the tray of Leo’s eggs and the three teas down just in time for the thunder to make him flinch. Leo’s eyes were clearer now. He smiled when they saw the food.

“Aw, Lo…”

���It’s nothing like you can do,” he said. “But I love you.”

I love you, love you, love you.

He settled the plate on Leo’s lap and watched as he took a bite, humming as he chewed. He held out the toast for Finn. Another crack of thunder rang out, but Logan hardly heard. He was warm in one of those softly glowing apartments he’d seen from the street. The sun was going to rise soon and Leo and Finn were tucked close to him. Their faces were tear-streaked, noses still sniffling, and it wasn’t quite their summer. Not yet.

Outside it was raining and thundering, but inside it was beginning to feel to Logan like their storm was passing by.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Aw, maaaannn, another one of my dream houses is back on the market, but this time, instead of the $3.5M price tag it had in 2018, it's now listed for $9.75M + $1,967mo. common charge. The 1910 building is located in the East Village, a desirable trendy part of New York City. It's a large duplex with 5bds, 4.5ba.

The entrance is thru an iron gate and a forest green door.

The property consists of a penthouse with a cottage on the roof.

In the living room is a lovely fireplace and a mezzanine on the 2nd level opens the space, giving it some architectural interest.

The home was renovated and has a renewed staircase, yet retains an original niche. A ceiling-high glass block window lets in light.

Open concept dining room lined with windows for lots of natural light.

The open space ends with the kitchen.

Love the vintage look flooring. The kitchen island is unique- it looks like a mid-century modern sideboard.

The mezzanine is basically just a walkway, but it has a wall of shelving and enough room for a chair or two.

There's also a nook for a small desk or writing table.

The primary bedroom is a nice size, gets good natural light, and has a small nook for a chair, plus a lovely fireplace. It also has a view of the patio. And, it's located in the rooftop cottage.

Very nicely remodeled vintage style bath.

Hallway with a built-in closet and a bedroom used as a TV room.

This bedroom is designed the same as the primary, but on a smaller scale.

Lively turquoise subway tile bath and bedroom #3.

And, another lovely tiled bath with bedroom #4.

The rooftop cottage and brick patio looks like a beautiful home you'd find on the ground.

It's like the best of both worlds, living in the city and the country.

There're even trees, lawn & gardens.

View of the city.

[fromthedust]

portrayals of bats in the 19th century:

Yashô (Japanese , 1782-1825) - Bat in Flight - ink on paper - early 1800s

Nicolas Huet the Younger (French, 1770–1830) - Bat - 1809

Joseph Severn (English, 1793–1879) - Ariel Riding on a Bat - oil on panel - 1820

Yamada Hōgyoku (Japanese, active c.1804-1844) - Bat and Moon - c.1830

Hiroshige (Japanese, 1797-1858) - Bats and Branch

Hōraku (Japanese, active early to mid-19th century) - Owl and Bat -netsuke (two views)

Hōraku (Japanese, active early to mid-19th century) - Bat on Roof Tile - netsuke

Greater Javelin Bat - from Grand Illustrated Encyclopedia of Animated Nature - 1856

Bat fitting - bronze - China - Qing dynasty (1644-1911)

F.W. Key - Bats - illustration from Links in the Chain; Or, Popular Chapters on the Curiosities of Animal Life by George Kearley - 1862

Bowl with bat - Japan - 1870

Isshō (Japanese) - A Bat Flying Near a Pine Tree - painting

Vincent Van Gogh (Dutch, 1853-1890) - De Vleermuiz (The Bat) - (portraying a taxidermied flying fox) - 1886

Design for a Japanese Window - Catalog from Belcher Mosaic Glass Co.; New York - 1886

Hyakunen Suzuki (Japanese, 1825–1891) - Bat and Willow Tree - fan painting

Bat - sulphide marble - late 19th century

Bat button - silver - Art Nouveau - France - late 19th century

Bat - Ojime bead - ivory - Japan - late 19th century

Peach-Shaped Vessel with Bat - porcelain - China - Qing dynasty

Tonkotsu (tobacco container) with lucky bats - Japan

bookcover for 'Stories and Interludes' by Barry Pain - 1892

Antonio de la Gandara (French, 1861-1917) - illustration for the book 'Les Chauves-Souris' (The Bats) by R. Montesquiou - 1895

Vase with Bats - earthenware ceramic - Art Nouveau - 1896

two illustrations of Bats from Cassell’s Natural History - 1896

Cover of 'Dracula' - 1st Edition - Bram Stoker - 1897

Rene Lalique (French, 1860-1945) - Batgirl pendant - gold with enameled wings & pearl - 1898

Rene Lalique (French, 1860-1945) - bat anklet - 1899

[kinda-iconic]

Pumpkin Soup

Word count: 2'200+

Tagging: @bloodboundismylife @choicesfannatalie22 @velvet1753

Pairing: Adrian x MC (Amelia, Amy for short)

Warning: suggestive comment - nothing major

Summer brought many surprises, the unpredictability of the English weather being one of them. Having spent most of the Autumnal months in the familiarity of New York, Adrian managed to obtain a few weeks at the newly-founded London offices of Raines Corp, in the hope that he may oversee the transfer and adaptation of communications between the London and the New York branch. As an additional treat, Amy was able to accompany him, the latter forking out on a holiday let; a beautiful, rustic cottage located in the South-West of England, surrounded by miles upon miles of agriculture and woodland.

Having spent a couple of days in the city, Adrian pulls up onto the cobblestone driveway, dimming the headlights as he parks. As he removes the keys from the ignition, he takes a moment to sit back and admire the view before him; the property is cosy, its walls and foundations made from sandstone, narrow steps leading onto a sturdy patio. He looks up at the roof, the tiling somewhat immaculate for a building of its age. He smiles wistfully, collecting his laptop case from behind the seat before stepping out, quickly noticing the humidity in the air. A rumble of thunder catches him by surprise as he makes his way up the steps, sliding his case into one hand as he unlocks the front door with the other.

