In which we see the return of some familiar faces...

Cling Fast: Chapter Two

by Loysark The Sandman (Netflix with some sprinkling of comics canon and Gaimanverse) Dreamling (Hob Gadling x Dream of the Endless | Morpheus) Unfinished PG-13 (for now) Unbeta’d

*

“Remarkable,” Doctor Henrietta Butler says, freezing mid-handshake when she meets Hob’s eyes. “Just remarkable, the resemblance–”

“I’ve heard that a lot today,” Hob tries to interrupt, embarrassed by how much two separate BBC Historics production assistants have already gushed over him in the short walk from the Broadcast House lobby to this back office. 

“I imagine so,” Henrietta laughs. She’s a sturdy woman in her mid-fifties, hair long and steel-grey, shot through with the last clinging vestiges of the mouse-brown. Her hands are at least as calloused as his, from so many years of demonstrating cheese presses, and butter churns, and laundry manglers. The smile lines around her eyes are deep, her laughter comes often and easy, and Hob likes her immediately.

She reminds him of his older sister Matilda.

The memory comes with a sudden hankering for Matty’s rabbit stewed in verjuice. He wonders, if he remembers it in enough detail, would Henrietta be able to recreate it for him? Her years of study overlap with Hob’s. Or maybe Morpheus could, in the Dreaming.

“Sit, sit, please,” Henrietta says, waving him toward one of the cushy office chairs. They’re in a well-appointed meeting room, not much larger than Hob’s office at the university, but significantly tidier. It’s staged to look a bit like a gentleman’s study, and Hob vaguely recalls a chat show from the sixties that used similar furniture. He wonders if it’s been repurposed.

It’s the BBC and they never seem to have enough money, so yeah, likely.

Henrietta goes through the deeply British ritual of pouring out the tea that some assistant has left on a spindly little table in the middle of the hodgepodge of leather chairs.

Oh Christ in his Heaven, Hob realizes as he accepts his mug from Henrietta. I’m going to have to live without tea for months. I don’t know if I can go back to posset.

They chat aimlessly about Hob’s journey to Broadcasting House that morning. Henrietta is delighted to learn that Hob walked in from Wapping rather than take the tube. While motorcars and handsom cabs are handy when you want to go far, Hob’s still got enough of the sellsword peasant soldier in him to prefer a good long march to clear his head over a stuffy, cramped, loud journey shoved into a metal can with a thousand other people.

The hour and half’s stroll along the water, through the oldest part of the city, had reminded Hob of what had changed since his time as Robert Gadlen the Third. He’d made it a game with Matthew, who had joined him for part of the walk, to describe what had been there before the Great Fire. 

Hob remembers when Chalk Fields was still a field, Forest Gate had a gate one passed through to leave the city and enter a forest, and Haymarket was a place to purchase hay.

Gadlen House had survived the inferno simply by virtue of not being in the fashionable part of town. It’s across the river in what is now the Hither Green neighborhood, overlooking what the National Trust had named Manor Park after the House itself when they’d taken control of the estate. At the time, Hob didn’t care about fashionable neighborhoods, or that it was outside the Walls. It was close to Greenwich and the Depford docks, through which much of Hob’s wealth had passed back then, and that’s what mattered. 

And he’d wanted space for his paradise-on-earth. He’d predicted, and predicted right, that the city would one day consume the south bank. He’d wanted to carve out his piece of it before that happened. He’d ensured that there was plenty of room for parkland, orchards, and gardens. Hob had grown up in green and hilly Essex back when his village was so small that everyone could fit inside the church. He preferred space and verdant nature where he could get it, even when he had to live in a city.

He’d done the same when he’d bought the White Horse and as much of the land surrounding it in Wapping as he could winkle out of the estate agents. His current little patch of city has a fine view of the Pool of London (and the Bridge and Tower, if you crane your head up river), but is nowhere near as dominated by buildings and rushing pedestrians and racing cars as the rest of old London Town. On purpose, of course. And despite all the development real estate offers he’d received and turned down (some less politely than others, and one with a baseball bat and a bloody grin when they’d foolishly sent a pack of hooligans to try to intimidate Hob), he intends to keep it that way.

Hob’s walked past Broadcasting House before, too, of course. He's wandered every road in London at one time or another, but its place on Regent's Street between the Thames and Marleboyne means he's walked the Cambridge borough more times than he can count.

Once Henrietta is settled with her own cuppa, Hob jumps straight to his first question: "So where did the historians dig me up? How?"

Henrietta laughs again, easy and generous. “Nothing so difficult–Google, just like everything else in this day and age, I’m afraid. We’d already gotten permission from the National Trust to film at Gadlen House–”

It’s my home, you should have asked my permission, Hob thinks, but the possessiveness flits away as quickly as it had appeared. It’s not his home any more, and that’s something he’s had to come to grips with more than once in his long, long life.

“--and as Glenn and are focused on the downstairs manner of things, we had thought it might be fun to have an actor or two play the upstairs folks, you know.”

“Downtown Abbey-like,” Hob surmises.

“Precisely. But then of course a research assistant was looking into the last owner, Robert Gadlen the Third, sending the portrait to casting directors, and your name popped up in an internet search. Historian at the University of York, same name, remarkable family resemblance…”

Hob tugs on his ear, annoyed again, and aware that there’s no one to blame but himself on this one. “But how did you trace the lineage?” he asks, because that’s the real issue here. The lesson he has to learn from, and the mistake he has to make sure he doesn’t accidentally repeat next time.

“One of the privileges of the show,” Henrietta allows. “They let us get into all sorts of archives and records that the public can’t access. Looks like there was a brother, some years back. Probably estranged, for as little he’s talked of in the surviving correspondence. But he claimed what little fortune there was left of the Gadlen Estate in 1703 and parlayed it into the triangle trade–”

"You mean the kidnapping, murder, and enslavement of other human beings," Hob says flatly. "It's alright—call it what it was. I'm sure my ancestor is as ashamed of it as I am."

Henrietta offers him a thoughtful glance at his bluntness. “I wonder. At any rate, from there it was a matter of following the line of inheritance, and once the researchers realized that your ancestors had a fondness for ‘Robert’ or some variation thereof for their eldest sons, and a chronic inability to spell their own surnames in any sort of consistent manner, it led us to you. Robert Gadlen the Sixth, or thereabouts.”

“And of course, what with my area of expertise being what it is…” Hob finishes that thought with a shrug and a gesture at himself. 

“It’s almost too perfect,” Henrietta agrees. 

“But who’s to say I’m the right choice of presenter?” Hob pushes. “What if I’m terrible at it? It’d be a huge waste of time and money.”

“I’ve seen videos of your lectures,” Henrietta replies with a cheeky twinkle in her eye. “You’ll do fine.”

“The Everyday Histories series?” Hob groans. “I thought they replaced those videos with this year’s speakers.”

“Nothing ever truly goes away on the internet,” Henrietta reminds him, which is part of the problem. But that's Future Hob's concern. “So what do you say, Doctor Gadlen? Three experts instead of two this time around, and an actual descendant of the original Master of the House to boot. Feels like destiny, wouldn’t you say?”

