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the-kr8tor · 15 days ago

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250 Years of Longing

Pairing: Vampire! Hobie Brown x Fem! Vampire! Reader

Word count: 5.8k

Synopsis: A brief misunderstanding leads to years of heartache. You mourn 250 years of love while his heart remains to you and only you.

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, vampire AU, divorced! Vampire! AU, established relationship, CW blood, talks of marriage, hurt/comfort, some fluff.

A/N: Special thanks to @pleaktale !!! This au was born in our dms lol

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Hobie's words are muffled in your ears as you try to hide your trembling, lovelorn body. Your head is in your hands, wide eyes downturned towards the same scruffed floors you've lived in for thirty years with him. You still remember the day you moved in, the walls were in bright yellow back then, wooden floors hidden by some gaudy shag carpet from the 70s. You still remember that decade like it was yesterday, maybe it was just yesterday, being a vampire means that time has moved differently for you. Time is merely something you gloss over, years flying by in a wink. Barely a flutter in your immortal eyes.

Even technology is moving faster and innovating quicker than you could manage to keep up. The next thing you know, you've been alive for more than 250 years.

250 years of being with him, 250 years of wearing the same identical ring, 250 years of loving him. All those 250 years are going through your mind a thousand miles per hour, your first kiss with him, your confession. Or was it him who confessed to you? Were you the one who got sick and he had to find a vampire to turn you and in turn to change him? Or was it the other way around? Memory is a fickle thing when you're older than any living human on earth. You've forgotten a lot of things, memory hazy and foggy like a dream you don't quite remember the second you wake. You wish this was just a dream, a nightmare that you'll wake up from.

“I need to try— I need to go, love.” His words wake you up from the lucid nightmare. He stands in the middle of your shared room, eyes forlorn, brows pinched together like he's in agony. “I can't stay ‘ere like this.”

If his words could kill, you'd be staked through the heart by now. 250 years of being together, practically joined at the hip. A love beyond a simple marriage on paper. And he's just standing there, breaking your long dead heart.

You look up at him through bloody tears, nails digging into your scalp as you try to hide your wails. An impossible feat. “Was it me? Did I do something?” You've faced vampire hunters together, faced horrors beyond belief to survive and continue to live with him. But you were never terrified, until now.

He immediately shakes his head, moving closer to you to take your trembling hands. The identical rings on his and your finger clinks together as he clasps your hand. “No, it's not you, love.” Kneeling down, he gazes at you through wine red eyes, bloody tears threatening to spill over his cheeks that you would always caress in your shared coffin that's hidden beneath the canopy bed you're currently languishing in.

“That's what they all say.” You utter in a small voice that he hasn't heard in decades.

Grasping your hands, he rubs his thumbs over your pulse where your heart would beat. Something he still does even though your hearts haven't beat together in sync ever since that fateful day.

“You didn't do anythin' wrong. I jus’ need to find myself, go out and see the world in my own eyes.”

You nod bitterly. “Without the burden of me.”

“That's not true, you're not a burden.” His hands reach towards your cheeks, wiping the bloody tears cascading down them like rain drops on a cold autumn day. “There are people I could help out there—”

“And I can't? Why can't you just bring me with you?” You wrench yourself away from him, walking away from the bed to give him space lest you let him see you like this. “Just say you're tired of me.” Hugging yourself, you feel his arms wrap around your middle, face tucked in the crook of your neck right where your scar sits.

“‘m not tired of you.” He says against your skin.

Your twist in his arms to face him fully, palms resting on his chest, eyes dim and scared. “Then why leave? Why do you want to leave me?” His shirt is bunched around your fists, desperate to cling to him despite his wishes. “250 years, Hobie. I've known you for more than that, been with you through all of it. I deserve to know why.” You try to reign in your anger and frustration but your fangs suddenly appearing betrays you.

“I don't want to leave you— Time, love. I jus’ need time. That's all we've got.”

You're tired, tired of asking why, tired of clinging to him like a life raft. Tired of your chest aching and feeling heavy as he looks at you with pity— was it pity? Or something else? So you let him go. Fists unfurling, palms leaving his chest as you step away from him.

“Alright.” You sniff, expression falling stiff as you straighten up. “I won't stop you.” If your love for him keeps him from doing what he loves, then you'll let him go. You can still love him from afar, even if he doesn't want you anymore.

