#Painting Classes Gold Coast

[peachinstitute]

https://pi.edu.au/wp-content/uploads/2022/06/cpc30620-certificate-iii-in-painting-and-decorating.webp

https://pi.edu.au/painting-and-construction/cpc30620-certificate-iii-in-painting-and-decorating/

[formlines]

Sockeye Salmon Forever Postage Stamp 

Crystal Worl

from the website: Crystal Worl, co-founder of Trickster Company, is the artist of one of the four stamp designs featured on this stamp sheet.  Her stamp is the blue and indigo formline sockeye salmon.  Sheets are shipped in clear cello and sandwiched between two 50pt chipboards to minimize any bending.The bold artwork emblazoned on a skateboard deck is often as eye-catching and individualistic as a skater’s most breathtaking moves. These four stamps celebrate the Art of the Skateboard with vibrant designs that capture skateboarding’s excitement and reflect the diversity and influences of the four artists whose work is featured. On a pane containing five rows of four stamps, each skateboard appears once per row. Each subsequent row begins by repeating the last stamp from the previous row, creating a staggered arrangement of designs. Alaskan Crystal Worl reflects her Indigenous Tlingit/Athabascan heritage with a blue and indigo salmon rendered in formline, the striking curvilinear design style of the northern Northwest Coast. A bold graphic abstraction embellishes a deck by self-taught Virginia artist William James Taylor Junior. His skateboard features a design of red lines and curves against an orange background.

Arizona native and expert skateboarder Di’Orr Greenwood created a skateboard design with paint, artistic woodburning, and inlaid crushed turquoise. Her Navajo culture is further reflected on a deck featuring eagle feathers and a colorful burst in hues evoking a rising or setting sun. A black, white, and gold jaguar design is the work of muralist MasPaz (Federico Frum), a Colombian native raised in the Washington, D.C., area. The largest cat in the Americas, the jaguar symbolizes authority and power in the art and lore of Indigenous peoples. Art director Antonio Alcalá designed the stamps. The Art of Skateboards stamps are being issued as Forever® stamps. Forever stamps are always equal in value to the current First-Class Mail® one-ounce price.

Issue Date: March 24, 2023

[bosspigeon]

the past upon a funeral pyre

A backstory snippet for my Tav, Pyre. Warnings: references to past slavery/abuse, survival sex work, and misgendering

When he breathes the air on the western coast of the Sea of Fallen Stars for the first time, he almost weeps. So far from Thay, the skies are clearer, brighter blue. There is so much sky beyond the rocky cliffs and cruel stone walls and bleak darkness.

By now, his master’s grand manor must be nothing but smoldering embers and unnatural corpses finally given rest. When the master died, so did every last undead servant that staffed the wretched place, collapsed over whatever task they tended when the magic animating them fizzled out. He left behind a mausoleum, fled under cover of night, with as many valuables as he could conceivably carry to pay his way to Aglarond.

It was not an easy journey. His master had him trained in all manner of art and conversation, fine literature and the other myriad entertainments befitting the highest class of concubine, but none of those arts included the means to survive on his own. He could only guess which of the things he grabbed in his blind panic were actually of worth. The intricacies of economics are not terribly important to the work of a disgustingly wealthy man’s personal whore, and so he never learned them. He didn’t have much trouble, at least, when he was handing over fist-sized jewels for something more discreet to wear than the skimpy finery his master preferred for him. The merchant was left gawking at the pile of fine silk and gold ornaments he left behind. His new clothing is roughspun, dull, and poorly fitted, but he does not stand out beneath the drab grey hood, which is exactly what he wanted.

There are no doubt enough riches left behind in the smoking ruin of that cage to fill a dragon’s hoard and then some, and he takes a grim satisfaction in knowing that most of them likely burned to nothing the same as the body of the man who kept him prisoner.

By the time he made it to Aglarond, his bag was significantly lighter. It was a long trek, and he traded cut jewels and mithril chains, candlesticks and gilded mirrors for food, transport, and reasonably safe sleeping accommodations. It was uncertain going for one who had never set foot beyond the walls of a grand manor house populated by milky-eyed corpses drenched in perfumed oils to hide the smell of decay and puppeteered by the will of a madman. He left behind a life of miserable luxury, and the reality of freedom is cold nights and blistered feet and hunger pangs, but he knows that a gilded cage is still a cage, and he would sleep on cold stone floors and bleed through his ill-fitting boots for a hundred years more before he would return to the life he left behind.

When he reaches the end of his stock of stolen riches, he drops the last of his coins into the greedy palm of a sunburnt youth who tells him the comings and goings of the ships in Aglarond’s harbor, and points him towards a privateering vessel bound for Westgate in the morning.

He buys his way aboard the ship with a bottle of wine and the only skill he was taught that has any use beyond the high-echelon backbiting and peacocking of the archmages of Thay.

He hasn't told the captain his name, but then again, the captain has not asked. He's called him all manner of pet names, crude "compliments" babbled in the throes of pleasure, but never so much as bothered to ask his proper name–the one drawn in delicate script over the surface of the bottle sitting in his quarters, the one sealed with a painted succubus kiss.

A few weeks confined to the captain’s quarters tending to the man’s carnal desires is a paltry nothing compared to a century of miserable servitude, and it passes with a sort of hollow dullness. He spends much of the time lying on his back, staring numbly through a porthole at the endless sea and sky, the animal grunting and curses and tedious filth fading away under the sound of the crashing waves, the calls of the gulls wheeling by, and the siren song of a new life beyond the horizon.

"You could stay, pretty devil," the captain purrs over his shoulder. He draws his cloak more tightly around him, shuddering at the man's slimy tone, heavy with innuendo. "The ship's never had such luck on such a long voyage. I lost no men, we weathered no storms. You've been a blessing from the gods, my lovely."

He feels the captain crowding closer behind him, but he keeps his gaze resolutely on the docks, close enough now that the crew on the deck below are calling back and forth to one another, the vessel shudders and bobs beneath his bare feet as the anchors are dropped, as the sails are hauled in.

My lovely.

His lip curls as he feels the captain's breath against his cheek, hot and moist and making the golden trinkets in his ear sway and tinkle against one another. It smells of bitter liquor and salted fish. In his mind's eye, the man over his shoulder is dark-haired, elven, only just showing the signs of his seventh century in the creases on his dour face and grey at his temples, not a stocky human man marked by scars and weathered by years at sea.

His eyes do not leave the dock, closer now, the ship smoothly gliding to a stop. Just a bit closer, and the crew will lower the gangplank, and he will finally be free.

He thinks of his wings, left mounted over the grand fireplace in his master's study, a testament to his first and last flight, his first and last attempt to escape while his master still breathed. He wishes more than ever he could fly now, when freedom, true freedom, is so close he can taste it on the balmy saltwater breeze.

His wings are likely one of the few things that will have survived the fire that consumed what was his grand and gilded prison for nearly a hundred years.

"I never got your name," the captain croons in his ear like a lover. "I would have it painted on the hull of my ship, so she could always bear your gift. I would have a likeness of you carved as the figurehead, and have you warm my bed and bring my crew luck for the years to come."

Pretty words, prettier than the things the captain called him while he was beneath him, like they shared something romantic, rather than the truth of it–a transaction. It was simply the price he paid for a way to leave the ashes of his old life, could it even be called a life, behind.