“Amelia?” He calls out into the hallway, slowly walking over to the staircase; he stops at the bottom, his elbow leant up against the banister, “sweetheart?”

“I’m in here!”

A soft voice carries through from the other end of the corridor, accompanied by the sound of a pot clanging against the sideboard. He quirks a brow, his intrigue leading him in that same direction.

Adrian enters the kitchen, where he is immediately met by the earthiness of basil, followed closely by a waft of thyme as Amy opens the oven door; she dons a pair of oven mitts, their ends tainted by hues of orange and brown, evidence of their previous endeavours. He watches from the doorway as she removes a ceramic tray from the heat, fumbling around blindly in her attempt to switch it off, the crockery seeming to increase in weight the longer it remains in her grasp. Sensing an impending disaster, Adrian moves to intercept, reaching for the dial; he turns it off, allowing Amy a chance to adjust her hand placement. She places it down on the chopping board, making sure that it is situated away from the edge before removing her gloves, using them to waft the steam in the direction of the window.

“If you do that any longer, we’ll have the entire neighbourhood on our doorstep asking for a piece.”

She wipes her floury hands down her front, “they’ll have to fight me for it.”

“The kitchen smells like a bakery,” he comments, glancing around the room; most of the appliances remain undisturbed by her efforts, but as Adrian pans around to the sink, the evidence is clear to see, doughy residue – now hardened – covering at least three kitchen cupboard handles, the occasional smear appearing in the creases of the sideboards and on the tap. Amy follows his gaze, a rosy flush seeping into her cheeks.

“I got a bit carried away, didn’t I?” She looks down at the floor, failing to conceal her grimace as she steps in a pile of gloop, the action not going unnoticed, “I didn’t realise it was so messy in here.”

“How did you manage to get it on the floor?”

“I don’t know,” she frowns, “it was all in the oven, the last time I checked.”

Adrian walks over to the stove, carefully removing the lid from a saucepan; he leans in, unable to resist sniffing its contents as he gives the amber liquid a stir.

“Is this butternut?”

“And pumpkin,” she moves to stand beside him, reaching for a discarded egg cup; taking her thumb and index finger, she retrieves a pinch of herbs, sprinkling the dried leaves into the soup, “with rosemary and coriander.”

“You’ve gone to a lot of trouble.”

“I wanted to at least try doing something productive today,” she smooths down her skirt, her fingertips fiddling with the hem, “is it too much? I-I’d understand if you wanted to get takeout.”

“Why would I do that?” He questions, leaning back against the countertop, his hands scrambling for purchase, “you’ve worked really hard on this.”

“It’s…actually my third attempt,” she trails off, glancing at the bin, “it looks like a vegetable massacre in there.”

“What happened the first two times?”

“I used coconut milk instead of cream,” she bites her lip, “and the second time, all the vegetables went down to the bottom and they burnt.”

She tilts her head in the direction of the sink, where a large pan lies discarded, blackened lumps of what appears to be the charcoaled remains of vegetable decorating the steel. Adrian cups his mouth, as if trying to refrain from laughter, but his attempt falls flat as a bemused snort escapes him, the sound failing to avoid Amy’s ears.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have laughed at-” he quickly notices Amy’s dejected expression as she turns away from him, playing around with the tap, “hey…no, I…I didn’t mean anything by it.” He moves to stand behind her, smoothing his fingers down her forearms, only coming to a stop when his palms caress her own, “can I show you?”

“Sh-show me what?”

He retrieves the begotten pan, angling it just enough so that it captures the light; using his index finger, he etches an image into the burnt embers.

“It’s a face…see?” He points to each section in turn, “there’s the eyes…that’s his nose and that…is his mouth.”

Amy smiles sadly, gently removing the pan from his hands. She squirts some washing up liquid onto the charred remains, running it under the hot tap for a few seconds.

“I really wasn’t laughing at you, sweetheart. I’m sorry if that’s how you interpreted it.”

“It’s okay,” she sighs despondently, reaching for the scrubbing brush, “I know that deep down, I just…” she shakes her head, “I wanted to impress you.”

“You don’t need to try and impress me,” he speaks softly, reaching for the tie of her apron; he removes the article, only pausing to lift the ribbon from around her neck, his knuckles brushing against the nape of her neck, “I love you as you are.”

“I know you do, but I just wanted to try and achieve something without making a mistake first. Does that make sense?”

“Absolutely,” he nods, placing a tender kiss to the top of her head, “but we’re human. It’s only natural that we make a mistake or two. If we got things perfect all the time, would we ever learn anything?”

She shakes her head, “I guess not.”

He quickly pecks her temple, removing himself from her warmth before trudging over to the cabinet; he reaches in, collecting two soup bowls, his brows furrowed in thought.

“What are you thinking about?” Amy re-gloves her hands, mouthing something quietly to herself before turning the bread upside down onto the chopping board, “you look like you’re somewhere else.”

“Do you think we might benefit from using a pasta dish instead?” He holds one of the soup bowls above his head, “we would have plenty of room for the bread then.”

“It’s up to you,” she looks over at him, her smile brightening as she takes in his appearance; he is crouched down on the floor, his forehead wrinkled in concentration, as if his life depended on the decision that he is about to make, “whatever’s easier, Adrian.”

“I can’t decide,” he pouts, “small bowls would require less washing up.”

“But would allow for more crumbs,” she walks over to him, draping the tea towel over his head, “use the pasta dishes.”

He shakes the material off his head, the ridiculousness of this action eliciting a soft chuckle from Amy; she removes the saucepan from the heat, stirring its contents as Adrian walks back over to her. He places the dishes beside her, moving them closer to the pan as Amy begins to plate the food.