It bloody well better not be, Hob thinks. He makes a mental note to tell Morpheus to pass on a polite request to Destiny to butt out of his life. He’s already had enough of Despair’s fish hook in the last few centuries. And, though he’s still reluctant to admit it to his Stranger, Hob thinks he’s been the center of Desire’s attention a little too often lately, as well. All that hand-holding is giving Hob ideas that he has to be very careful not to allow to become daydreams around his friend. The last thing Hob needs is the eldest Endless ganging up on him, too.

“If I agree to this,” Hob says, “what would be expected? I mean, I love your work, and my friends Matthew and Morph… Murphy are big fans of what you do, but just because I look like the guy,” here he enjoys the irony of gesturing at the color print-out on the table between them of the portrait of his own face. “It doesn’t mean I have to pretend to actually be him, right? I’m no actor.”

“No,” Henrietta assures him. “We’re not going to write scenes and have you speak as Robert Gadlen. It’ll be the same as Glenn and I, the assumption of a general role and class in society–you as the patriarch and master of the household, Glenn will be the gamekeeper and groundsman, do the gardens, and the orchards, and the shooting, and the like. I’ll be juggling the roles of head cook and housekeeper this time.”

“The cook was an Italian man,” Hob corrects before his brain catches up with his mouth.

“Was he?” Henrietta says, delighted. She sits forward. “Done a lot of research into the Witch Knight then, have you?”

Hob winces at the unkind nickname. "I mean, I know who Robert Gadlen the Third was, of course I do. It's like Anne Hathaway not knowing Shakespeare, even though she's an actor, when she has the same name as his wife. You can't not be aware when it's your field. I just… I guess I never thought that I was actually related to the guy."

Henrietta nods. “Makes sense. I’ll admit I haven’t done the deep dive yet, so I’ll defer to you on that detail.”

I’m going to have to figure out how to back myself up if I’m going to get my way as much as I want, Hob realizes. Any documents or paperwork he’d had in his study the night he'd been dragged away had likely been long ago pilfered or burned up. And Hob hadn’t been in the habit of maintaining a daily journal any more. He’d started one under Caxton, to help learn his letters, but realized fairly quickly that putting proof of his immortality on paper might invite the very accusations and executions that he’d actually suffered.

“I don’t think Glenn wouldn’t mind being the head cook this time, then,” Henrietta says over Hob’s musing. “I can manage the gardens. For the game, maybe we could–”

“I can hunt,” Hob says. “I can ride, too. Though it’s been a while. And I haven’t held a bow since–” –firearms became more ubiquitous in the late seventeenth century– “undergrad.”

Henrietta laughs again, clearly beyond pleased. “And how’s your late Middle English?”

“Impeccable,” Hob says, because you know what? Hob still has an ego, and if he’s going to do this, he’s going to do it right.

*

Once they’ve finished their tea, signed a few non-disclosure agreements, and collected up the folder of reference photos, Henrietta leads Hob further into the bowels of Broadcast House.

Hob feels like a minor celebrity when they walk between the rows of cubicles belonging to the Historics research team. They pop up, one after the other, like meerkats to get a good look at him, then drop back into their seats and whisper about how handsome and uncanny he is in much louder tones than he thinks they realize. Hob wishes Matthew could be here for this, he’d find it hilarious. 

Maybe Hob can convince Henrietta that he used to keep a massive, mouthy raven as a pet so Matthew could ride his shoulder around the set.

Hob is led to a back wall absolutely smothered in fabric swatches, photocopies of old hand-written recipes, food lists, architectural drawings, gardening layouts, sketches of Manor Park, lighting references, plans for riding tack, and a multitude of other documents that Hob hasn’t got the experience or time to parse. Dead centre of the board are life-size copies of the three extant portraits of Robert Gadlen the Third. 

The first is of Hob alone. He doesn’t remember which year it was or the name of the artist. But he remembers that it was pig-hot in the artist’s salon and that he’d damn near keeled over from heatstroke on the first sitting. That had been before he’d met Eleanor, and the painter had been some former apprentice of Hans Holbien the Younger, and very much in demand. Hob had wanted to wear his Stranger’s colors, for the portrait. He wanted to proclaim his gratitude and allegiance to the creature he’d thought of then as his patron. But the black velvet had been smothering, and the scarlet embroidered trim had crumpled unappealingly, and the starched ruff had scratched so appallingly that Hob had begged the artist to let him take it off if it wasn’t being painted in that exact moment.

The second portrait was of Hob and Eleanor. Hob ignores the scarecrowish figure of himself hovering at Eleanor’s side, in a stately parlor. He holds a glove in one hand to indicate that he is master of his estate, a sword on his hip along with his heraldic badge on his breast to indicate his knighthood, and a view of the shipyards where he’d made his fortune out the arched window behind him. Instead, he focuses on his wife.

Eleanor is plump and buxom, cheeks filled with roses and hair the deep gold color of flax. She looks young, God's wounds, she looks no older than his students. How old was she when they married? Twenty? Twenty-two? And he an eternal thirty-three. But Lord Above in All His Splendor, had he loved her on first sight. Maid-of-a-maid in Elizabeth's court, low-down daughter of a low-down courier, nobody of import. She professional enough to remain quiet and bold enough to openly drink the leftover wine that her mistress had abandoned.

She'd met his eyes over the rim of the goblet, launched a challenging eyebrow in his direction, and that was that for Hob Gadling and his heart.

She’d had a little dog when they married, a dumb fluffy white thing with a heart as generous as El’s but breath like a week-old fish pie. She’d loved the bloody thing like a child. It was sitting by her feet in the portrait, pink tongue lolling, staring up lovingly at its mistress, sporting a ridiculous flax-yellow bow. In her lap, Eleanor cradles the lute Hob had given her as his first courting gift. She'd loved music, but hadn't an instrument of her own, and Hob hated how she'd sighed over how lovely the queen's was.

In the portrait Eleanor's dress is the color of a robin’s egg, and so are her eyes.

(Morpheus' eyes too, Hob realizes with a start as he studies the portrait.)

Hob remembers the almighty row they’d had over the dress, when he’d been handed the mantua-makers’ bill. How it was the first time he’d yelled at El, the first time he’d seen the tears well up in her eyes and the mottled, shamed flush creep up her bosom and neck. And how it had made him feel like an absolute monster.

He’d thrown himself at her feet, literally, right there in the solar, and kissed her slippers and apologized. Then he’d kissed her ankles. Then her calves, and her knees. By the time he’d kissed all the way up, and spent a dozen humid moments with her thighs clamped hard around his ears, she was happy to forgive him on the understanding that he was to never again raise his voice to her. It was a promise Hob had kept, because honor was something he clung to, as well.

If your life was such that sometimes all you could call your own as you moved onto a new life was your name and your word, then you didn't break the latter easily.

And the final portrait was the one from the National Gallery, commissioned just months before his son died. This time, Hob is the one seated, taking his ease with a pair of hunting hounds sprawling at his feet and whose names, he is utterly ashamed to realize, he's forgotten. They are outside, Hob on a park bench, under the great wide apple tree Hob had planted in the Park in private memory of his brother John, and the rest of his lost family. Hob is dressed for leisure, as if he's just walked out of the doors of his study and into the garden, still in his wrapper and cap. 

Robyn is the real star of the portrait, as Hob meant him to be.

Standing beside him, leaning on a long, skinny matchlock musket, Robyn looks exactly like he had the day he'd died. He's wearing different clothes of course—fine hunting kit, decorated with more lace and embroidery than would ever be practical in real life. But the rest is just as Hob remembers. The cheekbones finally emerging from the last of his baby fat, the cowl's lick in the swoop of golden-brown hair at the center of his forehead, which he'd inherited from El, the cleft chin, the start of laughter lines around his sparking- dark eyes.