The ship jolts and shudders to a final stop, he sways with the motion, and the captain sways too, but uses the momentum to slide a hand beneath the cambion's loose-fitting clothes to grope possessively at his chest.

It's instinct. His body reacts without thinking, fire blazing under his skin and bursting outwards. The captain cries out, stumbles away, and the flames dripping from the devil's skin follow like slavering hounds. He turns to face the flailing, screaming human and he can feel sparks dripping from his eyes, licking from between his bared teeth.

"You may call this ship a tomb when she sits at the bottom of the sea," he snarls as the wood begins to hiss and smoke and crack beneath his feet. "And you will never touch me again."

He does not wait to see the captain's fate. He traverses the ship's deck and crosses the gangplank, leaving a burning trail in his wake. It doesn’t take long for the crew to notice the rapidly spreading flames, and while a few of them try in vain to put them out or at least to slow the spread, others simply jump ship and swim to safety.

 He holds his head high as he turns his eyes to the sea, to the horizon where, far beyond the ship slowly being engulfed in hellish flame, sits a crumbling pile of ash and blackened stone, a funeral pyre for the man who held him prisoner, and for the girl he used to be.

[trainalt22]

1925-1945

In 1925, the board of NWR decided to introduce a mixed-traffic engine after Henry's failure. They were sent a prototype L&YR class 28, rebuilt with a pony truck to help with oscillation at high speeds. However, the engine was considered a failure and bounced around railways and businesses for ten long years before being bought by the NWR. When the engine arrived, he introduced himself as James. He was a shy and meek engine who always did his job without any complaint.

By now, the railway had reached a state of financial profit. However, the TKER went under, scraping the remaining locomotives. This left only 4 NWR engines to handle the workload for the next decade until war broke out again in 1939. The War Department started setting up infrastructure on the island, building a coastal branch from Tidmouth to Arlesburgh and bringing in a fleet of engines. The War Department used Sodor as a naval barrier, lining the coasts with weapon emplacements. By law, all the engines on Sodor, and by extension the mainland, needed to be painted black to hide from bombers.

It was during this time that Edward befriended one of the War Department engines. They didn't have a name, just a number - no.1034. He was a cheeky, standoffish, and often rude tank engine, but Edward knew he had a heart of gold.

The war on Sodor was hell suddery was bombed nightly as was Vicarstown and Tidmouth no.1034 was caught in a bombing raid with an evacuation train and was able to get into a tunnel before they could shoot him or his passengers

It seemed the NWR was a primary target for the Germans as a few weeks later after no.1034 told his heroic encounter

Gordon and a train full of wounded soldiers were targeted Gordon was going full speed and knowing he couldn't stop in a tunnel he decided to race across the island his train made it safely to Barrow he claimed to have broken his brother's speed record but it couldn't be verified on the return trip the heard the sound of planes again Gordon readying himself for another sprint across the island was confused when he heard bombs detonating behind him still he ran full throttle till he reached tidmouth it was later that he learned that he had narrowly escaped the Barrow blitz

In 1945 in the dying days of the war no.1034 was hit by one of the last bombing runs to reach the U.K. He was damaged but not irreparably still the war department where going to scrap him along with the majority of the engines station on Sodor 1034 begged Edward to save him who went to the fat director together they hatched a plan to save 1034

The fat director ordered 1034 to be placed in Tidmouth yard while he was kept at the Crovan gate works and that night was the last night of the war the germans took one last crack at Sodor "destroying" 1034 but in the wreckage, Topham Hatt was found side rods that he recognized they where from Glenn the poor engine was forgotten about and left to rust Topham was distraught

[mywifeleftme]

148: Neko Case & Her Boyfriends // Furnace Room Lullaby

Furnace Room Lullaby Neko Case & Her Boyfriends 2000, Mint (Bandcamp)

2000s indie rock had plenty of intelligent, unusual singers who knew how to maximize what gifts nature had allotted to them but there was always a sort of unconscious deference when people talked about Neko Case’s voice—like the one student in an art school class of postmodernist pranksters who can really paint. It’s easy to slag off the old notions of beauty till someone shows up with a vast, grain-gold whipcrack of a voice who wants to put it to good use. Case came of age in Pacific Northwest (Seattle/Vancouver) punk scenes, and she carried its spiky but communitarian DIY attitude with her, even as she gradually transitioned into the countrified sounds on which she’d make her name. Her breakthrough LP Furnace Room Lullaby turns away from contemporary pop-country, but it’s not the refined country-folk of a Gillian Welch or an Alison Krauss either. Despite her lyrical chops, she’s more of an update on a Loretta Lynn or a Tanya Tucker, full of fierce underclass pride and melodrama.

Case was always well-reviewed, but you can detect notes of pessimism in the notices from American East Coast critics. I was stumped at the time by this polite but slightly chilly reception, but in retrospect, I understand it better. When I hear Orville Peck’s music, or Shakey Graves’, I think it’s mostly fine but also phony as hell, and in the late ‘90s and early ‘00s a lot of critics had their hackles up about anything you could call alt-country. Too many urban hipsters affecting a twang and singing about rural alienation, the contention went, and indeed the conversation around alt-country’s inauthenticity presaged a lot of today’s discourse about appropriation. (And a lot of alt-country turns out in retrospect to have indeed been corny as hell!)

But I think as we approach the 25 anniversary of Furnace Room Lullaby, it has become clear those reservations about her music were unfounded. Its fusion of classic honky tonk country with the ‘90s Canadian roots rock of bands like Blue Rodeo and the Sadies (the latter of whom frequently backed up Case during the period) has aged such that there are few visible seams between the traditional and the modern. Case and her collaborators deliver one of her strongest sets of songs—less overtly poetic than the imagistic fables of follow-ups Blacklisted and Fox Confessor Brings the Flood, but in some ways better for it. It’s still the best introduction to her catalogue and, depending on who you’re recommending it too, a fine introduction to country as a genre. Start with “Set Off Running,” and you never need to stop.

148/365

[mindfulcuppa]

Traversing over sand, water, stone. A glassy ocean by terracotta kitchens and cut snakes.

₃ Lisbon >Sintra >Almageira

Lisboa

Before long, I returned to Lisboa where I rested in a hostel near Ristrello. There were bunk beds three stories high, with headroom enough to lay, but not enough to do a partial crunch.

This time I wandered around the city somewhat purposeless, finding a place to do laundry, a place to have coffee, and some castles to draw. There was a tip toe nature toward discovery, and I felt drawn into the touristic snow globe experience. To break from this, I went to the extreme of tourist density, to Sintra and the Palace of Peña.

As you would consider what it would be like to be in a gold plated children's book, the palace held a certain attention to detail that was quite unnecessary. And with the deluge of people that step through with heads in lenses, the spirit of the Palace does get lost in the noise. There was a case for aesthetics, though. The construction of Poseidon into an arch doorway was my favourite, along with the sheer beauty of balanced architecture in the hallways. Imagining what regal life would take place at the palace left a specific feeling of detest, dust, and nostalgia.

Nearby, the gardens were majestic; sweeping swans and ducks, each with their own castle-like nests. The peaceful shelter from shimmering leaves of old trees above. I enjoyed spending some moments here breathing, drawing, and sitting (all at the same time!).