“Love.” Hobie reaches your hand, palm sliding up to your elbows as he pulls you closer to embrace you fully. “250 years, not once did I feel I didn't love you.”

You close your eyes as you find yourself hidden atop his throat, memorizing his scent and how he holds you. Feeling how his own tears drip down on you, how his skin feels against your own. Memory is a fickle thing, you'll soon forget, but you don't want to. So you'll cling to him, even if it's just a memory of him.

“I love you, y’know that right?” He whispers to you, and only to you.

“I—” you falter. If you say it back, it feels like goodbye. And you don't want to say goodbye to the one person you have loved for centuries. “—I know, Hobie.” You could only say, saying it back means that you're never going to see him again. Saying it back means it's the end.

He could only hold onto you tighter, lips pecking the crown of your head so gently that you barely felt it in your lovelorn state.

You've got time, but it won't be spent with him. Eternity would feel empty for you now.

—

It's been six months of being alone, six months since he moved out to find his purpose. He wanted to leave partly so you could also find yourself and be yourself without his presence. 250 years of being together would do that. He doesn't know where he ends and begins when your soul and his own are tangled together for eternity. And he wants that for you too— to be your own self and not just another vampire in the cursed flock.

To be a better eternal partner for you is one of his goals, he needed to leave so he could be better, so he could be good to you for another 250 years more.

And he's willing— wishing that he gets to spend eternity with you after he's satisfied with what he has done to help people. He just hopes that you'd be home to welcome him back once he does. He's sure that you're already making good progress in finding yourself. He already misses you. A lot.

He's already aching for home and your embrace.

So much has happened in those six months, he's excited to tell you everything he has encountered. And even more excited to hear your voice again, to hold you again and sleep in the same coffin with you again and not the shoddy temporary coffin he made out of planks to rest in. He can already see your ecstatic face when he enters the abode again.

Ned has told him that he won't last a year without you. He'd know, Hobie has been friends with him for almost a hundred years now. But he refuses to let him win, even though he really wants to see you right now, or even call you on one of those phones that people seem to be addicted to. But you haven't picked up his calls, or even answered his letters. He has sent one everyday since he left, he's starting to worry now. Even the crew who urged him to go on a worldwide mission with him has placed bets on when he'll run back to you. With the earliest being tomorrow, and the longest being a year. He intends to make them lose, but by god, he misses you so damn much that he's starting to see you in his dreams. And see glimpses of you in the corner of his eyes.

He doesn't regret his decision, but a part of him thinks that you were right— that he should've brought you with him on his journey. Without you his frozen heart feels like it's out of his own body. Walking around without him, living without him. But he knows that it's for the best. It's only temporary, he keeps repeating to himself every night. He'll be with you soon.

As he writes today's letter, he smiles, hands scribbling his day away on the fragrant paper that he knows you'd love especially when it's sprayed with his own perfume.

He can't wait to see you back home.

—

You were absolutely losing it in that house. You keep seeing him everywhere. With every clatter in the halls, you run towards it in hopes that it's him making a ruckus in the kitchen. With every shadow cast on the walls, you see him walking towards you, arms outstretched to hold you. And then for a moment, he's gone, like a whiff of smoke billowing from a lit cigar.

The house that has love built within its walls seems to tilt in your vision. Weighed down by your grief. You don't know where to place your feeling of abandonment, do you place it in the kitchen where you two used to feed together? Or do you put it right next to your withdrawal, your need to be with him once again?

You choke on your own need.

So you take a page from Hobie's book and left. After just two days of him being gone, you packed your bags and headed out to nowhere. You can't stay anywhere that you have stayed with him before, you're afraid that you'll burst into bloodied tears if you even get a whiff of the same place where you two met all those centuries ago.

You haven't felt this alone since you were nineteen, well, you haven't been nineteen in a long time. You could barely remember your days before you were turned— died. It's like looking into a window of a well lit house whose occupants you once knew well but couldn't talk to anymore. In that well lit house is you and him. Just you and him, him and you.

The lamp posts are hazy in your eyes, buildings whizzing by in a blur of crimson tears. You took the midnight bus, hand never leaving the ring on your finger, and just sat there until the route ended. Then you rode a train, then a boat. And again and again until you reached a little coastal town with a name you could barely remember on good days. And with bad days, the crying comes and goes. Chest still aching, claw marks left all over the tiny cottage you brought.