The only difference is that on the night he'd died, Robyn had been sporting his first atrocious, patchy goatee. Attempting to look like his father.

Hob gives in to the urge to run his fingers along the edges of their faces, first El’s then Rob’s. The photo paper is glossy to the touch, but he can remember the smoothness of her cheek, and the peach-fuzz prickle of his. He swallows hard, determined not to allow the emotions throttling him.

"And there he is, our Witch Knight and his tragic family."  Henrietta lays a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It must be very moving, to see them now that you know that they are your tragic family."

Tragic family, Hob repeats to himself. He had sometimes wondered if El, and Robyn, and wee John had died so young in payment for his everlasting life. He had not passed on his immortality. The thought that he had inadvertently stolen their years for himself had been hard on his mind in the many decades he'd begged and starved on the streets.

His Stranger had reassured him in 1689 that it had not been the case. Hob, who had not tasted ale or wine in over a decade, and as a result had no longer been in practice being intoxicated, had burst into tears of relief at the table.

His Stranger had let him cry, without mocking or abandoning him. When the proprietor made noises about closing up for the night, Hob had found a purse heavy with enough fantastical coins ("Pulled from the dreams of children on a pirate adventure," Morpheus had explained centuries later) that Hob could pay the evening's tab, as well as for a room and a wash.

Hob had disdained the tub the proprietor's wife had dragged in, with no desire submerged again any time soon, but he'd scrubbed himself and his clothes as best he could. In the morning, he had appealed to the proprietor for work, and when the man had learned that Hob knew his letters, sent him to his brother's vegetable stall in the nearby market. Hob was too old to be a proper delivery boy, but he could read the lists, and assemble the orders, and knew the city like nobody else.

With his feet back under him, and his belly not eternally consuming itself, Hob was able to make himself decent enough to pursue what little wealth may still be in banking for him (or in the little caches he'd buried all over his hometown), and start again.

And look how that turned out, Hob remembers, tugging his ear.

"Must we call him the Witch Knight?" Hob asks, as Henrietta moves off to point out the bits of fabric pinned to the board all around the portraits. "Only, it doesn't seem like a very kind nickname. He wasn't a witch."

"You sound sure of that," Henrietta says, with a little chuckle. "While of course we can debunk it in the show, it is the most commonly known moniker for your semi-famous ancestor. People know it. It's on all the Gadlen House tourist pamphlets."

Uhg, Hob thinks. He should have visited the house at least once since it was handed over to the National Trust. Maybe he could have stopped the nickname before it got popular.

Instead he'd stayed away completely, certain that his heart couldn't take seeing what the courtiers who had been gifted the estate had done to the place. Nor what 'improvements' their own ancestors may have torturously imposed on his paradise-on-earth.

"Witch Knight," Hob mutters, shaking his head.

*

One of the most important things that Hob has learned about his Stranger in the last year is that Morpheus is an absolute sucker for a bet.

Maybe it’s part of being… whatever it is, actually that An Endless is. Immutable, bound to the laws of the universe, and unable to turn down a wager on a cellular level. It seems that all the Endless were like that, based on Morpheus’ sparse stories. As Hob understands it, once an Endless shakes on it, they are pathologically compelled to see their little bets through, no matter how inane or ridiculous, or what harm it may cause one another. Or what regret and rifts in the love between siblings.

So of course the first thing Hob says when he falls asleep that night is: "If you're so keen for me to do this show, I bet you can't find me a book that still exists that I can use a primary source."

"Oh-ho-ho!" Merv had shouts, from where he's trying to shove a massive potted arrangement  of red carnations, blue cornflowers, and poppies into a corner of the throne room. It's an unusual combination. Hob doesn't know the language of flowers, but the sharp juxtaposition of the blooms looked a little violent to him. "You're betting the boss?"

"Decorum," Morpheus scolds the pumpkinhead waspishly, but without any real heat. He stands from where he was lounging on the bottom steps of his dias, clearly waiting for Hob to enter the Dreaming. "Your wager is accepted. What do you forfeit if I locate the necessary texts in the Waking world for you?"

Morpheus strides towards the Library, and Hob trots after him, his slippers a whisper against the blackhole-dark marble. "I'll put that homemade spanakopita and saganaki you like on the menu at The New Inn."

Hob's been trying to get Dennis to agree to it for months, anyway, but his co-manager is extremely opposed to dishes that a) take literal hours of laminating and metric tons of butter to create and b) are brought to the table on fire. If Morpheus provides him with government documents, or a servant's old journal, or even letters that Hob or Eleanor had written, though, Hob's willing to throw down with Dennis over his sudden desire to shift the menu from Upscale Pub Grub to Classical Greek in the most literal sense.

Morpheus gets that little starry-eyed (also literally) far-away look he sometimes sports when thinking of his originating culture. Morpheus had, after all, been thought into being when humans were still doing the OG version of the Mediterranean diet. Though he didn't eat, the sorts of foods that might have appeared on his altars—warm olives and flatbread, oil and vinegar, tart goat's cheese and yogurt, grapes and sugared nuts—could always entice him into a nibble or five.

"Hmm, agreed," Morpheus says, holding open the Library door for Hob. "And should the task prove fruitless, what do you ask in recompense?"

A kiss, Hob thinks, and then swiftly squashes it down.

"You invite Death to our next Tuesday hang. I haven't had the chance to thank her properly yet."

Morpheus looks sour about that, the possessive prat, which is why Hob had picked it. He's been hinting that he wanted to meet at least this mysterious sister who whom he owes his immortality for a while now.

"Very well," Morpheus agrees mulishly. "This way."

He leads them towards The Shelves of Books That Are, which is where Hob would have started, too. The Shelves of Books that Were might help too, if Hob could convince Morpheus to allow him to bring a physical copy into the Waking. Regrettably the Shelves of Books That Have Yet To Come and the Shelves of Books That Never Will Be would be off-limits for this little project.

Maybe, if they do have to magick a book back into existence, the Bookseller of Soho could see fit to help him with the little ruse. He’d always seemed the sort of a nice spot of drama, and the Bently Snake was always down for a bit of heist when needed.

They chat a bit about their days—Morpheus about the section of the Dreaming he's building to celebrate the many vivid and creative imaginings of the growing legions of fan writers and artists, and Hob about his first meeting with Henrietta.

"Witch knight!" Hob repeats in disgust as he relays the conversation. "As if I was—" he gestures at himself, and his scarlet silk pajamas darken and spread, like ink in water, until he's wearing the most ridiculous anime-esque spiky gothic armor he can think up.

He's getting better and better at this lucid dreaming schtick.

"Peace, Hob," Morpheus entreats, waving away his nightmarish outfit. His clothes become pajamas once more, though the King of the Dreaming has added a cozy, blowsy banyan in cloth-of-gold. Hob rather likes it—it billows and trails behind him just like Morpheus's own cloak of galaxies. "It was not meant as an insult. It is merely another story."

"But stories hold power, you said so," Hob says, jogging along to catch up with his friend. "And I'd like to find something else to outshine that one."