It was hot, and I was now overloaded with noise. The town of Sintra had many quirks, hills, bends, and amusements that helped distract from the consuming surroundings. Along my way, I had some conversation with a local azulejo artist (painting tiles) about process, and then found a nice place to drink a beer. I had passed through the Peña gift shop and pocketed a postcard (to remedy the guilt of the 14€ entry), so I sat at the bar to write to my grandparents, who's friends had advised this trip. Just as my legs began to desire a seat, I boarded the train back to Lisbon.

Once I got back to the capital again, I had a look for some enjoyable ways to spend an evening outside of the typical. I discovered a dance history class at TBA, where I would learn some new breakdance, vogue, footwork techniques and built up a sweat. Later I realised that my friend Paul was in fact living in Lisbon, so we arranged to meet.

He taught me some slang, and we met also with his friends Basille and Ria. They were lovely. We must have looked cool because a stranger came to us for a lighter and then decided to stay a while too. It was great to talk with them, as I felt like I hadn't had a decent exchange of conversation in days. Hearing of Paul's lifestyle of surfing, ceramics, and teaching brought joy to me. As well as an essence of opportunity for something similar one day.

The next day I would visit Basille's workshop/studio on my way to the bus. His professionalism in sign writing, home made screen station, and attention to detail in the fine design of his space was inspiring. I thanked him for the gifted pin for my travels up the coast.

Almageira

Arriving into Peniche on a hot summers day was memorable for its stench of sardines. Apparently it’s the sardine capital of the world (not Sardinia), but I’m still a little sceptical… A man named Paul picked me up, he was British but as things became clear, he had a chasm of houses in the area and seemed to be building a mini empire.

I was there to help him with his project to turn a couple of acres, ‘the land’ as it was named, into a place to live and breathe for him and his partner. Featuring a yurt, a double decker bus, and a halfpipe, the land was fringed on something that I’d like to contribute towards, but ultimately, I was there to surf and swim. The water at Almegeira was so crisp and glassy, it like freshly washed windows. Baleal beach was also a nice place to paddle, and did get twice overhead one day 😳

Malcolm, JB, Luiz, and Brodan all joined in some assistance over the 2 weeks; where we shovelled concrete, built a deck, and installed a kitchen or two [we built one for outside]. They are all wonderful. I especially enjoyed hearing Luiz talk about rake, and Malcolm talk about his passion for high lining. Sharing insights is what we did lots of. As well as heading out to a couple of bars (Rickle, Boske, Washed Up), and hanging at the pipe dream pool with the dogs.

A highlight was having Emma and Alex come through on their road trip and fancy van. We had a boisterous bolder stroll and snacks that were exactly the sweet spot. We watched a perfectly orange sun set over some skim-boarders, as would be found on an advert for corona beer. I was happy to see them.

My step count began to take a high trend upwards around this time which i've grown into, but initially tired of the dripping sweats...

I write this now from London, 5 weeks after the fact. My image library backup is needing a moment to update...

[eyssant]

Edinburgh: A Tapestry of History, Culture, and Weather

Perched majestically on Scotland's eastern coast, Edinburgh is a city that seamlessly blends its rich history with vibrant culture and ever-changing weather. From its ancient roots to its modern-day charm, Edinburgh offers a captivating tapestry of experiences that enthrall visitors from around the world.

A Journey Through Time: History

Edinburgh's history is woven into the very fabric of its streets, buildings, and monuments. Dating back over a thousand years, the city has witnessed the rise and fall of kingdoms, triumphs, and tribulations of its people.

At the heart of Edinburgh stands its most iconic landmark, Edinburgh Castle. Perched atop Castle Rock, this ancient fortress has stood guard over the city for centuries, its towering walls holding the secrets of Scotland's past within its stone embrace. From its beginnings as a royal residence to its role in countless battles and conflicts, Edinburgh Castle is a testament to the city's storied history.

The Royal Mile, a cobbled street that stretches from the castle to the Palace of Holyroodhouse, is a living museum of Edinburgh's past. Lined with centuries-old buildings, including the striking St. Giles' Cathedral and the imposing Parliament Hall, the Royal Mile is a treasure trove of historic sites and hidden gems waiting to be discovered.

A Feast for the Senses: Culture

Edinburgh's cultural scene is as diverse and dynamic as the city itself. From world-class museums and galleries to lively festivals and events, there is always something to see, do, and experience.

Every August, the city comes alive with the Edinburgh Festival Fringe, the world's largest arts festival. With thousands of performances ranging from theatre and comedy to music and dance, the Fringe showcases the best of international talent against the backdrop of Edinburgh's historic streets.

But Edinburgh's cultural offerings extend far beyond the August month. The city is home to a thriving music scene, with venues ranging from intimate pubs to grand concert halls hosting performances by local musicians and international acts alike. Art galleries, such as the Scottish National Gallery and the Fruitmarket Gallery, offer a glimpse into the world of Scottish and international art, while theaters like the Edinburgh Playhouse and the Traverse Theatre provide a stage for cutting-edge drama and entertainment.

Embracing the Elements: Weather

One cannot speak of Edinburgh’s weather without mentioning its well-known unpredictability. Like its cultural offers, the city's climate is diverse, ranging from intense sunshine to unexpected downpours.

Summer brings long days and mild temperatures, perfect for exploring Edinburgh's outdoor attractions, such as Arthur's Seat and the Royal Botanic Garden. Autumn paints the city in hues of gold and crimson, while winter transforms it into a winter wonderland, with the Christmas markets and Hogmanay celebrations adding a festive air to the city streets.

But it is perhaps in spring that Edinburgh truly shines. As the city awakens from its winter slumber, the parks and gardens burst into bloom, filling the air with the scent of flowers and the sound of birdsong. It is a time of renewal and rebirth when Edinburgh comes alive with the promise of warmer days ahead.

Conclusion

Edinburgh is a city of contrasts: ancient yet modern, traditional yet progressive, unpredictable yet endlessly captivating. With its rich history, vibrant culture, and ever-changing weather, Edinburgh offers a unique and unforgettable experience to all who visit its storied streets. Whether you're exploring the historic landmarks of the Old Town, immersing yourself in the excitement of the Fringe Festival, or simply watching the clouds roll in over the Firth of Forth, Edinburgh is a city that never fails to leave its mark on the hearts and minds of all who wander its winding pathways.

[oarsmanagement]

A DAY WELL SPENT AT BAAN HIN SAI RESORT & SPA | UNFORGETTABLE MEMORIES

In the opportunity of relationship of standard importance and quietness lies the best Baan Hin Sai Resort and Spa, a coldblooded fortune settled along the best shores of a tropical paradise. With its staggering viewpoints, rich comforts, and superb warmth, a day spent at this striking objective attempts to be scratched into the memory as a puzzling experience.

Morning Fulfillment: First light and Achievement

Imagine joining to the sensitive get-as one of waves running into the stones, with the focal light floods sun painting the sky in enormous shades. At Baan Hin Sai a sea front resort , mornings start with a striking first light that fans out the energy for a day stacked up with quietness and evaluation.

The lodging offers a level of progress activities to move off your day. Yoga parties close to the sea, included by the permitting signs to freed from nature, grant an optimal opportunity to think your cerebrum and sponsorship your body. Obviously, a peaceful stroll around the lodging's rich nurseries can be correspondingly restoring, allowing you to help nature and find an impression of congruity.