“Would you like some help?”

“You can stand there and look pretty.”

He wraps his arms around her midsection, rocking her gently from side to side as he presses kisses to her neck and shoulder, a mischievous smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I do that every day,” he sighs in contempt, his gaze drifting from Amy’s face to their surroundings, as if memorising ever detail, “I really like it here.”

“So do I,” she opens a drawer, removing the bread knife from its sheath; she cautiously pierces the loaf, slowly withdrawing the blade as it slices cleanly through, “it’s a lovely place.”

“Would you live here? If our vocations were not an issue.”

The knife clatters against the wood; they both look at the window, their eyes meeting one another’s reflection.

“Are you serious?”

“Deadly,” he kisses the space behind her ear, “we both love it here, so why not?”

“But your company…”

“I’ve dedicated decades of my life to that place,” he buries his face in her sweater, closing his eyes as notes of jasmine and cherry blossom reach his nose, “it was my passion project; something that I cherished. Why shouldn’t I step back to pursue another?”

“Another passion project?”

“Mmmmm…” he hums in agreement, “do you agree?”

“What do you want to do?”

“You, preferably,” his eyes glaze over, tendrils of crimson swiftly replacing their usual brown hue; he tilts her face upwards, his knuckle grazing her skin as his hand moves downward, coming to a stop at the hollow of her throat, his voice devoid of volume as he leans in to whisper in her ear.

“You’re my new passion project, Amelia,” he presses his lips to the curve of her jaw, smiling against her skin, “I want to dedicate my time to our future. Marriage…children…we can have whatever we want.”

“Ch-children?”

He nods, “if that is what you want.”

“Is it something that you want?”

“I’ve thought about it,” he replies in turn, “I want to give you the world, if you’ll allow me. I’ll do anything and everything in my power to make that happen.”

He kisses her cheek, “we don’t need to discuss it now. I just wanted you to know that I have thought about what the future holds for us.”

“I appreciate that.”

She pushes herself up onto her toes, meeting his lips with her own before settling back on the balls of her feet; she plates the bread, holding out the dish for Adrian to take. He takes it with a grateful smile, taking a moment to gather cutlery.

“This looks and smells delicious, Ames.”

“I should hope it is,” she picks up a slice of bread, taking a small bite of the crust, “it took me three hours to get the recipe right.”

“Well, you’ve done amazingly as usual,” he beams brightly, guiding her by the small of her back to the dining table. They both take a seat on either side, too engrossed with the food to speak. They share a comfortable silence as they eat their meal, neither one saying so much as a word. It is only when Adrian begins to stack their dishes that he breaks the quiet, unable to hide his bemusement.

“What?”

He shakes his head, “nothing. It’s just nice seeing you so relaxed.”

“I am,” her smile softens, “I’m comfortable and full. There’s no better feeling.”

“Shame about the washing up, though.”

“What washing up?”

Adrian feigns scratching his temple, his eyes darting in the direction of the sink; she follows his gaze…

…to the pile of dirty pots and pans, piled clumsily in the sink.

She groans, her body slumping back in her chair; Adrian walks up behind her, chuckling softly as he places his hands on her shoulders, the pad of his thumbs massaging soothing circles into her skin. He bends over, kissing the top of her head.

“I’ve got this one.”

“A-are you sure?”

“You cooked, so it’s only fair that I wash up, is it not?”

Amy smiles tiredly, nodding.

“Go and get into your pyjamas,” he carries the crockery over to the sink, leaning against the counter, “there’ll be a nice and creamy hot cocoa waiting for you when you get back.”

Amy nods, the pair sharing one last look before Amy disappears out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her. Adrian waits until he hears her footsteps dissipate before turning back around, a loud sigh escaping him as he examines the messy kitchen around him.

“Couldn’t make it easy, could you babe?” He mutters under his breath, his expression softening as he starts to move the pots out of the basin and onto the side, only stopping when he feels something beginning to slip from his pocket. He manages to catch the object in question before it hits the ground, taking a moment to study the box as he undoes the clasp…

…revealing an engagement ring, adored with a handful of little diamonds, an oval-shaped ruby sitting comfortably in the middle.

“One more day,” he exhales slowly, re-situating the box in his breast pocket, “one more day.”

[talia-rumlow]

Bound & Brockened (DARK Brock Rumlow/OFC)

WORDCOUNT: 2235

TRIGGERS: Human Trafficing, drinking, religion, working the street, runaway from home, some sex talk

This is a dark story. DO NOT READ IF YOU'RE UNDER 18, OR IF YOU GET TRIGGERED BY ANYTHING BDSM, TORTURE, DARK MATERIAL!

HAPPY READING!

CHAPTER ONE - GRACE!

“You can still back out,’ Sasha's voice rings out beside her. Grace keeps looking down on the slick black tiles on the floor. They could be used as a mirror, they were that shiny and well taken care of. “Grace?” Sasha tries again.

Grace shifts her attention from the floor and over to Sasha. “No,” she replies. “I don’t want to go back out there again. I don’t want to sleep on cardboard boxes in parking garages anymore,” she continues. 

“Good,” Sasha continues. “Because this is a once in a lifetime opportunity,” she adds. “My friend got through last year, and now she lives in a mansion, a mansion I'm not kidding,” she delivers the information with an enthusiasm that Grace can't quite understand. “Although she still does the ‘work’ and the guy is like really old,” Sasha's enthusiasm dies off a bit along with the really old part, but it doesn't take long before her enthusiasm is back with renewed force. “But aaa, she lives in a mansion, a mansion,” she continues, clapping her hands together and her eyes take on this dreamy look, as if she can see the mansion in front of her. 