A dark cloud has settled on you, but with each day passes, with each interaction from the town’s people with their good nature and good intentions, the dark cloud slowly ebbs away. The sun shines on you once again after a year and a half without him, it doesn't burn you nor scorch your skin anymore, it lights your way. The people and the soft sea breeze helped you cope through the uncertainty of being alone.

250 years of togetherness, and not one day you've felt alone, or felt like you've wasted your time with him. 250 years of memories, not one you felt like it went all down the drain. It was worth it, all the calm days to the rough one, it was all worth it.

You still wish to see him, to talk to him, to taste his saccharin ichor on your tongue; to kiss him until you're both laughing against each other's kiss bitten lips. It's a normal feeling, a neighbour once told you after you told her your story (excluding the vampirism). It's alright to miss someone who might not miss you back.

There's a hole that he left in your chest, and you find that you can't fill it in no matter how much you try to fill it with friends and good moments. But it shrinks, it gets smaller with time. It gets better with each day that passes. It has gotten better.

No longer do you feel that time has passed in a blur of colours. It has slowed for you, time. You go outdoors and breathe in the salty air, you talk to people, people you would've ignored back then. You do things you haven't done in decades. And you find that time has barely passed. You live each day, savour it, conquer it with warmth akin to his palm atop your own.

You wish him nothing but the best, and as you promised yourself on that day, you'll continue to love him from afar. The moon gazing down on you reminds you of him, everything reminds you of him. And that's alright, love does that. And it will continue to do so for the rest of eternity.

You've got nothing but time to heal and fill the void with as much light as you can.

—

Hobie's gnawed with exhaustion, but happy, incredibly happy. After two years of being away, he has helped so many lives with his ‘abilities’. He has plucked away corrupt officials with his own clawed hands, fangs coated in a sheen of rubies, eyes bright and almost glowing in its pools of crimson. He's proud of what he has accomplished, he hopes that you would be too.

Two years went by without you, he may have won the bet by a long shot but he can't stay for another day more. He needs to go home to you or he feels like he'll combust into searing flames if he doesn't get to see you and hold you within the day. He longs for your warm ichor on his tongue, and how you always laugh at his antics after all these years. He smiles at his ring, excited to see its partner in your finger once again.

So he forgoes to write you a letter in an attempt to surprise you with his return. He packs his bags, waves goodbye to his old and new found friends, going home without wasting another second. You're his bright spot amidst the dark eternity, his sun that lights the way, and he finally feels that he's worthy of you. Worthy of your time.

He knows himself better than he did when he was just nineteen and lost in the threads of life. He feels as if he traveled back in time, back when he was a human who craved to leave his mark in the world. Only this time, he accomplished the latter. Now, as he promised himself that day, he's coming back home.

He's going back home to you.

—

A letter mysteriously arrives at your doorstep. Its pitch black envelope and red wax seal with the unmistakable seal of the vampiric council sends anxiety coursing through your frozen veins.

Is it Hobie? Has something happened to him? Did he fight a council member again? Did you unintentionally and unknowingly break a rule? Or perhaps it's just a newsletter? You could only hope that it's a newsletter.

You open it immediately to calm yourself. Sharp nails ripping the black envelope open. Reading the contents, you sigh in relief at the invitation. An invitation to a soiree, the kind you and Hobie were never invited to because it's well known that you two have been together for centuries. Hell, it's in their records to begin with.

Tamping down your yearning thoughts, you skim the invitation some more. You find that it's a masquerade, ‘to make it interesting in finding your eternal partner,’ it read in its fancy gold lettering. They need to find a better writer to write their invitations, you thought.

You feel like scoffing at the idea of you dressing up and looking pretty just to find a person who may or may not leave you after they feel the urge to change. As you flip the matte paper around, your mind changes with the words ‘goody bags will be given to those who don't find a partner by the end of the day.’ You can't resist a good party favour, especially when it's from the rich vampire council who once gave away mustangs and harleys to the vampires who made it to a hundred. You might hate their guts, but you can't deny how well they can plan a good soiree.

Leaving your cottage, you don your thick coat and take out your trustee umbrella to wade through the sun illuminated town in hopes of buying a somewhat presentable gown to wear. You might've skipped the part in the invitation that says, ‘satisfaction guaranteed!’