A Gastronomic Trip: Culinary Achievements

As the morning changes to the night, your taste buds are in for a treat. Baan Hin Sai shows a show eating up decisions that take striking idea of various palates. From strong Thai cooking spilling out wrapped up with flavors to for the most part dishes prepared with mutilation, the retreat's bistros offer a gastronomic trip that is unequivocally out perfect.

Whether you choose to eat with a point of view on the turquoise sea or inside the marvelous viewpoint of the bistro, each supper changes into a material experience. New fish, unnoticeably got stays mindful of, and imaginative culinary signs are the bits of the eating experience, leaving you with a really found appreciation for the specialty of food.

Evening Encounters: Investigating Nature

The resort koh samui district presents a focal opportunity to ingest yourself the phenomenal occasions of nature. After a rich dinner, truly changing there to take a gander at the including wonder. Swimming in the thoroughly clear waters changes you with dynamic marine life, while kayaking along the coast uncovers hidden away endpoints and headed beaches open by and large by water.

For those searching for a more relaxed pace, the boundlessness pool offers an optimal spot to relax in the sun while checking out at the unending field of ocean. The sensitive sea breeze and the careful points of view give an unadulterated setting to relaxing and embracing the event.

Evening Class: Sunset and Quietness

As the day draws in to a close by, the dull wizardry of Baan Hin Sai happen with its dazzling nightfalls. The sky changes into a material painted with shades of orange, pink, and gold, growing a stunning sparkle over the scene. Find a serene spot, perhaps by the water's edge or on a stunning yard, to see this typical show.

To complete the day, participate in a stunning spa treatment that wires standard Thai plans with stream succeeding practices. The gifted experts at Baan Hin Sai's spa ensure that each touch reestablishes your body and soul, leaving you in a state of never-endingly out loosening up.

Reflections on a Dumbfounding Day

A day spent at Baan Hin Sai Resort and Spa isn't just a central encounter; it's a trip of the resources, a relationship with nature, and a submersion in overabundance. From the dawn's coordinating manager light to the dusk's fragile embrace, unequivocally is blended in with wonderment and quietness, having a supporting through impression that transcends time.

As you oblige your rich comfort, the resonations of the day's endeavors quit, promising memories that will remain scratched in your heart for quite a while. Baan Hin Sai Resort and Spa isn't a district; it's a monitored spot of striking minutes and a piece of the meaning of life's beast accomplishments.

[donutsbynk]

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[peachinstitute]

https://pi.edu.au/wp-content/uploads/2022/06/cpc30620-certificate-iii-in-painting-and-decorating.jpg

This qualification provides a trade outcome in painting and decorating for residential and commercial construction work.

[idlespright]

CUTTING FROM "THE DAILYGRAPH", 8th AUGUST

(PASTED IN MINA MURRAY'S JOURNAL)

From a correspondent.

Whitby.

One of the greatest and suddenest storms on record has just been experienced here, with results both strange and unique. The weather had been somewhat sultry, but not to any degree uncommon in the month of August. Saturday evening was as fine as was ever known, and the great body of holiday-makers laid out yesterday for visits to Mulgrave Woods, Robin Hood's Bay, Rig Mill, Runswick, Staithes, and the various trips in the neighborhood of Whitby. The steamers Emma and Scarborough made trips up and down the coast, and there was an unusual amount of 'tripping' both to and from Whitby. The day was unusually fine till the afternoon, when some of the gossips who frequent the East Cliff churchyard, and from the commanding eminence watch the wide sweep of sea visible to the north and east, called attention to a sudden show of 'mares tails' high in the sky to the northwest. The wind was then blowing from the south-west in the mild degree which in barometrical language is ranked 'No. 2, light breeze.'

The coastguard on duty at once made report, and one old fisherman, who for more than half a century has kept watch on weather signs from the East Cliff, foretold in an emphatic manner the coming of a sudden storm. The approach of sunset was so very beautiful, so grand in its masses of splendidly coloured clouds, that there was quite an assemblage on the walk along the cliff in the old churchyard to enjoy the beauty. Before the sun dipped below the black mass of Kettleness, standing boldly athwart the western sky, its downward way was marked by myriad clouds of every sunset colour, flame, purple, pink, green, violet, and all the tints of gold, with here and there masses not large, but of seemingly absolute blackness, in all sorts of shapes, as well outlined as colossal silhouettes. The experience was not lost on the painters, and doubtless some of the sketches of the 'Prelude to the Great Storm' will grace the R. A and R. I. walls in May next.

More than one captain made up his mind then and there that his 'cobble' or his 'mule', as they term the different classes of boats, would remain in the harbour till the storm had passed. The wind fell away entirely during the evening, and at midnight there was a dead calm, a sultry heat, and that prevailing intensity which, on the approach of thunder, affects persons of a sensitive nature.

There were but few lights in sight at sea, for even the coasting steamers, which usually hug the shore so closely, kept well to seaward, and but few fishing boats were in sight. The only sail noticeable was a foreign schooner with all sails set, which was seemingly going westwards. The foolhardiness or ignorance of her officers was a prolific theme for comment whilst she remained in sight, and efforts were made to signal her to reduce sail in the face of her danger. Before the night shut down she was seen with sails idly flapping as she gently rolled on the undulating swell of the sea.

"As idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean."

Shortly before ten o'clock the stillness of the air grew quite oppressive, and the silence was so marked that the bleating of a sheep inland or the barking of a dog in the town was distinctly heard, and the band on the pier, with its lively French air, was like a dischord in the great harmony of nature's silence. A little after midnight came a strange sound from over the sea, and high overhead the air began to carry a strange, faint, hollow booming.

Then without warning the tempest broke. With a rapidity which, at the time, seemed incredible, and even afterwards is impossible to realize, the whole aspect of nature at once became convulsed. The waves rose in growing fury, each over-topping its fellow, till in a very few minutes the lately glassy sea was like a roaring and devouring monster. White-crested waves beat madly on the level sands and rushed up the shelving cliffs. Others broke over the piers, and with their spume swept the lanthorns of the lighthouses which rise from the end of either pier of Whitby Harbour.

The wind roared like thunder, and blew with such force that it was with difficulty that even strong men kept their feet, or clung with grim clasp to the iron stanchions. It was found necessary to clear the entire pier from the mass of onlookers, or else the fatalities of the night would have increased manifold. To add to the difficulties and dangers of the time, masses of sea-fog came drifting inland. White, wet clouds, which swept by in ghostly fashion, so dank and damp and cold that it needed but little effort of imagination to think that the spirits of those lost at sea were touching their living brethren with the clammy hands of death, and many a one shuddered as the wreaths of sea-mist swept by.

At times the mist cleared, and the sea for some distance could be seen in the glare of the lightning, which came thick and fast, followed by such peals of thunder that the whole sky overhead seemed trembling under the shock of the footsteps of the storm.