Grace can't understand the enthusiasm at all. Yeah, a bed to sleep in would be great; and a lot better than cardboard boxes, parking garages and angry cops following them. And, yeah, a mansion with a fireplace and a working kitchen sounds amazing after about ten years on the street. But the price to pay for all of it; it seems a bit steep for her liking. Not that she wasn't used to it. She had been living on the street since she was sixteen, and you know, selling oneself was an easy and quick way to get her hands on some money. But, even if she saw the price as steep, the price to pay for her other option was steeper. It was like choosing between bad and worse, and she already knew what worse looked and felt like. Sasha had given her a chance to get off the street, and she was going to take it; no matter how steep the price was. 

“They're not all old,” Sasha opens her mouth again. “Some of them are business men, or mafia guys just looking for someone to own,” she tries; not succeeding to ease Grace's nerves. 

“Someone to use, you mean?” Grace cuts her off. She was used to that too. When you sold yourself, like she did, the norm was sorta to be used. To be honest, she didn't know what was worse; to be owned and used by one person, every day for the rest of her life. Or, to have to go out and search for a new one who could use her every night for the rest of her life. At least with the one person option, she would have a roof over her head. 

Sasha shrugs. “Poteto, potato,” she says, and Grace knows she's right. And if someone were to actually pay a fair amount of money for her, they wouldn't ruin her in any way; she hoped. 

🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪

Every year in April, Xander Feldbank Investments held their annual underground auction. It was renowned in the underworld, getting attention from Mafia leaders, shady casino owners, filthy rich and powerful businessmen and other people with way too much money and a narcissistic personality disorder. The entry fee alone was $500, and the starting bid was always somewhere around $100.000 to $150.000; meaning you had to have deep pockets to even get a foot in the door. 

The screening process was just as strict for the girls as it was for the participants. It was an honor to even get into the first round of auditions, and to advance from that was an even bigger honor. Grace had almost felt like she was a part of Miss United States during the whole thing. And now she was here, at the Feldbank Hotel & Conference center; indulging in the comforting luxury. 

Situated in the heart of New York City, the Feldbank Hotel & Conference Center presented a facade of luxury and opulence. Unaware of the hotel's shady business dealings, guests were treated to a lavish experience, with 350 rooms, many boasting stunning views of the city skyline. Tourists from around the globe flocked to the Feldbank, drawn by its promise of comfortable and indulgent accommodations. 

The hotel lobby was an extraordinary experience. It cocooned visitors in a world of luxury and relaxation, far removed from the hustle and bustle outside. Sleek black tiles lined the floor, meticulously crafted and complemented by the dark natural wood of the walls. Carefully chosen plants and Chinese flower trees added to the ambiance, making the space feel like a separate, tranquil world. A majestic fountain nestled in the center, creating a soothing environment that welcomed guests to relax and leave the outside behind. 

Grace, who was about to leave her former life behind, was sitting in one of the dark gray leather couches, sipping her martini while watching all the ‘normal’ people walking around. If someone had told her four months ago that she would be here now, she would've laughed at them. Every girl working the streets in New York knew about Feldbank and his annual auction. Hundreds of girls tried to get through every year, most of which were not successful. But she had marveled at all the nice things they got to keep, even if they didn't go through. Prada bags with tons of expensive makeup and nice clothes,most of the girls sold it of course to pay for their addictions. Drugs were strictly forbidden, if any girl at any point during the audition rounds delivered a positive drug test, they were out. Grace had thankfully managed to stay away from that part of the life she led, though she understood why some of the girls did resolve to that kind of numbing themselfs. Working the street wasn't easy on the mind. 

“Ladies,” a voice sounds from the other side of the table. “Your room is ready,” the voice continues. Grace looks up, the man on the other side of the table is well dressed in a black suit, accompanied by a white shirt underneath and a black tie with a gold pin on. He's slightly older, probably one of Feldbank's right hand guys. One of the ones who accompanies guests for his shady business, such as the annual auction. “I am sure you'll be very pleased with your room,” he continues as they follow him to one of the elevators. “It's on the fifth floor, and it has a stunning view over Central Park,” he adds, clinical like he's talking from a script. Grace can't figure out if the clinical part is because he looks down on them, or if this is the way he talks to all the guests. 

The soothing elevator music calms her nerves a bit, she watches the elevators display as the numbers go up, indicating that they're climbing. She shouldn't feel nervous, though she didn't know what she was about to walk into. Every night for the past ten years has been like that. New cars, new customers, new places, new kinks. She was used to that, the only difference now was that what she was walking into was most likely for the rest of her life. Oh, and yeah it wasn't like she sold herself this time, she had agreed to be auctioned off at the Feldbank annual auction. 

 🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪

The concierge's glowing description of their room was entirely accurate. Two plush queen-sized beds with soft, high-quality linens occupied one wall, while the well-maintained carpet beneath their feet featured a striking black and gold pattern that echoed the hotel's decor. Expansive floor-to-ceiling windows flooded the space with natural light and framed a breathtaking view of Central Park. Grace couldn't recall ever before experiencing such lavish accommodations, and the sense of privilege it evoked was one she had long forgotten. 

The bathroom was a stunning, luxurious oasis. Black and gold accents adorned the walls and floors, creating a cohesive, high-end aesthetic. A jacuzzi tub was anchored against the wall by a large picture window, offering a breathtaking view of the park outside. Gleaming gold faucets stood in contrast to the dark bathroom interior. Overhead, a sparkling chandelier bathed the room in a soft, diamond-like glow.

Grace paused in the doorway, taking it all in with awe. She couldn't wait to indulge in a long, relaxing soak, readying herself for whatever the next day had in store - even if she wasn't quite sure what that might be. One thing was certain, she would need to look her absolute best.

Sasha's voice rang out from the other room, "Champagne!" A pop followed as she opened a bottle. "He said we could help ourselves to anything in the minibar," she continued, pouring the sparkling liquid into two flutes. "And we should definitely celebrate," she finished, draining her glass in one gulp before refilling it.