Morpheus is always taller than Hob in the Dreaming, and far more eldritch too. His pale eyes are instead the deep velvet black of space, filled with a field of stars. He is skinnier, sharper, arms and fingers just slightly too long, hair more wild and clothing always moving as if he has his own private breeze to make sure his cloak is always shown to best advantage.

He probably does, the vain ponce.

He's a gorgeous nightmare, and he knows it.

And so he peers down at Hob from his lofty snobbish height. Then with a dramatic flourish, he plucks a book down off a shelf that's definitely too high up for Hob to reach.

"I win," Morpheus says smugly.

PREVIOUS | NEXT

"Madame," Was his only warning (and greeting) before the vampire hunter promptly scooped-up Nadir into his arms, grinning from ear to ear with coyness unfitting on a usually-disgruntled face. || { @finalsorrow

@finalsorrow

Having gotten an insufficient amount of rest the previous night, her eyelids had long since begun to wearily lower as the text before her began to blur. She’d been hoping to review a few more incantations and medicinal potions and herbs prior to hitting the hay. However, it would seem that her mind and body were strongly urging her to turn in right then and resume her readings the following day. Too bad, she’d been stuck on a page that had been specifically delving into detail concerning the chants that could render one’s visage unrecognizable to select individuals if executed properly. Something that would be admittedly quite a boon for one prone to the more than occasional faux pas and social misstep like herself. 

Ah well. It’d have to wait till the following day, when she could start anew and with a mind reinvigorated for the absorption of the new material. Anyway, Nadir could definitely stand to try to reset and normalize her internal clock. It would seem that several factors had lent their hand to her present fatigued state and subsequent wonky Circadian rhythm, among them reasons pertinent to perhaps certain recent regrettable revelations. And her nocturnal musings on these subjects had made it more difficult for her mind to visit the realm of Morpheus as said thoughts swarmed her consciousness during the ungodly hours of the night. 

The seeming deliberate misrepresentation (and even borderline slander!) in recent media of individuals whom she knew were of altruistic and levelheaded dispositions, honorable motivations, and grounded sense of integrity had definitely had its toll, certainly. Most noticeably during this last past week in particular. 

In the midst of her dreary studies and contemplation of the woes of deceptive and sensationalist media, the scholar sorceress suddenly realized that she was being addressed by a deep voice coming from behind her. 

“Madame.” 

Before she had time to properly react, the Belmont had already proceeded to lift her from her seat and into his hefty hold. And oh boy, did the practitioner of magic’s gauche and socially awkward mannerisms resurface in that moment… Especially once she remembered that her mouth had been wide open in mid-yawn right when this particular event had transpired. 

“Ey baba - !” came the somewhat mild exclamation and vocalized surprise in response to Julius’s spontaneous weight lifting. It took a few moments to compose herself before articulating an attempt at a slightly less discombobulated response. In addition, it was admittedly unexpected for her to see that somewhat more positive expression plastered upon his visage, directed at her no less. Perhaps she’d been forgiven for her past blathering blunders in his presence? 

“U-uh, er… I mean. Ahem. Aheh, thank you for that most … impressive, Herculean demonstration of your abilities, Sir Belmont.” She’d tried to make that last sentence come out snarkily in an attempt to quickly mask her ruffled response just moments prior. But given the comical confusion still written on her features coupled with the silly and stuttering tone of her reply, it perhaps hadn’t had quite the intended effect. 

Nadir cleared her throat and ultimately opted to do away with the failed facade of composure. Cause ain’t no one buying it anyway after that little display. “Anyway, uh … Um. Thank you for the quite literal take on pick-me-up, J-man - … Belmont! Caesar- MISTER Belmont. It was … uh, very kind of you. Thank you.” 

“Also nice flex just then. A very uplifting gesture, indeed.” 

A TEASE A DAY BRINGS YOU CLOSER TO YOUR DEATH  005

FACEPALM-KUN AND THE ABANDONED RAMEN between the yandere, sunshine boy, tsundere, shy boy, kuudere, which one would you choose?

Y/N stretches his arms, yawning as he makes his way towards the school gate in a drowsy approach. He ended up getting home by eleven thirty at night and stowed into the arms of Morpheus at two in the morning, scrubbing off the filth on his body before he went to sleep - which took the most time, even more than the time used to scroll through his phone.

The mob before the school invades Y/N's sight as he walks along the sidewalks towards the gate. "Damn what's with that crowd, is like a celebrity coming to our school or something?" he mumbles, nearing the horde, he recognises them as reporters from all the biggest news platforms in Japan, "oh wait, our school is filled with celebrities."

Spotting a familiar person whilst he attempts to wedge his way towards the entrance, he taps the guy's shoulder, "Hey, blonde guy it's you again."

"Heyyy! "

"What?!" the blonde guy yells through the rowdy flock of reporters, head yanking in Y/N's direction, his brows crumpled up and his eyelids tapered as he tries not to get squeezed to the side by the others.

"You know what's going on?" Y/N squints his eyelids as he gestures towards the mass of people in front of the school gate with his chin.

"I don't know, look yourself!"

The blonde guy tweaks his head back and thrust himself through the reporters with brute force, Y/N closely tracking behind his back, hand suspended mid-air throughout the entire fatiguing process of mashing into people and making an attempt to enter the school grounds without letting any reporters in.

"Wow, intense exercise early in the morning," Y/N comments as he walks along the corridor to his class with the blonde guy beside him, not minding that his uniform is wholly crinkled up and hair coiled with strands poking out, an untroubled grin stretches his cheeks.

"Oh, here's my stop, I'll see you later!" they pass by the class 1a door and Y/N bids his farewell to the blonde guy with a blow kiss - in which the latter clicks his tongue then turns his head away to (his scarlet neck rats him out).

Katsuki sits in his seat, his head lowered whilst he passes time with his phone in his palms on his table blatantly when a book is flung into his vision. He curls his hand into a fist and bashes the table, clacking his tongue in crossness.

"Who the fu-"

"Yep!" a radiant voice inserts before he can finish his sentence, even without looking up, Katsuki can pretty much guess who it is from the tonality and 'harmonious' book on the table.

"Midnight's lookin' hot on the cover there, don't ya think? " Y/N says as he bends over to flash a teasing smirk at Katsuki, crooking his head to the side, a brow raised at him.

Katsuki 'hmph'ed at the remark, ruby eyes never veering to look at Y/N, mumbling so tacitly that Y/N can barely hear it, "Fucking pervert." That's something new from the usual 'asshole' and 'fucker', Katsuki's updating his vocabulary too, damn.

To his unfriendly words, Y/N only lets out a faint chuckle, he sparingly flicks the side of Katsuki's head, "I heard that." Katsuki doesn't yell or shout at him for the action but he scowls and responds Y/N with a middle finger - which the latter gives a classic wink to.

"Aye Izuku," he greets as he strides towards his next target he is going to scourge. Y/N ruffles through Izuku's fluffy broccoli curls with one hand and the other chucks a long cardboard tube at the boy. "Here's an All Might poster since I couldn't bring the ice cream," he answers when he sees Izuku's puzzled cast on his features.

"Thanks!" Izuku says, dipping his head to convey himself, the corners of his eyes curving into arcs as wells as his pinkish lips.

"Also," Y/N begins while he tows a seat from the currently empty desk beside, straddling the chair with his arms tending on the top rail, "did you speak to that hedgehog there after school or something yesterday?"

"...how did you know?" Izuku first nods his head then twists his head and questions Y/N, green pupils peering agape at him.