Some of the scenes thus revealed were of immeasurable grandeur and of absorbing interest. The sea, running mountains high, threw skywards with each wave mighty masses of white foam, which the tempest seemed to snatch at and whirl away into space. Here and there a fishing boat, with a rag of sail, running madly for shelter before the blast, now and again the white wings of a storm-tossed seabird. On the summit of the East Cliff the new searchlight was ready for experiment, but had not yet been tried. The officers in charge of it got it into working order, and in the pauses of onrushing mist swept with it the surface of the sea. Once or twice its service was most effective, as when a fishing boat, with gunwale under water, rushed into the harbour, able, by the guidance of the sheltering light, to avoid the danger of dashing against the piers. As each boat achieved the safety of the port there was a shout of joy from the mass of people on the shore, a shout which for a moment seemed to cleave the gale and was then swept away in its rush.

Before long the searchlight discovered some distance away a schooner with all sails set, apparently the same vessel which had been noticed earlier in the evening. The wind had by this time backed to the east, and there was a shudder amongst the watchers on the cliff as they realized the terrible danger in which she now was.

Between her and the port lay the great flat reef on which so many good ships have from time to time suffered, and, with the wind blowing from its present quarter, it would be quite impossible that she should fetch the entrance of the harbour.

It was now nearly the hour of high tide, but the waves were so great that in their troughs the shallows of the shore were almost visible, and the schooner, with all sails set, was rushing with such speed that, in the words of one old salt, "she must fetch up somewhere, if it was only in hell". Then came another rush of sea-fog, greater than any hitherto, a mass of dank mist, which seemed to close on all things like a gray pall, and left available to men only the organ of hearing, for the roar of the tempest, and the crash of the thunder, and the booming of the mighty billows came through the damp oblivion even louder than before. The rays of the searchlight were kept fixed on the harbour mouth across the East Pier, where the shock was expected, and men waited breathless.

The wind suddenly shifted to the northeast, and the remnant of the sea fog melted in the blast. And then, mirabile dictu, between the piers, leaping from wave to wave as it rushed at headlong speed, swept the strange schooner before the blast, with all sail set, and gained the safety of the harbour. The searchlight followed her, and a shudder ran through all who saw her, for lashed to the helm was a corpse, with drooping head, which swung horribly to and fro at each motion of the ship. No other form could be seen on the deck at all.

A great awe came on all as they realised that the ship, as if by a miracle, had found the harbour, unsteered save by the hand of a dead man! However, all took place more quickly than it takes to write these words. The schooner paused not, but rushing across the harbour, pitched herself on that accumulation of sand and gravel washed by many tides and many storms into the southeast corner of the pier jutting under the East Cliff, known locally as Tate Hill Pier.

There was of course a considerable concussion as the vessel drove up on the sand heap. Every spar, rope, and stay was strained, and some of the 'top-hammer' came crashing down. But, strangest of all, the very instant the shore was touched, an immense dog sprang up on deck from below, as if shot up by the concussion, and running forward, jumped from the bow on the sand.

Making straight for the steep cliff, where the churchyard hangs over the laneway to the East Pier so steeply that some of the flat tombstones, thruffsteans or through-stones, as they call them in Whitby vernacular, actually project over where the sustaining cliff has fallen away, it disappeared in the darkness, which seemed intensified just beyond the focus of the searchlight.

It so happened that there was no one at the moment on Tate Hill Pier, as all those whose houses are in close proximity were either in bed or were out on the heights above. Thus the coastguard on duty on the eastern side of the harbour, who at once ran down to the little pier, was the first to climb aboard. The men working the searchlight, after scouring the entrance of the harbour without seeing anything, then turned the light on the derelict and kept it there. The coastguard ran aft, and when he came beside the wheel, bent over to examine it, and recoiled at once as though under some sudden emotion. This seemed to pique general curiosity, and quite a number of people began to run.

It is a good way round from the West Cliff by the Draw-bridge to Tate Hill Pier, but your correspondent is a fairly good runner, and came well ahead of the crowd. When I arrived, however, I found already assembled on the pier a crowd, whom the coastguard and police refused to allow to come on board. By the courtesy of the chief boatman, I was, as your correspondent, permitted to climb on deck, and was one of a small group who saw the dead seaman whilst actually lashed to the wheel.

It was no wonder that the coastguard was surprised, or even awed, for not often can such a sight have been seen. The man was simply fastened by his hands, tied one over the other, to a spoke of the wheel. Between the inner hand and the wood was a crucifix, the set of beads on which it was fastened being around both wrists and wheel, and all kept fast by the binding cords. The poor fellow may have been seated at one time, but the flapping and buffeting of the sails had worked through the rudder of the wheel and had dragged him to and fro, so that the cords with which he was tied had cut the flesh to the bone.

Accurate note was made of the state of things, and a doctor, Surgeon J. M. Caffyn, of 33, East Elliot Place, who came immediately after me, declared, after making examination, that the man must have been dead for quite two days.

In his pocket was a bottle, carefully corked, empty save for a little roll of paper, which proved to be the addendum to the log.

The coastguard said the man must have tied up his own hands, fastening the knots with his teeth. The fact that a coastguard was the first on board may save some complications later on, in the Admiralty Court, for coastguards cannot claim the salvage which is the right of the first civilian entering on a derelict. Already, however, the legal tongues are wagging, and one young law student is loudly asserting that the rights of the owner are already completely sacrificed, his property being held in contravention of the statues of mortmain, since the tiller, as emblemship, if not proof, of delegated possession, is held in a dead hand.

It is needless to say that the dead steersman has been reverently removed from the place where he held his honourable watch and ward till death, a steadfastness as noble as that of the young Casabianca, and placed in the mortuary to await inquest.

Already the sudden storm is passing, and its fierceness is abating. Crowds are scattering backward, and the sky is beginning to redden over the Yorkshire wolds.

I shall send, in time for your next issue, further details of the derelict ship which found her way so miraculously into harbour in the storm.

Ok but where is the novel about the optimistic aspiring gothic lit novelist forced to work as a weather correspondent for the local Whitby newspaper to feed their family and who spends their days writing over the top intense descriptions of the weather until one day a storm brings in a strange ship steered by a dead man and they just know that if they write the most florid most intense most descriptive account of them all this could be the break they need to make it as a fiction writer. Coming this summer to theaters near you: The Correspondent

[imaginedreamwrite]

Hello, I want to share this idea with you that I had from the Turkish TV show... I don't if you know about Turkish soaps...

So, reader is District Attorney’s daughter and Steve is the son of the mafia/mob.. they’re both artists and met in same art school. They started with love hate kinda relationship, then some mutual pining but they still can't tell each other they’re in love because its forbidden. They’re from two different worlds and in love. Steve doesn't have any criminal record YET but he's still a mob's son...

I'm just sharing it with you, if you want to write a one shot perhaps turn it into a series... whatever... or maybe you won't consider giving it shot.. that's okay...

Thankyou for providing a safe space for everybody and let me share it with you...❤

Bad For Me

It’s immaculate, the dark walls that are encompassed by rich gold trim around the baseboards and crown moulding. There’s a oversized chandelier hanging above the bed with teardrop crystals and the same gold trim that surrounds the room, the base of the chandelier that holds it against the ceiling is carved and etched metal that mirrors the sconces on the wall.

The bed is an Alaskan king, the size would have seemed almost outlandish if the room was smaller, but as it is the bedroom is as expansive as you would have imagined.

The bed is made of sturdy wood, dark to match the colour of the paint, with a curved headboard that rests high against the wall, almost like the back of a throne, and there’s two distinct round studded holes that you can only imagine would be for your restraints. There is a section of padded material to keep you from injuring your head should you throw yourself against it.