"Sure," Grace replied, slowly walking over and sitting down next to Sasha. "What exactly are we celebrating?" she asked, lifting her flute to taste the expensive champagne. While she understood that indulging in the luxury was worth celebrating their presence here, she wasn't convinced the celebration was warranted just yet. She could be fortunate, but she could also be disappointed. And she wasn't sure how people who could afford the $500 entry fee typically behaved.

Grace decided not to dwell on those concerns. Instead, she would enjoy this night, which was likely the last she'd spend with Sasha. They could get lucky and be bought by the same client, but Grace saw that as highly improbable. She had to come to terms with the fact that after tomorrow, she would probably never see Sasha again - a prospect that saddened her.

Filled with a sudden pang of regret, she stood up, taking her flute with her over to the window. Standing there, marveling at the amazing view, listening to Sasha laughing and cheering as she pops yet another champagne bottle, Grace thinks back. Memories wash over her as she contemplates how on earth she ended up here. 

 🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪

Grace Shepherd was born and raised in Lake Charles, located in Calcasieu Parish, Louisiana. Her mother, Leah Shepherd was a stay at home mom, devoted to taking care of her family. And her father, Christian Shepherd was a reverend for the local congregation. 

Grace grew up in a well-kept white farmhouse, surrounded by a lush lawn, meticulously crafted flower beds, and apple trees enclosed by a white picket fence. To the outside world, her family appeared to be the picture of piety and devotion, with an unwavering commitment to God and their local congregation. However, behind closed doors, the reality was far from the idyllic facade.

From a young age, Grace had been a challenging child. As soon as she could speak, profanities poured forth, much to the frustration of her parents, especially her mother. Her disruptive behavior extended to church, where she regularly misbehaved, only avoiding expulsion from Sunday school due to her father's position as the reverend.

While Grace performed adequately in school, neither excelling nor struggling, her parents constantly pressured her to do better, to be better, and to wholeheartedly embrace the Christian faith - a path she steadfastly refused to follow.

As Grace entered her teenage years, her acting out escalated, resulting in multiple suspensions from school. At one point, her parents were convinced that the devil had taken hold of their daughter, a belief that Grace herself began to share, though by then, she had simply stopped caring. 

At sixteen, she'd had enough of the constant fighting with her mother. One day, after a particularly heated argument, she hastily packed a bag with her phone, toothbrush, some clothes, and the little money she had - everything her teenage self deemed essential. As she opened the door to leave, her mother's words echoed in her mind: "If you walk out that door, don't even think about coming back!" Determined, she never returned home.

After wandering in the rain for a while, she made the decision to hitchhike from one of the truck stops along I-81, her sights set on New York City - back then, she thought the bustling metropolis was the place to start anew. How wrong she was.

Desperate for a ride, she spent her last few dollars on a pink dildo with a black handle. In the truck stop bathroom, she used it to break her own hymen, figuring a lonely trucker would likely want some form of payment for the journey. Afterward, she discarded the dildo, drawing a parallel to how she felt she'd be treated - used and then discarded, though at least this way she maintained a sense of control. 

She had no idea if her parents had ever searched for her. After a decade, the state had likely declared her deceased and buried an empty casket. Yet she felt indifferent - whether her parents cared or not was inconsequential. This was the first time in years she had even contemplated them.

So her journey had begun. Once a child of God, she had fallen under the devil's sway. Perhaps her parents were right about the wrath of God punishing her defiance. But nothing could be worse than the cardboard boxes and parking garages that had become her existence. Right?

@nekoannie-chan @ladysif8 @the-ero-writer @saiyanprincessswanie @late-to-the-party-81 @rip1009 @here4thefanfics

[obscurecurse]

the first time i heard foundations of decay i was driving to upstate new york to go inspect a 100 year old spanish tile roof by myself because the architect who was supposed to go with me was in a horrific car wreck while transporting a cursed family heirloom across minnesota. i was on so much adderall because of some deadlines i had to slam before getting in the car. i was so anxious that my face kept going numb. i had to stop the car multiple times and get out and just stand in the rain and breathe until i could feel myself again. i was on some fucking winding country road in new jersey - because it was also rush hour, so it was faster than taking 95. and there was something that had stopped traffic, a mail truck, i think - and for half the song i was just staring at one half of a dead deer on the side of the road at the edge of some foggy meadow. i could not locate the other half.

i can still see it so clearly when i hear that song now. it was like i had to experience it that way. horrific, specific images had to be conjured and burned into my mind forever. i love my chemical romance send tweet. that song fucks extremely hard.

[fatehbaz]

In the March 1923 issue of National Geographic, a sketch of a tired-looking businessman invites the reader to the Tucson Sunshine-Climate Club. In the accompanying text, Benj. Lowe -- the archetype of the tired, busy, urban, white businessman -- attempts to coax all the other Benj. Lowes out there on the East Coast to recover from their unhealthy lifestyles by spending some time in Tucson, Arizona:

That night, for the first time in his hard-working, rushing life, Lowe came to himself. No vacations for ten years. Heavy responsibilities. Making money? Yes. Now on the verge of breakdown. What was it all worth, anyway? And then his eyes fell on a booklet his worried wife had sent for. It was “Man-Building in the Sunshine-Climate.” …Perhaps you, like Lowe, may find in “Man-Building in the Sunshine-Climate” the clue to robust health.

This form of health tourism began to appear in journal and newspaper advertisements not long after Tucson was originally incorporated as a city, in 1877. A promotional item published in the Arizona Daily Star in 1890 even went so far as to designate Tucson a place to cure serious pulmonary diseases. The rhetoric in these advertisements often framed the Sonoran Desert as “empty,” a place to be “discovered,” as if the Western lands of the continent had remained unoccupied and untouched all along. The process of “Man-Building” advertised by the Sunshine-Climate Club, therefore, carries a double meaning: building oneself and building one’s environment. [...]