"Saw it when I was running to work."

"Ah ... yeah, he said he's going to be number one from now on."

"Ahahahah, sounds like him," Y/N quenches a howl as he peeps at Katsuki from the side, visualising him shouting at Izuku like a tsundere schoolgirl: 'I-I-I'm going to be number one from now on, don't you bastard underestimate me!!'. The imagination of Katsuki doing that is too wicked, too wicked - Y/N heaves a sigh to himself at the overly whimsical thought.

"Also-oh, Aizawa's here I'm gonna go back."

As Y/N's words died down, he inches his way to his seat at the back of the room to prevent that yellow condom from calling him out for not being in his seat again, he's not one for attention you know.

"Good work on yesterday's combat training, I saw the video and results," Aizawa heaps slight praise to his students, his hand setting down his stack of papers on the desk at the front. "Bakugou, you're talented so don't act like a kid," his sagging eyes slothfully roves to Katsuki as he speaks of him briefly, gaze full of disdain.

"I know," Katsuki shifts his gaze to his left whilst he says with an overt frown, leaving the rest of the class dumbfounded at his unexpectedly composed temper.

"Hey slap me."

"Ow-oh my god, it's real."

"And Midoriya," Izuku instantly straightens up and tucks his arms atop his lap at the mention of his name from Aizawa, "you settled it by breaking your arm again, huh? You can't keep making the excuse that you can't control your quirk. I don't like saying the same thing over and over again. But as long as you fix that issue, you'll have a lot of things you'll be able to do."

"Feel a sense of urgency, Midoriya," Aizawa winds up his remarks on Izuku, in which the boy replies him with a firm 'hai! ', gushing with a youth's determination.

"Now let's get down to homeroom business, I'm sorry I didn't warn you beforehand but today I'll have you ..." letting his voice dwindle off, Aizawa has everyone put their heart in their mouths.

"Is he gonna say that he's resigning?"

"...Decide on a class representative."

Everyone sets about hoisting their arm up and screeching for Aizawa to pick them, almost sounding like a certain 101's theme song: "pick me! ". To all the ruckus going on in the classroom, Y/N just huddles his head between his weaved arms on the desk and sinks into sleep's deadly arms.

"Silence!"

The class quietens down at once straight after Iida's shout, and all eyes are bonded to his now-standing figure. Iida clinches an arm high up in the air but interposes to his classmates, "This is not something that just anybody could do! This is a job that requires leadership skills! Everyone's trust in you is required in order to be a good leader ... so we should vote! "

"Why did you suggest that?"

"We even don't know each other very well yet, how are we supposed to trust?" ribbit ribbit queries, stoking up the other students' pertinent comments.

"Everybody's gonna vote for themselves anyway."

"That's exactly why the person with most votes should become class president," Iida prods up his glasses with his fingers, the lens glistening in the artificial light, he turns to Aizawa (who's nearly asleep), "don't you agree, sensei?"

"Tsk whatever, just choose one before class ends," Aizawa says moodily and zips his yellow sleeping bag up to return to his slumber, making sure it's soundproof.

So everyone agrees to use the method Iida suggested. One after another, they walk to the front to vote for the most suitable person to be class president, including Y/N who awoken when Iida silenced the class. And too waspish from his interrupted nap, he scratches his mark beside the first name he sees on the blackboard and walks back to his seat as if a zombie.

Bypassing to when they reveal the final results of the mini-referendum, Izuku got three votes, sealing his class representative position, and Yaoyorozu got two votes, making her vice president.

"Deku? Who voted for him?!"

And Katsuki is back to his regular self, brimming with rage. The class now think that maybe a calm Katsuki isn't that bad, they want that him back.

、、、

"That took too fucking long!" Y/N grumbles to the mustard and ketchup duo as he cautiously rambles towards the table they're on, balancing a warm (and heavy, Y/N doesn't forget to mention) bowl of noodles on his tray.

"You could've chosen something else to eat you know ramen's one of the most popular choices between students," Denki pokes fun at him with a suppressed smile by his lips, then giggling at the boy's strange posture while he settles the tray onto the table.

"I was just craving it too much, after rewatching Naruto and Shippuden over last night."

"Ai ..." Y/N emits a lasting and theatrical sigh, he sways his head at Denki. "You won't get it, bro," he says perplexingly, acting profound and inscrutable to the two.

"But I get you," the ketchup of the duo who has been silent for the past conversation finally speaks, giving the male opposite him a 'yes I get you bro' expression which Y/N responds with his hand pounding on his chest lightly.

Y/N lifts his chopsticks up, dredging up a clump of noodles from the soup, ready to eat it all up when a resonant toll sets off within the canteen.

"Just as I was gonna take a sip," he snarls and tosses his chopsticks in the bowl, pressing his lips together as he gets up from his seat, "Shitting hell, in the single moment I just blank out a bit they all run out."

Y/N ventures out the canteen and around the hallways, he attempts to pinpoint where exactly the others are but he only ends up astray from his destination. And on the fourth time of laying his eyes on the same wall after roaming around, again and again, his mentality snaps.

"AHHHH, DENKI YOU FORGOT TO BRING ME ALONG!" Y/N howls in the hallway to his heart's content, off-track in his breakdown, not noticing the presence nearby, "first I don't get to eat my ramen, then I get lost." He leans against a wall and slouches down to perch himself on the ground slowly, the lesions from the day before twinging as his skin smears against the solid surface.

"What fucking sorcery is this?!"

Finally quelling down, Y/N turns his head to skim his surroundings when a dim figure by a wall grasps his eyes, he shrinks his eyelids at the direction, "Hold on, is that a person there?"

"H-"

"You better shut your fucking mouth up or I'll disintegrate you," before he even speaks the silhouette lashes out at him and shows himself from the shadows.

His voice is husky, coarse and guttural, but tone simmering through into Y/N soul with spite and malice. Giving a hasten glimpse at his appearance - slender yet fit figurine, unkempt but appealing ultramarine locks - Y/N supposes the face behind those slightly greyed but dainty and slim fingers is not bad too.

"Okay, okay," Y/N says in a reposeful manner, taciturnly distancing himself from the clearly perilous man just close by, his features malformed into a grovelling cast.

"Tsk tsk tsk, looks good but seems too yandere," Y/N mutters in a low tone, darting a sidelong glance at facepalm-kun, his tongue pricking out to moisten his chapped lips.

"What?"

"Nothing." Y/N works towards a canon ball shape, burrowing his head further into his knees to minimise his existence to the brink.

The man hums shortly then reaches his hand towards Y/N direction, he intimidates him, "Don't tell anyone about me, or else ..." His single veined eye pops in Y/N direction menacingly, sending the latter's hair and goosebumps raising in cold blood.

Even when Y/N sets back to his class, he can still recollect the blood-curdling aura the man dispersed from a single stare. Worn out from the taut tension with the man before, Y/N drapes himself across his desk as he gapes at one place blankly until Denki calls him.

"Y/N! Y/N!"

"Where did you go just now?" Denki asks, eyes enlarged at Y/N's figure without the slightest cut since he didn't find him beside him during the drill, which gave him a great shock.

"Oh, uh ... the bathroom you know, I had to pee real quick," tilting his head to the side to act above suspicion, he gives Denki an answer full of faults.