The rest of the room is as breathtaking and stunning to match, across from the bed is a fireplace that’s still burning leftover logs. There are walk-in closets set against the right half of the room, both are placed precisely between two floor to ceiling mirrors. Across from the closets is the ensuite bathroom with the shower and bathtub placated flush against each other a design, he had claimed, was to bring an air of intimacy to the relationship.

And to finish off the room, there was a chaise set before the windows, the furniture designed to be the focal point for his artwork. He had claimed, again, that it was meant for intimacy.

“And I will be drawing and sketching you.” He promised you that everything in the room would come to good use.

The heavy door opened and his footsteps were heard on the hardwood floor. You had stood before the windows, glancing out at the property below, so entranced by the prospect of escaping.

“There is no running from me.” His voice had hit your ears, the scent of his cologne invaded your senses and you had wished you hated it more. “Why so somber, my wife?”

He was the son of a ruthless Don, and you were the daughter of the district attorney. He was attending art school where you had taken a few classes, your main focus was classical and contemporary dance while he was dabbling in sketching, drawing and painting.

You didn’t know who he was, he had only ever given you his middle name but he knew who you were. He had you figured out on day one, and you knew you should have left his presence before he got in too deep.

It was your fault, it was your fault that you were here.

“Steve please don’t do this.” You begged him, you pleaded with him to let you go. “Choose someone else, anyone else.”

“You know the tradition of bride kidnapping?” He brushed your hair off your shoulder, his large hands had come to rest on your waist as his lips met your jaw.

“You could have anyone else-“

“The groom snatches the woman he wants as his bride to save her from any other suitors. It’s most common in other parts of the world, but its a practice that suits me well.” He was possessive yet tender, kissing your neck as he pulled you back flush against him.

“You’re the most dangerous man on the east coast, you could have-“ you stopped breathing, negating your reaction to his fingers tugging on the silk tie that held your robe around you.

“I know what I am,” he hummed, his cock twitching against your ass, “I know what I want. I know who I want, that’s why I had to take you.”

“We met at school, we didn’t-“

“I know how you felt about me. Before you knew what I was, we had gone on a date. We had fun and you let me taste you. Did you really think-“ Steve groaned in your ear, hands running up your abdomen to your bare breasts.

“-I could handle just one taste?” Steve’s hands grasped your breasts, his fingers squeezing as you moaned and pliantly pushed back into him. “You are not the kind of woman who only requires one taste.”

“Please…” you whined, cratering with your willpower. “Steve…”

“Yes, Mrs. Rogers.” He nipped your neck and let go of your breasts only to sweep you into his arms and take you back toward the bed. “I will feast on your sweet pussy again. But…”

Steve leaned back and looked down at you, your chest heaving and your legs spreading to reveal the dampness of your thighs.

“I think its time,” Steve pulled you up and switched positions with you, this time it was him laying back on the bed, “you ride my face.”

“Steve I-I can’t…I’ve never-“

“Yes, darling wife.” He snatched your wrist and pulled you forward, dragging you until you had sat on his chest. “Don’t leave your husband starving. Ride my face.”

He settled his hands on your hips and dragged your forward until you hovered above him. “Don’t hold back, fuck yourself on my tongue.”

[archaeologicalnews]

Red paint on 1,000-year-old gold mask from Peru contains human blood proteins

Thirty years ago, archeologists excavated the tomb of an elite 40-50-year-old man from the Sicán culture of Peru, a society that predated the Incas. The man's seated, upside-down skeleton was painted bright red, as was the gold mask covering his detached skull. Now, researchers reporting in ACS' Journal of Proteome Research have analyzed the paint, finding that, in addition to a red pigment, it contains human blood and bird egg proteins.

The Sicán was a prominent culture that existed from the ninth to 14th centuries along the northern coast of modern Peru. During the Middle Sicán Period (about 900–1,100 A.D.), metallurgists produced a dazzling array of gold objects, many of which were buried in tombs of the elite class. In the early 1990s, a team of archaeologists and conservators led by Izumi Shimada excavated a tomb where an elite man's seated skeleton was painted red and placed upside down at the center of the chamber. Read more.

[yeoandmoon]

you are now listening to graceland too by phoebe bridgers! ( yeosang x f!reader )

fluff, burnout!yeosang, bassist!yeosang, writer!reader, childhood friends 2 lovers but also idiots 2 lovers, yeosang and reader run away, seongjoong are engaged, wooyoung + yeonjun have a band, there is only one bed, yeosang has a nose ring, it’s implied reader has a bad relationship with her mother, wc is 3.1k

NOTE: happy yeosang day! this was a doozy to write, but i hope you all enjoy it! its based off one of my favourite phoebe bridgers songs! :)

There’s a mural on the wall of the hotel lobby. It’s a warm toned painting of a forest, with a hint of a bright blue sky peeking out from the top of the trees. There’s a moose standing at the forefront of the mural, and a little fox sleeping on a rock towards the bottom, surrounded by colourful flowers and leaves.

The mural confused you, if you were being honest. The hotel you worked the night audit at was situated in the busy downtown centre of the city you lived in, and there were barely any forests for miles around the city - let alone any wildlife, like moose or foxes. Hongjoong said it was to make guests feel more ‘in touch with nature’ and to help people forget about the ‘problems of the real world’, while Yeosang claimed it was ‘just another scam in the tourist trap’.

You, on the other hand, was sure the mural was put there to torture you. You would spend nights having staring contests with the moose (which, to your surprise, you always lost), or you would spend hours on Google with Hongjoong trying to find out what species of fox the sleeping fox was (you were sure it was a cape fox, while Hongjoong swore up and down that it was a gray fox). The blue sky between the trees teased you; a reminder that most of your days were spent in the library at your university, or in this dimly lit lobby.

Sometimes, it felt like the only time you saw the sunshine was when you were with Yeosang.

Despite the occasional burnout and the lack of seeing sun most days, you didn’t mind the job. You were always more of a night person, and your classes were always later in the day so you did manage to pull in some sleep. Due to the late hours, you usually only dealt with customers in the first hour or two of your shift, and most of that was just directing confused Ubereats delivery people and pretty Tinder dates to hallways and rooms. It was the perfect job to work on your writing, and get your school work out of the way without listening to your mother cry about how you’re throwing your life away like your sister.

Plus, you could think of a hundred worse people to spend the night shift with than the nighttime valet, Hongjoong. Hongjoong often kept you occupied with his latest reforms and art projects, and stories about his fiancee, Seonghwa & their friend, Yunho (who he kept insisting you needed to go on a date with).

“Your emo boy is coming.”

Well, you could think of ninety-nine worse people to spend the night shift with than Hongjoong, who sat next to you at the check-in desk.

You scoff, “He’s not my emo boy.” You mumble, glancing at the street entrance to see Yeosang walk in with an ice coffee on hand.

Despite your words, Kang Yeosang was your person (you wouldn’t quite use the term ‘emo boy’, even if it did fit), and he had been since your family moved in next door to his family when you two were children. Although your friendship lately had been reduced to these late night meetings while you two were on break on your respective graveyard shifts (you at the hotel and Yeosang at the convenience store down the block, of course) and occasional meetings in the garden when you were both running errands for your families, you still considered Yeosang one of your dearest memories.