With the proliferation of advertisements in magazines such as Ladies Home Journal and Journal of American Medical Association, a large number of [...] tourists [...] arrived to discover what the desert could offer. [...]

Throughout the late-nineteenth and early twentieth century, hospitals, sanatoria, health resorts, and other structures dedicated to medical treatment multiplied throughout the city of Tuscon [...]. These buildings were not in isolation, in the manner of nineteenth-century sanatoria in Europe or New England. Instead, they were open and integrated into the urban fabric [...]. In the late nineteenth century, upstate New York was among the most popular destinations for pulmonary health pilgrimages. With the opening of the Southern Pacific Railroad in 1880, however, towns with dry climates -- whose “pure and dry air … was not subject to severe seasonal changes” -- started bringing in crowds. [...]

Tucson reached its peak as the “health capital” during the 1930s, when the city’s roughly 30,000 residents were joined by about 10,000 health tourists visiting its twenty-one sanatoria, four hospitals, and four luxury hotels during the peak season. [...]

By 1928, Tucson’s planning and zoning commission had developed a new zoning system for such developments. Spatial buffers were instituted for sanatoria to ensure proper ventilation and isolation, dramatically altering the density and porosity of the city. In a residential neighborhood, for example, sanatoria had to be “set back 200 feet from the property line” and could only occupy “20 percent of the lot.” [...]

---

Sanatoria quickly became a refuge only the rich could afford [...].

Tucson’s Desert Sanatorium was a massive complex of eleven buildings built in 1926 spread out over 160 acres. [...] Telescopic devices called radiometers were housed on the roof of the main hospital building, channeling and directing sunlight through small lenses into the treatment rooms and sunbaths below. The sanatorium’s research center, hospital, and nurse’s residences were scattered across the site [...]. Each patient’s room was annexed to a small wooden balcony visible on the façade. Wet spaces were tiled and interiors white-washed, with baseboards curving away from the walls to prevent dust from settling on their surfaces. Window openings or balconies were carved out from the massive, Pueblo-style exterior walls. The Pueblo style also appears in the interior common spaces as Navajo carpets, mural reproductions, and quilts. Patient’s rooms were named after native tribes such as Pima, Papago, and Navajo. [...] The appropriation of indigenous culture and symbols persisted in the visual language of the Desert Sanatorium. One patient handbook came with a postcard featuring an image of a highly cultivated Navajo garden, and a description of the Sanatorium’s services and facilities adorned with sketches of a “teepee,” “rain cloud,” “thunderbird tracks,” “broken arrow,” “mountain range,” and “bear track.” The symbol of eagle feathers is placed alongside the welcome note by the director to denote his status as “chief” of the complex. The last page of the handbook even contains a personal message from the illustrator, in which he wishes that “each little figure brings happiness … and a very quick recovery. May the Great Spirit Bless and Protect you.”

Despite the generous application of native iconography and mythology in the sanatorium’s literature, few measures were taken to actually care for the infected people in local indigenous communities. By the early twentieth century, indigenous communities, along with other poor minority groups in Arizona had the highest rate of tuberculosis in the region. [...] Carlisle Indian School dedicated an issue of [...] [their] magazine to provide news and guidelines to counter the disease. [...] These analyses are accompanied by photographs of the architectural conditions of the buildings. [...] The issue further suggests the American Indians whose lifestyle shifted from the “more sanitary teepee to the one and two-room box house” could not keep up with hygiene. The magazine sought to enable the “medicine man” to cure the sick [...] but not, however, without yielding to an institutional form of governmentality. The narratives [...] yielded to the top-down institutional logic of controlling bodies by prescribing protocols. [...]

---

The disease, then, is not only a medical construct, but is firstly an environmental construct shaped by the climatic imaginaries which, in turn, shapes the urban context. Secondly, it is a social construct that privileges a certain lifestyle and class through its contagion and access to treatment. Lastly, it is a political construct, as it perpetuates the asymmetrical relationship between communities in the eye of the government and institutions. Amid these racial and economic imbrications, architecture is instrumentalized to facilitate institutional agendas. [...] Architecture perpetuates violence against the figure of the other.

---

Text by: Gizem Sivri. “Desert Fever: Harvesting the Sun, Colonizing the Land.” e-flux (Sick Architecture series). December 2020. [Screenshots were edited by me and display only part of the advertisement, which is shown in its entirety in Sivri’s article. Caption is as it appears in Sivri’s article. Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me.]

[theretirementstory]

01/09/2024. Greetings on this first Sunday in September, where the weather in Bar-sur-Aube is 22c (and sunny) we are due 32c so I will need to hide in the shade.

This photo was taken on September 1st 2018, that was when the town used to have the Foire aux Bulles on the first weekend of the month, which for some reason was given a new name “Bulles et Gastronomie Foire”and moved to a new slot, the last weekend of the month.

Let’s get my health news out of the way first! My platelets have not fallen to 10 or below for a number of weeks and so the doctors in Paris agreed that we should try for just one transfusion per week 😳. The injection to boost my white blood cells is to be stopped as it looks as if my body is working better there. I still have to have the injection for red blood cells but haven’t had a haemoglobin transfusion for almost two weeks 😁 and of course I am still having platelet injections and transfusions. My blood pressure tablets have been stopped completely in the hope that blood pressure will return to normal levels after being really low. All in all a “good news” week. Keep your 🤞for me.

I had to eke out the shopping as Monique wanted to do some, I asked Anie to get fresh fruit and my neighbour to go for my prescription. On Friday (after my trip to Paris) my neighbour drove me to two supermarkets, where I hurried round picking up items for “my family’s” arrival. We are all so excited to be seeing one another soon.