—

Hobie stands on the porch of your shared home with a big giddy smile on his face. He notices all the plants you loved so much have wilted, grass turned into a shade of murky brown, and the porch is littered with dust and grime. He ignores the state of his home in favour of the thought of you being too busy traveling and meeting friends or trying out different hobbies. He could only hope that you're well. That you feed whenever you're hungry, he knows how much you hate hunting, especially without him. He remembers that you always make it a night, basically a date night with him that ends with a dead asshole in an alleyway with four unmistakable pin pricks on the side of their neck.

He should've planned more before he left, made sure that you'd be prepared for anything while he's gone. He'd hate to be gone when a would be vampire hunter attacks your home. His fists clenches around his suitcase, now his fear of you being staked through the heart in his own house takes hold of his entire body. You can handle yourself in a fight, but he's afraid of losing you in such a violent way when he could've been there to save you.

With fear clawing at his chest up to his throat, he unlocks the front door with a creak. Then the door stops, as if something is blocking the way.

“Love?” He calls for you in the dark foyer. The vase you always kept filled with flowers that sits on a desk near the door has completely covered in dust, roses wilted. Flowers no longer blooming in its porcelain form. His iced heart shudders in his chest. “Love, it's me, don't attack, yeah?” Chuckling nervously, he pushes the door fully despite the resistance.

The sound of papers crinkling under the pressure of the door sends him into a tizzy. His eyes narrow downwards at the piles upon piles of envelopes next to his feet. Squeezing inside, he tosses his suitcase haphazardly further into the foyer. It thumps loudly on the wooden floorboards, contents tumbling out and spilling over the floors.

His frantic eyes scan the letters, kneeling down, he finds that the letterbox flaps on the door is practically bursting with the amount of envelopes that were shoved in.

Frowning, he takes one in his trembling fingers, thumbs running along your name that he wrote himself.

“What the fuck?” He asks breathlessly into the void. He finds that every single one of them remains unopened.

Standing upright as quick as lightning, he runs around the house like a headless chicken looking for its head. He checks the living room, none, except for spiderwebs clinging on his guitar perched on the wall. His anxiety eats him from the inside out with every door he flings open. The sounds of his thundering footsteps echo inside the shared home, oil paintings of you and him are threatening to fall from its fixtures as he sprints through every door, looks through every crevice for you. And opens every cabinet and even climbs up to the attic to no avail.

There's no blood nor sign of a fight or forced entry. At least he knows that you haven't been attacked. But his mind lingers on one question, ‘where are you?’

He heaves in the middle of the bedroom where he saw you last. The shared coffin was left revealed and out in the open, he can still smell your perfume lingering in the velvet walls of the coffin, fingers running along the sides as he desperately tries to feel you through the fabric.

You're not here. You haven't been here for a long time.

“Fuck,” he balls up the fabric in his fist. There's no sign of you anywhere, not even a letter for him to read. It's unlike you to not leave a note. You always leave one, even if you're just going to the garden. “Where the fuck are you, love?”

The sound of the deep sounding doorbell startles him in place. With his quick movements, he makes it to the door within a half second. That could be you outside.

Hobie practically rips the door open with both hands as he wretches it away in hopes that it could be you. With a grin, he only sees a bat flapping away, and a dark envelope left at his doorstep.

“Fuckin' council.” Quickly grabbing the letter, he closes the door behind him. He could only hope that the letter is for him, that they're chastising him for what he has done. It can't be a letter of condolence pertaining to you, it can't be.

—

Your champagne flute filled with blood is starting to coagulate. Crimson staining the sides of the fancy glass as you slosh it absentmindedly. You stand in the corner right next to the fountain of warm blood gushing out of a mermaid's vase. At least you get to drink your fill.

The party is in full swing, the grand hall is filled with single vampires mingling with each other. Their mindless chatter falls on deaf ears as you look up at the crystal chandeliers illuminating the event. Cigar smoke rises up from the bloodied lips of vampires, turning the air more acrid than the scent of sweat and drying blood from the feeding area just below the event hall.

You're starting to think that the goody bag isn't worth it anymore, even if it has the meaning of life tucked inside it.

The sound of tinkling glass and footsteps takes your attention from the foggy ceiling. The stranger smiles at you through his domino mask. Lips smirking as he makes his way towards you with two bloody cups.