It was hard not too, you suppose. He had been there for many of your firsts, and was always cheering you on. Yeosang always made you feel powerful and important - like a powerful heroine, and not his bratty next door neighbor who cried on his doorstep after being dumped by her first year partner. He always made you feel wanted.

Yeosang grinned at you as he stepped into the lobby (if your heart fluttered in your chest, you ignored it). He had on a backwards dad cap, and he had recently changed his nose ring out for the gold hoop San had bought him for his birthday. You could just faintly see his birthmark peeking out from where his bleach blonde hair curled under the hat.

“Hello, Sunshine.” He greets you, setting the coffee down on your desk.

You set the pen you were holding down, “Hi Yeosang.”

Upon first glance at Yeosang, you can tell he’s buzzing about something. He’s leaning over the check-in counter and chewing on his lip while making small talk with Hongjoong about the tourist season.

You raise an eyebrow, sipping your coffee as Yeosang turns back to you, “Do you remember Wooyoung and Yeonjun?”

You nearly choke on your coffee at the mention of your other neighbor and ex-boyfriend. Wooyoung had moved onto your street a few years after you had, and quickly became apart of the little bond you and Yeosang had formed. He moved to the coast with Yeonjun, your ex, the first chance they had gotten, but Wooyoung’s family remained in the neighborhood.

“I babysat Woo’s brother the other day…” You watched your friend, “Did something happen? Mrs Jung didn’t say anything the other day.”

Yeosang grins, and it’s his scheming grin, “Their band got signed,” He tells you, “They need a new bassist, and Wooyoung showed them that video you took of me from that show last month. Their label wants me to come down; play a few shows with them, record a couple demos. See if we have chemistry, basically.”

Your eyes widen - both out of excitement and fear. You were happy and excited for Yeosang! This is the opportunity he had been wanting for years, but you were also terrified.

You were terrified in a horrible, selfish way because you knew if Yeosang left to join Wooyoung and Yeonjun, he’d never come back to you.

“That’s… That’s great, Yeo!” You manage a grin whilst trying to shove the selfish thoughts away, “When do they want you there?”

Yeosang’s smile falters, just for a moment but you still catch it, “Monday.”

“F-Five days?”

He nods, “I’m leaving Saturday morning, so I can be there Sunday afternoon.”

You can see it in his eyes; he’s terrified too.

Before you can say anything else, Yeosang leans over the check-in counter and presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, “I have to get back to work, Sunshine.” He tells you, his voice quiet as if he’s giving you a secret, “I’ll see you later.”

He’s already halfway down the lobby when you swear and move out of your chair, you quickly call his name as you move out from behind the desk. You rush over to where he’s standing, and look up at him. He’s confused.

He opens his mouth to say something, but the words die in his throat when you pull him into a tight hug, “I’m proud of you, Yeo.”

Yeosang wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer to him. His chest is warm, and you’re sure you could spend hours here. He smiles, pressing another kiss to your head, “I know, Sunshine.” He pulls away, his hand on your arm, “I really do have to go, though. I’m already late for work.”

You nod, wrapping your arms around your torso as you watch him leave the hotel and turn down the street to go back to the convenience store. When you turn back around, Hongjoong is watching you with an amused look on his face.

You glare at him as you walk back to the desk, “Don’t you have a fiance to call, or something?”

----------------

You were tired.

Friday nights were always busy, but tonight was draining and loud and you could only take so much of Miss Liu’s incessant phone calls about mundane things at 3am. All you wanted to do was go home, and fall into your bed and sleep for hours.

Hongjoong didn’t help your mood either. It was an innocent question about Yeosang, asking if you’d seen him since he visited you on his break but it pushed your mood down to a low point. You had been so busy the past few days, and if you were being honest with yourself, you had been avoiding Yeosang.

You weren’t ready to see him leave. You knew it was selfish, but you figured avoiding Yeosang was easier than admitting you didn’t want him to leave you behind. You would just simply watch his life through Instagram and consider the ‘what-ifs’ in your life.

You shouldered your tote bag after clocking out before yelling a good-bye to Hongjoong. You could see the beginning rays of morning sun hitting the other buildings in the downtown core as you stepped out the employee doors, and then you were hit by the sight of Yeosang leaning against one of the pillars.

Your eyes widen, “Yeosan-”

“Come with me.”

You stop. Your words are left in your throat, “W-Wh… Go with you? To the coast?”

Yeosang nods, “Come with me,” He steps forward, taking your hands in his, “What do you have here? A degree you don’t care about? A job you hate?”

You frown, running over his words in your head, “I-I have my mom. And… I have Hongjoong!”

He raises an eyebrow, “Y/N, Sunshine… Your mom will barely notice you’re gone, and Hongjoong can visit us.” He cupped your cheek.

You’re so busy having an internal crisis you hardly notice the usage of ‘us’. You’re considering the logistics in your head. Yeosang was right; you didn’t care about your degree, and all it would take was an email saying you quit for them to find a new front desk person. Your mom would be upset for a few weeks. She’d probably make some passive aggressive Facebook posts about you before acting like your best friend again.

“Yeosang…” You look up at him, your hand coming up to circle around his wrist.

“Your sister is there, and you could write everyday.” Yeosang adds on, “I did the math, Y/N. Between the two of us, we’d have 6 months to figure it out. 6 months, and we’ll come back here if nothing works out.”

You stay silent for a moment.

“Sunshine, I promised I’d show you the stars, didn’t I?”

You gasp at the promise. It was a silly promise he had made when you were both kids; something you’d almost forgotten about.

It hits you quickly: there’s no one else you’d rather run away with. There’s no one else you’d trust to run away with.

You look up at Yeosang, “Yes.”

He grins, “Yes?”

You nod, “Yes, Yeo. I’ll go with you.”

----------------

An hour. An hour was how long it took for you to turn your life upside down for Kang Yeosang.

In an hour, you had emailed your program advisor and told them you wouldn’t be returning for the next semester, and you had called your manager and told them you wouldn’t be coming in for your next shift, or any shift after that (which was promptly followed by a phone call from Hongjoong, who seemed more excited about this than you were). You had packed up most of your clothes and important belongings, and they were loaded into the back of Yeosang’s shitty car. You left a note for your mother, and before you knew it, you were sitting in the passenger’s seat of Yeosang’s car.

----------------

You had fallen asleep barely an hour into the car ride. 

The rolling hills and fields outside your window made your eyes feel heavier, but you tried staying awake to keep Yeosang company.

“Go to sleep, Sunshine.” He tells you, “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Yeosang’s promise was all it took for you to succumb to your exhaustion.

You don't usually remember your dreams. Though today, there are flashes of a beach, and a smile that takes your breath away. There are blue skies and if you try hard enough, you can just faintly smell sea salt.

You wake up hours later, smiling. True to his word, Yeosang is still there when you wake. He’s wearing a pair of sunglasses, and tapping his fingers to the beat of the song on the radio.

Yeosang smiles when he notices you’re awake, “I talked to your mother.”

Your eyes widen, “You talked to who?”

He laughs, “You didn’t answer your phone, so she called me.”

You frown, glancing at your phone in the free cup holder. You could imagine the amount of calls and texts that were in there.