It has been another busy week (well aren’t they all?) I messaged the gardener, who came out and cut the grass on Tuesday, then he messaged to say he would cut the hedges on Friday, so now my garden looks pretty good. I contacted the plumber who also called in on Tuesday and repaired the waste “thing” in the upstairs washbasin. I finally plucked up courage to contact the man to clean the outside walls of the house, they are streaked with red which appears to come from the roof tiles. He came out and looked at them, gave me a price which we agreed and then we agreed a start date. The only person, both Monique and I, have been unable to contact is the roofer. He seems to have gone to ground! She said I will have to try and find another man to do the work but to be honest those men are as rare as hens teeth! Oh well, it’s just one job left to do I suppose.

It was pay day for my cleaner and as usual, I hadn’t done something correctly! I finally printed off the paper she needed, at 5am on Friday (before my trip to Paris), left it where I had said I would leave it and she hasn’t been for it yet. Oh well I have done my bit, without my car I cannot go and deliver it to her. If Anie comes down I will get her to take it but other than that, I don’t know.

Pauline came to see me on Tuesday and we spent a lovely couple of hours together. She was quite taken by the gardener and kept “watching him work”.

I had a surprise yesterday, my friend, from the next village, sent a message to say she had left something outside my front door. Sure enough, a bunch of flowers were resting on the door handle and there was a large bag of tomatoes and courgettes. As it was so hot, I really couldn’t face cooking anything but I checked out some recipes and think I will be making tomato and courgette soup plus courgettes, tomato and garlic. Well I can but try!

We have had some really lovely days and I am hoping for more of these for next week. This week it has meant that washing could be hung out and dried which is a big boost enabling me to prepare for the autumn and winter.

If it’s good weather next week my visitors will be in the garden taking the sun and reading books. The perfect way to de-stress.

So “Mr Solicitor” and “The Recovery Coordinator” have been busy packing their bags and will spend today relaxing 🤞before an early start in the morning. Oh wow, don’t think about it or I will get 🤪.

“The Photographer” has been out and about in York taking photos. He is trying lots of different things and ways to photograph scenes, people etc. He made a flying visit home yesterday and will be heading back to York this evening.

On Friday morning the alarm woke me at 4:30a.m. it was dark and I felt as if it was still nighttime! I love the summer for the bright early mornings but know that those days will soon give way to darker mornings. It’s sad in a way but at least I have my trusty sunrise alarm clock to help me wake up to some light. When I was younger I wished I could hibernate until the days grew longer, now as I approach another birthday I want to make the most of the hours available to me, be they light or dark. Yes it’s the month of the autumnal equinox too!

So finally, I have reached the music slot, I don’t know why I haven’t had this song in before now! The song is “Play That Funky Music” by Wild Cherry which was released in 1976.

This is another 1970’s song, it’s “Black Betty” by Ram Jam which was released in 1977. When I hear either of these songs I am transported poolside at the Hotel Tour Khalef in Sousse Tunisia. I was young and free as a bird unlike now where I am old but still free as a bird 😂.

Have a good week until next week, I hope to.

Final photo, the garden, ready for the visitors.

[grungekitty-77]

Blood // Water by Grandson

This one got longer. I hope it's decent. It is my first ever ROTTMNT fic.

TW: vomit

Oh right! @erriots

--

Raph had lost his lunch, and Leo was barely refraining from following him.

"Dad..." Mikey said in heartbreak.

Donnie was gripping his staff hard enough to feel his knuckles grinding. He was furious not just for himself, but on his little brother's behalf. After how far Mikey had gone to redeem him; he turns around and begins to commit atrocities again!

"That conniving, deceitful, traitorous.…"

Donnie struggled for the word he wanted to use. Nothing felt strong enough. His immense vocabulary wasn't quite enough to cover his feelings. He had to settle for a subpar word and hoping yelling it loud enough could make up the difference.

"JERK!"

It didn’t make up the difference.

Mikey whimpered next to him.

"I hate to say it, but I told you guys. He dropped me off a roof." Leo yelled, trying to channel his hurt into any other emotion within reach and landing on anger.

He was aiming for humor, but he was flexible with where he landed.

"But....he changed. He was family" Mikey said

Raph wiped his face clean and reached over to rub his youngest brother's shell.

"You did your best, Bro. Sometimes bad people just wanna be bad. You can love em all you want, but it's not always gonna be enough."

The sound of a metal door scraping against tile made them all turn to see the traitor of the hour step into the lab. Still wearing his uniform, hair net and all.

"Oh. Hello boys. I didn't expect to see you here." he said cheerfully.

As if nothing was horribly, gut twistingly, wrong. As if there weren't suffering human test subjects in states that could be argued as worse than death gasping for oxygen in tubes lined against the wall.

"A bunch of brand new mutants starting causing trouble all over New York. We tracked them back to this place. And weren't we surprised to see whose name was on the wall." Raph said, angrily pointing to said plaque.

Because of course he had to put his name on it.

"I figured you'd find this place eventually." Baron said as he casually changed out of his work clothes.

He threw a lab coat on, which looked ridiculous with the hair net he forgot. Nobody was in the mood to tell him.

"Now that you're here, you can help me." he said, walking past them to the table.

"Help you!?" Leo yelled, still settling for anger while his humor took its vacation.

Mikey started to hope Barron was about to ask for help with his apparent relapse. Mikey could do that. He could support the stuffing out of his dad until he got his dark impulses under control again. He helped him once and he could do it again. He would do it again. Anything to bring his family together again.

But before he could explain any of that, Baron spoke again.

"We can take the time to locate much more suitable subjects with you four helping. It will be so much more efficient than allowing the oozqitos to infect at random. We'll have a suitable army in no time." he explained.

He wasn't even looking at them while he spoke. He was mixing chemicals and working on his project like it was nothing more than a birdhouse.

"Hold up!" Raph yelled, throwing his hands in the air "I think we need to rewind a little bit. Because there is no way we are helping you mutate people!"