But Denki doesn't uncover him, he plaits his fingers through Y/N's hair, tousling his curls, he says to him with fondness. "You're lucky it's just a fraud or you might just get in trouble with the villains."

Hahhahhahahhahaahhahaa.

He did.

"But it's a fraud this time, so I'm fine!" Y/N draws a viscid grin to show, he lifts his brows at Denki and provokes, "see, you can pinch me to test!" Denki hoists a hand up and harshly nips at Y/N's waist, muting his laugh as he sees the boy's twisted expression from the force of it.

"Ow ow ow! Not that hard!" yelling at him whilst also smacking his hand away repeatedly, Y/N gnaws on his bottom lip as the mark throbs for a few seconds, his E/C irises blazing holes through Denki.

"Hm, just as noisy as always," Denki jokes with him, stroking his chin with two fingers in a pondering position.

"Tsk."

"Oh, there comes Aizawa, I gotta go back to my seat."

"Talk to you later, see you~"

"Can I say something?" Izuku steps up all of a sudden, fists clasped by his sides, chin tipped upwards with determination. "I think-I think that Iida is more capable for the position of the class president! He managed to calm the crowd down during the drill, so I think he's the most suited for this job," the poor boy's body quavers slightly as he announces to the class, eyes meandering everywhere.

"I agree with Midoriya."

"Me too, Iida was kinda a good leader just now."

"Like everyone literally just stopped talking when he flew up and said his thing."

"Same."

"Alright, if you're all done with that, then listen to me." Everyone hush down at the din of Aizawa's sluggish voice.

"We'll be participating in a rescue simulation for your basic hero training class," Aizawa starts lazily, ignoring everyone's roars at how excited they are for the event and resumes to speak, "this time you can decide whether you will wear your hero costume or not, because for some people it may be restricting."

"We're going there by bus since the training is going to be outside of the school grounds," he explains whilst he removes his hands that were propping himself up from the desk.

"That's all, now get ready."

TO NOTE

soooo updates are gonna be slower after this chapter because my holiday's ending! yayyyyyyy

but yeah updates will be slower and most likely too slow.

[Fanaccounts] 171230 #Kai @ Fansing para el álbum "Universe".

✨ Traducción:

🌟 Kai le dijo a OP que el año que viene tendrá una fiesta de cumpleaños con sus fans. Cr.: jongye114

🌟 La master-nim de Morpheus llevo una familia de osos de peluche para Kai como regalo. Kai: ¡Conozco esos! Morpheus: ¿Dónde los viste, en Internet? Kai: No, los vi en Hawaii, quisé comprarlos, pero al final no lo hice. Kai vio el nombre del fansite y dijo que se acordaba de ella y que había visto sus fotos. Morpheus le pidió 5 corazones en su autógrafo, pero Kai dibujo muchos más. Cr.: kai_morpheus (Primer imagen)

🌟 Kai comentó que aún hay más revistas en las que aparecerá.

🌟 OP: Disfruté viendo tu drama. Kai: ¿Cuál drama? OP: ¡Andante! Kai: Gracias. OP: Estoy esperando tu drama japonés también. Kai: Ése es un poco... OP: ¿Qué pasa? Kai: El japonés fue muy difícil para mi. OP: *menciona que desea vivir muchos años* Kai: Viví más que yo. OP: No, eso no puede ser, vos tenés que vivir más. Kai: *Sonrie y escribe*: "Por favor, viví más que yo" Cr.: sun_xiuminseok (segunda foto)

🌟Kai: ¡Hola, Eun-Jin! OP: ¿Oppa podes escribir "Linda Eun-Jin" para mi? Kai: No, no puedo. OP: ¿Por qué no? TT TT Kai: "Muy linda Eun-Jin" OP: Es mi primera vez en un fansing, no sé que debería decir... Kai: Sólo di lo que más quisieras decirme. OP: Primero, te amo mucho, y quiero que siempre estés sano y que hagas lo que quieras ya sean dramas o películas. Kai: OK OP: ¿Podes dibujarme algo? Kai: ¿Qué, un oso? OP: Un animal que se me parezca. Kai: Eso es muy difícil, pero lo voy a intentar, te pareces a un conejo. OP: Gracias Oppa. Cr.: eco0861 (Tercera foto)

🌟OP: ¿Kai en mí acento muy obvio? Kai: Sí, por supuesto. OP: ¿En serio? TT TT Kai: No hay nada malo en eso. OP: Es sólo que mis amigas se burlaron porque te iba a hablar así. Kai: No importa, no importa... OP le dijo que éste año había hecho todo bien y le dió una medalla. Kai le pidió que se la coloqué, y luego se rió cuando OP le dijo que su cara merecía una medalla de oro. OP le mostró la foto de Kai cuando tenía 6 años. OP: ¿Te acordás de este momento, cuándo fue, en la escuela? Kai: Probablemente en la escuela. OP: ¡La goma de borrar! (en la foto se ve que Kai la masticó y la coloco sobre la mesa) Kai: No se hace eso siempre así... *Hace que mastica el lápiz* Cr.: vely_nini (Cuarta foto)

🌟 Kai: ¡Oh, viniste de nuevo! OP: ¿Te acordás de mi? Kai: Por supuesto, recuerdo tu cara. OP dijo que se sintió como knock out, y que ya no sabía que decir. OP: ¿Hay alguna presentación que hayas hecho desde el debut que quieras volver a hacer? Kai: Into Your World (Angel) EXO-K y EXO-M tenían diferente coreografía y quisiera hacerlo de nuevo. OP: Quisiera verlo de nuevo, aunque también quiero ver "History" Kai: ¿En serio? Pero me dijeron que no. OP: ¿Por qué no? Que mal, por favor pediles que te dejen hacer History y Angel de nuevo. Cr.: EJMBK (Quinta foto)

Fancam de Kai al final del fansing, se lo puede ver con todos los regalos de los fans, coronas de flores, pins, su medalla, etc. 🎬 https://twitter.com/jongye114/status/947112919832993793

Vía: Kai -Two Moons EXO Argentina-

VR vs. A Time To Switch Off

It was late in the evening as I causally paced around my living room trying to burn off some nervous energy. I always pace when I’m on the phone, I think the only time I haven’t was when the thing was when the phone was physically attached to the wall – and I don’t mean by the landline. I hummed lightly and frowned, adjusting the phone in my grip slightly.  I hadn’t spoken to the person on the other end, my mother in well over a week. We’re close so this was unusual. I was running her through how I was and what had happened during the usual period of invisibility that working on the website from home during a major event (or in the case of last week, two) brings.

“Oh I saw an advert for that, it looks a bit rubbish doesn’t it?”

I had just explained about (almost) everyone’s joy over the launch of Nintendo Switch. T he latest, hottest games console on the market. She explained to me she’d seen 1-2-Switch in action and thought it looked ridiculous, whilst the console itself she thought looked a bit cheap in construction. Tho not owning a Switch myself (my current setup consists of an Xbox One and a Wii which is pretty much just used as a rectangular Game Cube at the moment) I defended it a little, explaining how Breath of the Wild had been deemed to have overtaken Ocarina of Time as the best Legend Of Zelda game ever. That got her attention, she knew all about Zelda and whilst not a gamer by any stretch of the imagination, much preferring casual titles from PopCap she’s gotten hands on with consoles down the years. A particular favourite of hers was actually the original Super Monkey Ball. But Ocarina of Time she also knew about, and if something had beaten that… she gave a small but impressed sounding ‘ooh’ of surprise/acknowledgement.