“She wasn’t very happy.” Yeosang continues, “She wants you to call her when we get there.”

You nod, “Thank you, Yeo.” You say softly, looking over at him.

Yeosang throws you a smile, “Of course.”

“Not just for talking to my mom…” You watch him, “For not leaving me behind, too. Thank you.”

Yeosang reaches over, taking your hand, “I’d never leave you behind, Sunshine. You’d have to try really hard to get rid of me.”

----------------

The car ride was long, and full of Yeosang’s early 2000s emo playlist & fast food. You called your sister, who was ecstatic to hear about your plans and had immediately offered you and Yeosang her beach house. She made a comment about how ‘she always knew you two would end up together’, and it made your heart flutter when you glanced at Yeosang.

Yeosang told you about Wooyoung’s band, and how excited he was to play with Wooyoung. You smiled, listening to him fondly talk about your old friends and their music.

It was getting late though, and you could see it in Yeosang’s face that he was getting tired.

“We should stop for the night.” You tell him, “You’ve been driving since 6am, Yeo.”

He huffs, “We could drive through the night.” He proposes, “We’d make it to your sister’s place in a few hours.”

You frown, “Or... We could stop for the night, shower, and then leave first thing tomorrow morning. We'll get there by noon tomorrow.”

Yeosang glances at you, going to protest. He ends up yawning instead, his nose wrinkling slightly, “Fine.” He pouts.

You laugh, reaching for your phone to google the closest hotels. There's a comfortable silence in the car, filled with the occasional beat of Yeosang’s fingers on the steering wheel. You feel at ease, even if it's just for a moment.

“There’s a motel off the next exit.” You tell him, stifling a yawn of your own.

----------------

Sure enough, there had been a motel off the next exit. It was small and slightly rundown, but cheap and had an available room. You waited in the car while Yeosang went into the check-in office, promising to be back in a moment.

He came back dangling a key in his hand, and a slight frown on his face as he opened the car door to let you out.

“So... There’s only one bed.” He broke the news, a blush growing up his cheeks, “It’s all they had, unless we wanted to drive another hour down the highway.”

Your eyes widen, “O-Oh.” You glance at the key, and then back up at Yeosang, “I’ll sleep on the floor, or something.”

Yeosang frowns, shaking his head, “We can share for one night, Sunshine. I think it’ll be okay.”

Which leads you to here; lying almost nose to nose with Yeosang. Your hair was soaking wet from a shower in the tiny bathroom and the small motel bed wasn’t comfortable, but you didn’t seem to mind as you took in the man in front of you. You pushed the strands of bleach blonde hair out of his face, and your fingers softly lingered on the birthmark next to his eye.

His breath stuttered, “Y/N,” He says, his voice a mere whisper, “We’re free.”

You let your hand rest against his cheek. Your eyes lingered on his lips before you caught yourself, moving your gaze back up to his eyes.

Yeosang only smiled at you. He gently held your wrist as he tilted his head and placed a soft kiss on your palm, “I’m going to kiss you now, Sunshine.”

“Yes please.”

You felt every nerve in your body light up when Yeosang kissed you.

A small part of your brain told you that this is where you’re meant to be: in Yeosang’s arms.

You felt this way the first time Yeosang had kissed you too, all the way back on that roof in 11th grade. You two had been talking about the future; about your writing and Yeosang’s music. You looked up at the hazy night sky, and you asked Yeosang if you’d ever get to see the stars.

He smiled at you, telling you that he would show them to you one day before he kissed you so sweetly.

Yeosang still kissed you sweetly. He kissed you like you held the secrets of the universe in your hand for him to take.

You pulled away, “I think I love you.”

He smiles against your lips, rubbing soft circles into your wrist, “I think I love you too, baby.”

—————-

You had this assumption that the next morning would be awkward; that you would be stuck for the next 6 months with someone you could barely look in the eye because of a late night confession.

Instead, you awoke to Yeosang kissing your head and placing a bagel & ice coffee down for you. He had quickly ushered you into the shower, before you put on a change of clothes and were quickly led out to the car between bites of your bagel. This all happened over Yeosang telling you how you only had a few hours before you reached your sister’s beach house, and he wanted to try and make good time so you could enjoy the beach today.

You giggled at his antics before settling into the passenger’s seat for the last few hours of your journey.

You sipped your ice coffee as you watched out the window. The countryside on the highway zoomed by you, and the car was full of sunlight from Yeosang’s sunroof being open. There was a Fall Out Boy song on the radio, and you felt a sense of calm brush over you as Yeosang took your hand in his.

The sunshine had never felt so nice on your skin as Yeosang pressed a soft kiss to the back of your hand.

taglist: @vanishingboots @sunsethw4​ 

[birlarks]

OH? DID I HEAR DND OC? curious about class and race ofc but also like what kind of area are they from? :O -mare

WOOO!! ty mare you are a life saver. They are a rogue bronze half dragon!! He originates from a large(30k+) coastal city named Windrose. There's a pretty prevalent thieves guild there that he accidentally got wrapped up in at 15,indebting him to them till he's payed off his debt(payed off in their eyes is basically never but. Ya gotta keep hoping.)because of this he distanced himself from his family to keep them safe and is basically always travelling doing tasks for the guild anyways.

More abt the town:

More about the town: the name originates from the dragon who founded it, someone many claim to be descended from. Windrose, a bronze dragon with shifting abilities. Her being bronze is important because they alone have the ability to breath underwater and stuff(coastal town) she's worshipped as a deity now, a couple thousand years after the towns conception. Most of the market and trade is propelled by the fishing industry and the show bizz that comes with high population. One of the biggest tourist attractions is professional fire dancing shows on the black sand beaches of the southern coast, where luminescent algae provides a perfect late night backdrop. The theatre scene in the inner city, where naefthren grew up, is huge. Children participate in school musicals multiple times a year, street performers everywhere, etc. It's a generally well balanced and run place. The symbol is a red rose in full bloom held by a reptiltian claw.

The fashion industry is fascinating to outsiders a lot of the time, and has influence on surrounding areas. Most people that live on the beach/close to it don't wear a top or just sheer fabric regardless of gender due to the heat, and skirts with separate shorts underneath(for quick changing as many people work with water) are the most popular bottoms. But as you go further inland the clothing gets more modest. Wrap around sheer fabric used in many ways (around the waist, in the hair, layered to opaqueness as a shirt) and neutral cotton under clothing(like that one white european shirt everyone draws cranboo in)is the most seen style. Children wear light pastel gowns till their 7th birthday. Special occasions call for very light gowns or just general airy clothing most of the time, many thin layers, and softly curving monochromatic body paint. Tattoos are encouraged once someone hits 20. Jewelry is often pearl adorned or glass made from the black sand, gold is rare and highly valued.

The population is majority humans, half elves, and half dragons, though obviously that's not all there is. (Many influential figures are rumored to be full dragons shifted, but only like 2/300 celebrities slash political figures actually are)

The thieves guild there is unnamed to the public, so most hear whispers of them just as 'the bramble' and if you ever wake up with a wilting rose on your knightstand you know you either need to evacuate or prepare your funeral. It's an underlying sickness in the bright and salt smelling town. But, they have so much influence that you can't really get rid of them.

The government is a democratic oligarchy, with a representative house that actually passes or vetos the laws.