He ended his words with a soft growl.

Baron finally started to look concerned.

"What are you talking about? With this new Earth Protection Squad after us, it only stands to reason that we take necessary measures to insure our victory." Barron said sternly, straightening his back like he was giving a lecture.

All four turtles stared at him in every shade from disgust to shock.

"ON WHAT PLANET DOES THAT MEAN MUTATING INNOCENT CIVILIANS!?!?" Mikey screamed, gesturing wildly.

Baron's eyes got cold.

"On this one. And the humans are by no means 'innocent'. They are the ones hunting us!"

"A select group of humans is hunting us. Not the entire species!" Donnie corrected him "And did you forget that we have human friends!? Are you suggesting April is culpable in the EPS?"

"Of course not! O'Neil is one of the good ones." Baron said dismissively.

"'One of the-'!??!?!... Did you really just say that!?" Leo yelled, hardly believing he heard such an old racist line from Baron.

"This is a nightmare." Mikey whispered.

"I'll admit, I didn't foresee this...hostility from you." Baron said, stepping forward. "I am only taking measures to ensure our survival."

"Draxy, you have officially been demoted from 'Dad' to 'Racist Uncle'." Leo snarked. "Keep going and you're getting uninvited to Thanksgiving!"

His humor returned! He had missed it.

Baron shook his head and began closing the distance between him and his sons.

"You are being blind! We must be proactive if we are to-”

He stopped suddenly, his face screwing up in confusion and disgust. He slowly looked down until he saw what he had stepped in.

“What is this?” he asked in a careful tone.

Leo saw an opportunity for sass and took it.

“Oh that? Funny story actually. You see when we saw what you had been doing down here, we were so disgusted Raph tossed his cookies like he was trying to go pro!”

Huh. That came out more angry again. It was a weird day for Leo.

“I see…” Baron said.

He was standing in a puddle of vomit, wearing a hair net and lab coat, and his sons were glaring at him like he was a threat to them. He felt safe counting it as a new low.

What was there to say?

“I only wanted to protect you.” he said quietly.

“With protection like this, who needs danger!?” Leo bitterly laughed.

Oh, so the humor was back again.

Raph was shaking his head.

“This….none of this is right.” he said.

Baron seemed to shrink.

There was silence. A long stretch of nothing charged with tension and regret. Regret for actions taken. Regret for compassion extended. Enough regret to choke on, and if that didn’t do it the silence would finished the job.

Before any of them could snap from the stress, Baron spoke

“What can I do?”

Donnie shook his head and sighed.

“I’m not sure what you could possible do that wouldn’t just make everything worse.”

Mikey let out a frustrated moan.

“This sucks!” he shouted.

Everyone agreed.

--

I had fun. At the end of the day, that was my primary goal. Second was to make someone happy. Third was to stretch my writing a little.

[whencyclopedia]

Behind the Scenes: Acquiring Images for the Encyclopedia

IMAGES are an obviously important aspect of a modern encyclopedia and, for this reason, our editors - both full-time and volunteer, dedicate quite a lot of their time to search for, upload, and describe images to illustrate WHE’s articles. We tend to publish two new articles every day and a text of around 3,000 words requires at least six images, both to help the reader visualise aspects of the subject and also to make the webpage visually appealing and not simply present a wall of text. 

The title image of an article is particularly important in enticing people to read the text, especially so on Social Media posts but also as a thumbnail preview on the encyclopedia itself. We need images of a sufficient resolution and our editors must bear in mind that a landscape format typically works better than a vertical one, and that posts on places like Facebook and Twitter tend to crop images at the top and bottom. This latter consideration, if neglected, can lead to readers seeing the midriff of a statue instead of the face, or a stretch of brilliant blue sky but not the monument beneath it. We also like to choose images that reflect a monument or artefact in natural conditions. A night shot of the Colosseum can look wonderful but it is not necessarily helpful to someone who wants to see the different architectural orders used in each level of the amphitheatre.    

The encyclopedia really has two ways of acquiring images. One is for editors to search the internet to find good-quality images that can be legally republished. Those two requirements are not quite as easy as they sound. Many of the most striking images we come across cannot be used because photographers have copyrighted them and they cannot be republished for any purpose without paying a fee, a fee which WHE cannot really afford given the number of images we require each week for new content. We would also much prefer to publish images that can be reused by readers provided they are not for commercial use. This allows teachers and students to freely use our images in class or for homework and assignments without any problems. 

Fortunately, as a registered non-profit organisation and educational website, we can legally republish images that many other websites cannot. This is particularly true for museum websites. Being able to republish high-quality images from, say, the British Museum, London or the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York is a great help to our work. These sites have the additional advantage that their image descriptions are very informative and reliable.    

A second way to acquire images is to receive them from volunteer photographers and our own staff. Some of our volunteers travel extensively and they are a great source of images of unusual places. Our own staff, naturally, have a strong passion for history and in their free-time and holidays, many members of the WHE team take photographs of archaeological sites, buildings, and museum artefacts that can be useful for the encyclopedia.

The advantage of having a photographer who knows their history is that we get very useful images that can be difficult to otherwise acquire. Finding a free-to-use image of the Parthenon on the web is not very difficult but finding images of rare objects like a Roman key, Egyptian comb, or Korean roof tile is a whole different challenge. As the encyclopedia publishes many articles on daily life topics such as food, clothing, entertainments and so on, finding suitable images for these texts can be a challenge. Often, the artefacts we need to illustrate these kinds of subjects are the ones that most people pass over in a museum and so they rarely appear on the internet. Consequently, having photographers upload these kinds of images not only helps our editors but also helps differentiate WHE from other history websites. We hope you the readers enjoy looking at the images we publish!  

Photos by: Diliff, Jan van der Crabben and Carole Raddato.