“May I join you?” He asks in a low soothing voice. His suit is in velvet blue, golden charms hanging off him like fine gold threads weaved over him. You raise a brow at him, hopefully he can see it rise above your flowery mask. “Someone as pretty as you shouldn't be spending the night alone like this.”

You scoff quietly, refraining from rolling your eyes. “How would you know that I'm pretty under this mask?” He grins wider at your comment. “For all you know, I'm hideous under this.”

Chuckling, the platinum haired man shrugs. “I just know. You give off the aura of someone gorgeous.”

You scoff light-heartedly against the rim of your glass. “I bet you've said those exact words a dozen times tonight.”

He smirks, fang poking out from his lips. “No, just this once.” Plucking your coagulated drink from your hand, he swiftly and gracefully replaces it with a new one. The drink is still warm, fresh from the veins. “I only use my skills wisely lest it be wasted.”

You stare at him with a raised brow, the corner of your lips curl into an unsure smile. “Wasted on who?” Taking a step away from the man who clearly wants his fangs in your neck, you dawdle on drinking from the glass he gave you.

Chuckling, he glances at the vampires milling about the ballroom, their fancy clothes swishing from side to side as they try their best in recreating a moment in the past.

“The…unremarkable vampires.”

“And you think I'm remarkable enough for you…?”

The stranger takes your hand without another word, leaning down to press a cold kiss against your skin. “Just call me Count Tepes.”

You blink at his name, then you feel it, a recognizable warmth flooding your frozen veins akin to a gentle summer's breeze upon your cheek. A comfortable heat pressing against your throat, a familiar presence making its way towards you in haste.

“Who's this, love? You chattin’ up my wife?” Hobie's arm is suddenly around your waist, calloused hand pressing gently atop your bodice, fingers slithering under the ribbons on your hips in a comfortable and welcomed possessive nature. “Didn't know we were lookin' for a third. If we were, I wouldn't choose this bloke.”

As you crane your neck to stare at him, your expression morphs into a combination of pain and relief. “Hobie?”

“Yeah, lovie?” He pulls you closer against him, a pearlescent mask hiding half of his face but you could recognize him by mere touch alone, by his tone, by his warmth. You could lose him in the crowd and you'd know him from the sound of his footsteps. His smirk turns into a frown at your expression, hand squeezing your side once for comfort. “You alright?”

“Is he bothering you?” The count asks with an annoyed tone. Golden eyes narrowed to slits at the punk holding you close.

“I think you're the one bein' a bother ‘ere, mate.” Hobie sneers, tugging away at your glass to chug it in one gulp without leaving his glare at the fellow vampire. He licks at his bloodied lips, fangs bared, blood dripping down from the corner of his smirk.

Tepes raises a sharp brow at you, you, whose mind is running a thousand miles per hour. With a heavy inhale, you give him your best smile. “No need to worry, I'm with him.” Hobie puffs out his chest smugly.

The Count chuckles with a shake of his head in reply. “Not again, just my luck, hm?” Taking a swig, he swallows down the thick blood. “It's either couples looking for a third, a fourth, or even a fifth. Or someone who just went to the party to inspire jealousy in their husband.” Glancing at you, he sighs and nods curtly at you before leaving without another word.

“Really, love, him?” Hobie scoffs with a grin, ringed finger tapping on his— your glass. “You could do better—”

You whirl away from him, not having the heart to fully push him away. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doin' ‘ere?” Hobie furrows his pierced brows, his identical ring still on his ring finger. The ruby glows under the chandeliers, the same shade as his immortal eyes.

You stare at him with bemused shock, “you left!”

“On a bloody soul searchin’ not leavin' you!”

“What?” You blink rapidly at his words. “You said you couldn't stay anymore—” a cough stops you in your tracks. An older vampire with the biggest beard you've ever seen taps his foot impatiently, thick brow raised in annoyance. “Sorry.” You murmur before leaving towards the closed balcony doors.

“Sorry, Santa.” Hobie waves him away, following right behind you as you struggle to open the double doors. “You have to—” he places the glass down to help you by putting his hands above your own. “— love, you have to push the bloody knob.”

His hands felt like how they used to, as if two years hadn't passed. With a click, the doors swing open. “Damnit, I had it.” You step into the cold air, trembling hands resting on the cool marble balcony.

The doors shut close as Hobie tentatively steps closer to you. “You look fit.” You scoff at him as his shoulders heave in an inhale. “I wouldn't leave you.”