“Yeah.” I said, “They’ve also done this weird thing with the cartridges. They’ve made them taste bad.”

“Taste bad?”

“Yeah.” I said again, “They’re small – like a little memory card. So to prevent small children from maybe picking them up and swallowing them they’ve added something to the plastic that makes it taste really foul.”

“That’s some clever thinking ahead from them.”

– and that was when I started to think. It was some pretty clever thinking ahead – which makes you wonder why a company able to have that much foresight of a potential issue that no one even considered in the run-up to launch, how they continue to make such a hash of everything else. Oh, I could talk about things such as the way the shop works or the silliness of a system that gets interference from wifi and other signals needing a smartphone app to have in-game chat – but check the name of the site again and you might figure out what I’m going to get at here.

Nintendo’s virtual reality (VR) history has, as if we need reminding, not been the best; and despite their protestations about experiences needing to be for the family or needing to be playable for hours at length it’s clear the failure of the Virtua Boy and it’s decent into a joke over the years is still very painful to them.  (As is the short lifespan of the Wii U.) But unfortunately for Nintendo, VR is back and is a factor now in how people play games. A factor that isn’t going to go away. A factor… that will get stronger over time. So in much the same a child drags its feet and yells “I DON’T WANNA”, Nintendo are going to look at adding VR to the Switch… maybe…kinda. Sort of? Definitely! No? Never. Of course! (Possibly.) Yes. Not sure. Ask again next week. At this point I just imagine it’s whatever the Magic 8-ball on Reggie’s desk says.

So if it does happen,  it’s going to be a later add-on for the system.

Which is a slight problem, because when was the last add-on or peripheral to a console that properly worked and became an indispensable piece of kit? Kinect? Not really. EyeToy? Nope. SEGA CD? Perhaps, but you could certainly live without it. The Atari Jaguar CD? You’re kidding right? Wonderbook? You’re just being silly now. What about Nintendo’s own repertoire of add-ons down the years. Was the world blown away by the Family Computer Disk System, or the Famicom 3D System? Did the Super Scope or R.O.B change everything? Did the Nintendo 64DD become a red hot topic?

No, no and no.

Add-ons tend at best disappoint and at worst suck, and it is rare indeed to find one that truly enhances a console. One that doesn’t is the PlayStation VR, and why is that? Well for a start the PlayStation VR was developed over many years. It began life as Project Morpheus as you no doubt recall, built on some existing technology and developed into the final product now available at stores – unless they’ve run out of them. It was designed and developed in sympathy with the PlayStation 4 as opposed to support just being shoe-horned in later. It’s why PSVR is an add-on that works.

And that’s why Nintendo, now they’ve let loose the Switch into the world, at this stage should probably just knock the idea of a VR system on the head for now. Because whatever they do (if they decide to do anything) with the Switch hardware it won’t be anywhere near as efficient as if they developed something standalone or something in partnership with something else it is to go with. If you completed two thirds of a jigsaw of, let’s say, a picture of a battleship at sea. You couldn’t then fill in the rest with bits from a jigsaw of John Constable’s The Hay Wain, and pretend it showed you a full or true picture. Yes, you can probably make the pieces fit, but you’ll still have the first jigsaw at the heart of it. It won’t be what’s required.

Also, you’ll have some mighty surprised sailors and country folk on your hands when the HMS Revenge comes steaming in to a small river and knocks a 19th century hay cart flying.

It would be nice to be surprised, yes. But a half-baked VR solution for Switch doesn’t do the Switch any favours, it doesn’t do Nintendo any favours and it doesn’t do VR as a whole any favours. It may irk the shareholders for now but at this stage the smartest move might be to sit this particular dance out. Learn what needs to be learnt, acquire and develop the technology needed and start developing a long term plan that includes VR for the next Nintendo.

  from VRFocus http://ift.tt/2nabscm

notes on rewatching The Matrix Reloaded

-shoutout to the 2 or 3 ppl not wearing shades in this scene

-”he’s doing his Superman thing” -ohhh he’s Harold Perrineau

-oh hai Gina Torres!

-”from red core to black sky”

-Hamann and Bane are not auspicious names

-how many Agents Smith does it take to change a lightbulb

-I remember John Simm saying he’s only seen The End of Time once; more than once and he might go insane from seeing so many doubles of himself.  i wonder how Hugo Weaving feels abt this movie

-bowling for Smiths

-Room 101, again

-”i have sampled every language; French is my favorite”