“But you did.” You utter under your breath, you know he heard it above the breeze.

“Can I explain myself? I don't want to fight, love.” 250 years together and you've only fought a handful of times, and the serious ones are lesser than the nonsensical ones. With your apprehensive nod, he crosses the small distance, settling himself right next to you and at the same time giving you enough space. “I didn't break it off.” He takes off his mask, sighing heavily as he twirls his ring around his finger. “I should've explained it better.”

You finally meet with his eyes. The ring in your pocket seems to grow heavier. “You were gone for two years, Hobie.”

“For a good cause, I didn't feel like myself and I wanted to be better, not just for you but for myself.” He leans closer to you, the full moon bathing him in silver, the light caught by his piercings. “250 years together, do you think I'd leave you just like that?”

“You didn't have to be better for me. You're already great to me.” Your affectionate words echo in the breeze as his chest clenches, guilt stomping down on him. “I thought you didn't find me fascinating anymore. That you didn't need or want me anymore.” Your voice is small, almost broken. “250 years together could do that, Hobie.”

“I could never not find you fascinatin’, and I get to wake up next to everythin' I could ever need or want. You're anythin’ but.” With a brave hand, he reaches for your cheek, wiping a bloodied tear you didn't notice you've let out. “I thought you got hurt, or worse.”

He feels a tear run down his cheek. Gently taking your mask off of your face, he could finally see you in all your glory. He gazes into your shining eyes— he may not be able to see himself in the mirror, but he doesn't need to when your eyes are enough to reflect his own blissful face.

You lean further into his hold, palms reaching towards his chest like you used to. “D–did you do it? Did you get to do what you wanted to? Are you happy?”

Hobie nods before placing his forehead against yours to savour your close presence. “I did, all that and more. And I've always been happy with you.”

Smiling, you pat his cheek affectionatly. “Then I'm proud of you.” Leaning away, you wipe away a stray tear from his chiseled cheek. “So it was a misunderstanding? You didn't actually break off our…marriage?”

He smiles softly, knuckles gently running along your jaw. “Why’d you hesitate, hm? And yeah, I should've explained myself better. ‘m sorry.”

You thump your fists on his leather clad chest as he chuckles. “You could've saved me from a lot of fucking tears, Hobie.” You can now admire him fully, his outfit is a contrast to the other party goers with their silks and chiffon, but he makes it look good— he always looks this good.

Taking your wrists, placing it atop his still heart, he tilts his head with an affectionate smile. “You didn't answer my question. And you took off your ring.” He raises a questioning brow, fingers bracelets around your wrist as he moves your empty ring finger around. “Were you honestly tryin' to get with that wanker?”

“No,” you say immediately, “And if I remember correctly, we never technically married. I'm only here because they had nice things in the party favors. And I thought, ‘why not? The worst that could happen is that I get a bloody ipad instead of a mustang like I hoped.’” Your lips wobble as you tamp down a sob, eyes getting blurry. “I couldn't replace you just like that. It would take me a thousand years to get over you, you idiot.”

Hobie laughs wholeheartedly, a sound you dearly missed. He pauses then inhales, eyes warmly staring at you through the haze of affection. “Fuck, I missed you so goddamn much.” With a quick pull, he embraces you firmly with his face hidden on the crook of your neck, lips brushing along your throat. “You're right, ‘m an idiot for not explainin’ better, and for not takin’ you with me. ‘m sorry.”

You wrap your arms around him tighter, nose nuzzling his temple. “Could've just told me you were having a mid-life crisis.”

He laughs against your skin. “I sent you letters everyday, you didn't reply.” Subtly, he dances with you from side to side under the moonlight and the music of crickets chirping. “I went home and you weren't there. If I wasn't already dead, you would've given me a heart attack.”

“I couldn't stay there alone.” You hold him impossibly closer. “You weren't there.”

Hobie imagines you in that big house all alone waiting for him. “Fuck, ‘m sorry.”

“I know, I forgive you. Just bring me next time, okay?” He nods with a grin. You lean away, cradling his face in your careful hold, thumbs rubbing along his cheeks. “I'll read your letters, all of them once we get back home.”

“Why read ‘em when I can tell you?” He grins, temptation pushing him to meet with your waiting lips. “‘sides, ‘m a better storyteller than a writer.”