-Morpheus’ purple and green costume reminds me too much of the Joker

-Morpheus’ Wager

Delerium feat. Sarah McLachlan - Silence (Tiesto's In Search charles johnson1 second agocharles johnson 1 second ago O' RI~Morpheus-Love~~~~ Psy~Chill[ed] All~Time-All-Space--- just 4U2; Armin~<*>A STATE OF TRANCE<*>~ Nowwwww... Sleeeeep ! Sleep !! Sleeeeeep !!!.... And, then soon-- real soon WE shall awaken once again: Definitely In The MOOD~~~~ Feel The Rhythm 2019-18/20-20 VISION HeavensGate Deep----  DJ Grau in the House Vocal(S)essions: Welcome; LA FIRES Radio[active], Open-Invitation.... RSVP !!! A Winter~Time Special---- Gentleman... And, WOMAN-Geminiison~Blue Christmas 4U2; in the Light, the Life.w/LoLove.... All-Ways Smile~Song Dance~Sing[ingly ] the Sacred Star~Seal Heart(s) Together: HU ~Man Being(S) of Only ONE KIND--- Royal Straight Flush Triple Crown Down... Ace~of~Heart's in-the-hole = Ain-ti-Up~Link  n' Load(S) ... Spa Massage Music--- ( Cyber-Space Surreality[ies]), World Supersand, & Pi~Epsilon- Thorn~Wynn: Y/Our Solar~System[ic] Crown[ed] Order(S)... Universal Sovereignty L.A.W.. Light of the Almighty S/WORD---- EL AMEN~Sela'| H | !!!!!!! 1 charles johnson charles johnson 1 second ago ~<*>QUADVERSALITY<*>~ 1 charles johnson charles johnson 2 seconds ago /|Infinitely*Perpetual\| Fruita' Loop~DA= Looped Plus +++ 1 Francisco PTM Francisco PTM 1 day ago (edited) Make Old Tiesto great again.... Armin if you are reading this bring Tiesto back to trance.... why dont u invite him to your studio as an huge motivation to get him back in style to his trance form again and forever?? Great episode btw <3 39 The Spirit of Orchestral Music The Spirit of Orchestral Music 1 day ago (edited) 47:15 Paul van Dyk bringing the classic sounds back <3 11 Future Life Sounds Future Life Sounds 1 day ago Silence (Tiesto’s In Search of Sunrise Remix) may be the greatest trance song ever made. 7 Oledm Oledm 1 day ago its a shame how shit Tiesto is now though :( 2 Francisco PTM Francisco PTM 1 day ago @Oledm Only Armin/Ferry and Paul Van Dyk can bring him to where he always belonged to! how shit his music turned nowadays :( 1 Het Thakkar Het Thakkar 1 day ago Don't be a prisoner of your own style - Armin van Buuren 1 charles johnson Het Thakkar   Daiktar Daiktar 1 day ago Silence (DJ Tiesto's In Search of Sunrise Remix) - Klasyka 💖 20 Алексей Алексей 2 days ago So many memories.... 5 Artur Przespolewski Artur Przespolewski 1 day ago Fajna nuta... Miłe wspomnienia. Dziękuję Armin! 2 Andreas Christakopoulos Andreas Christakopoulos 1 day ago Delerium feat. Sarah McLachlan -  Silence (DJ Tiesto’s In Search of Sunrise Remix) the tune that got me into trance 18 years ago when i was a child.... Still listening to it EVERY SINGLE DAY!! This is how heaven should sound like..... 25 Artur Przespolewski Artur Przespolewski 1 day ago Yes! Thanks! 3 Tranceking Tranceking 1 day ago (edited) Best Trance song  ever in my Opinion been a Trance Dj myself since 1997!!! Here is my top 6 Trance tracks alltime..Please guys send us your top 6 Trance tracks all time!!  Here we go. 1. Delerium feat. Sarah McLachlan - Silence (Tiesto's In Search of Sunrise Remix)https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qycAC_6Bbto 2.Watergate - Heart Of Asia (Rising Sun Remix)https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d6FP0RCN9Ys 3.DJ Sakin & Friends - Protect Your Mind |For The Love Of A Princess| (Ayla Remix)https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZMo460ue-p8 4.Lost Tribe - Gamemaster (Original Mix)https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G_2TKQV7CjU 5.Ayla - Angel Falls - (Elemental Force Mix)https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KH_hG384LF8 6.Miss Jane - It's A Fine Day (ATB Club Remix)https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QbUnEe16P6g 1 Candra Haryanto Candra Haryanto 1 day ago (edited) Bring back Tiesto :'( 2 Future Life Sounds Future Life Sounds 1 day ago When Tiesto was actually good. 1 John Ticknor John Ticknor 1 day ago ASOT has been really good lately - even better than usual 25 Umer Mahmood Umer Mahmood 1 day ago That Tiesto track brings back memories. 26 Virginie ChamallOow Virginie ChamallOow 1 day ago Airborn, Bogdan Vix & keyplayer feat. Alexandra Badoi >> Run Away ❤️🙌🏽 6 PeTrIrTeP PeTrIrTeP 2 days ago 00:36:24 Airborn, Bogdan Vix & KeyPlayer feat. Alexandra Badoi  - Run Away UNTOLD  2018 MEMORIES 13 umbros4546 umbros4546 2 days ago 15:57   Andy Moor & Somna feat. Monika Santucci  - Free Fall   ❤ 19:22    Cosmic Gate feat. Emma Hewitt  - Be Your Sound           ❤ 37:26   Airborn, Bogdan Vix & KeyPlayer feat. Alexandra Badoi  - Run Away  ❤ 54:42     Delerium feat. Sarah McLachlan -  Silence  ❤ 11 Furry Scythe Furry Scythe 1 day ago Top 3: Orjan Nilsen  - The Last Goodbye (feat. Matluck) (Matt Fax Remix) (00:01:17) Ultra Shock  - The Sound Of E (Jorn van Deynhoven Remix) (00:49:58) Paul van Dyk & Delta One  -  Lost Angels  (00:46:43) 6 Retroplayer Retroplayer 2 days ago Great episode! Some nice techy tracks! 5 Candra Haryanto Candra Haryanto 1 day ago BRING BACK TIESTO TO TRANCE AGAIN PLEASEEEEE!!!! :'( 4 gabrielbatz gabrielbatz 1 day ago * tune alert * Photographer  - Infinity (Steve Allen Remix) 4 schwabenpirat schwabenpirat 2 days ago Oh my God!!! Thank you so much Armin for playing our "Das Boot 2018" Cyre & Christian K. Remix in your current #ASOT892 show!!! This is sooooo amazing! ❤️😍😘 6 koolguy4ya koolguy4ya 1 day ago That New version of "Be In The Moment" by Stoneface & Terminal. . . .The Next Theme for 2019😀😀😀 4 Robert Lewandowski Robert Lewandowski 2 days ago No po prostu Mega 💪🏅🔊🎧 !!@ 4 Pankaj Sharma Pankaj Sharma 1 day ago 1:00:15 Armin took Tiesto name 4 Justyna Buczek Justyna Buczek 1 day ago Poland greets you 5 Artur Przespolewski Artur Przespolewski 1 day ago Service for dreamers oraz U96 melodie dawnych lat.... Aż ciarka na skórze... Dzięki Armin! Pozdrawiam wszystkich ASOTowiczów! 3 Toufik Alien Toufik Alien 1 day ago God Of Trance ♥ 3 maximo lopez maximo lopez 2 days ago 43:11 Ciaran McAuley  - Never Fade Away (In Loving Memory of Benthe) 01:01:13 Temple One  - Odyssey 01:28:05 Alan Morris & Martin Drake  - Elysium 5 Planet Dance Planet Dance 1 day ago Ciaran McAuley  - Never Fade Away (In Loving Memory of Benthe) 00:43:11 2 Mandy Lane Mandy Lane 1 day ago armin can i get a hay from you? 3 Justyna Buczek Justyna Buczek 2 days ago Sztos :) Pozdro 4 Artur Przespolewski Artur Przespolewski 1 day ago Pozdrowienia z Tarnowskich Gór dla wszystkich słuchaczy A State Of Trance! 2 Het Thakkar Het Thakkar 1 day ago Damn I voted for tune of the year way too early. So much great music coming out! 2 Manoiu Adriana Manoiu Adriana 2 days ago Thank you, Armin and Ruben for another fantastic, sublime episode #ASOT892! Was two hours of dream with uplifting, amazing music. The your Service For Dreamers is brilliant, amazing, bring us much happiness! We love you both, Armin & Ruben! I'm so happy and proud as, in 1th December is our the National Day Romania 🇷🇴, You are a Great Ambasador for my country, Armin!! Romanians love you and Respect you so much! Romania is and your home. You are 💯 our King Untold & Neversea! You will be welcome always at we! I sending you a lot of love and best wishes, Armin, Ruben & Trance family! 😘💞👑🅰💞💞💞🙏🙏🙏👏👏👏 4 genes2311 genes2311 2 days ago incredible setlist ! Armin .... world is a better coz of you man .. 2 Joe Reporter Joe Reporter 2 days ago Das Boot is timeless 2 Ishani Das Ishani Das 2 days ago Amazing episode ❤❤ 2 Myra Sabardan Myra Sabardan 2 days ago Hoi 4 daywalker -m daywalker -m 1 day ago Ruben de Ronde как будто  с похмелья...мятый весь. 1 Alexis Kolbin Alexis Kolbin 2 days ago First! 2 Roni Abramov Roni Abramov 2 days ago 1:30👍🇮🇱🇮🇱 3 daywalker -m daywalker -m 1 day ago Paul van Dyk & Delta One  -  Lost Angels лучшее, что слышал от него после 4 an angel ! 1 Pankaj Sharma Pankaj Sharma 2 days ago Did anyone notice armin played Tiesto remix of Silence 55:20 2Read more1REPLYknowwe2 years agoYou know, with all the crap happening in the world today, listening to this just makes feel so grateful that im still alive & able to enjoy intros as amazing as this.157REPLYView all 7 replieskaz97812 years agoWhen tiesto was legendary.657REPLYView all 27 replies of Sunrise ...