You chuckle softly as he pecks you once, twice then leaning away only to move back with another gentle kiss. “I've got stories to tell too.” You utter against his soft lips.

“Yeah?” He smiles proudly at you. “Can you tell me all about them while your lips are on mine?”

You beam at him. “I can, I have telepathy for a reason, Hobs.”

“Thank fuck for telepathy.” He says as he kisses you fervently just like he always had in 250 years of being together. “I should've married you, lovie.” His words are uttered in between kisses.

“We have time.” You whisper against his smiling lips whilst he picks your pockets and slips your ring in your finger once again.

As you kiss him, you can see that he's already planning the event in his giddy mind. You tell him the three words you've been aching to say back in his head. And in turn, he takes you further into his arms as dark wispy smoke envelopes you both in an embrace. In a blink, you're back home with him. The house feels warm again.

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lance-thunder-reporting-live · 1 year ago

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Good morning Amity Park, I'm your ghostly weatherman, Lance Thunder. Today's Wednesday, November 8, and there’s a 70% chance of rain. Highs are in the low sixties and lows are in the mid forties.

Yesterday, a new optometrist in Amity Park was revealed to be Penelope Spectra, a ghost who has targeted Casper High students twice in the past. She offered teenagers free visits, and planned to steal the eyeballs of the children if she found a pair she liked. Luckily, she never made it that far before being found out and defeated by Danny Phantom.

All three McDonalds in Amity Park were destroyed yesterday by an unknown attacker, along with one subway, and the Burger King.

The Fentons will likely not be driving today.

#unreality #daily report #11/08/06

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sugoi-and-spice · 4 months ago

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Chapter Thirty - Yesterday

Summary: Tomura Shigaraki was her dad’s boss’s son. He was the creep that stole girls’ underwear and tried to grope her in his room. But it’s not like he could get her Dad fired just because she wouldn’t sleep with him, right? …right?

CW: Quirkless!AU, Explicit Smut, Dub-Con, Coercion, Blackmail, Cheating, Sexual Guilt, Humiliation, Unhealthy Relationships, Power Play, Hate to Love, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Slow Burn, Racism

A/N: Yeahhhh, so I ended up splitting the chapter anyway lol It was gonna be like 70+ pages, I freaking had to. So sorry for that wait just for a normal chapter!

Read Full on AO3

[excerpt]

Ugh, his head was killing him.

His neck too, although that wasn’t anything new. Nothing he shouldn’t have expected considering how badly he’d torn into it this time.

Shigaraki really couldn’t remember what about today had been so horrible and overwhelming (or maybe it was yesterday now, considering he had no idea how long he’d been out of it for). At any rate, it wasn’t just one thing, he supposed.

It was the anniversary of the day Sensei got rid of Mon-chan, that day each year was always a rough one. His dreams always seemed to be a lot worse, so he usually made a concerted effort to not sleep the night before, so he was tired. Not to mention the summer weather was sweltering, and it had rained the day before, that hot humidity causing his worn skin to sting in a strangely familiar and disturbing way.

And then he’d gotten to school. God, fucking school.

There were alternating stretches in his life among his school peers, where either they’d be scared of and avoid him, or be superior and bully him. He supposed actually that the former actions — the social isolation they consciously put him through — was technically a form of bullying too, but whatever. There was a difference. There were times where the general collective got a lot more hands on with asserting his pariah status to him.

This week fell during the “hands-on” period of the cycle, as evidenced by the words “die, pervert, die” scribbled across his shoe locker in sharpie. Not to mention the way he was continuously and subtly tripped by the other boys during their gym class. At one point he’d also accidentally bumped into that cute girl that sat next to him — Fuwa he was pretty sure her name was — and she had physically recoiled, whispering and giggling loudly with her friends after about how creepy and nasty he was. Practically making sure that he could hear every word of it.

But honestly, he couldn’t even say that that was the issue that really started to make his skin crawl. He didn’t really notice it much. His homeroom teacher sure had though. She asked him to speak with her in the faculty office during lunch. Expressed concern there over his antisocial behavior and lack of cohesiveness with his peers. Not to mention some of the unsavory rumors she’d overheard about him recently. At the end of the lecture she mentioned that if things didn’t turn around soon, she’d want to speak with his Guardian.

He supposed that’s what he’d ultimately been thinking about when calculus came around that afternoon, his fingers clawing deeper and deeper into the side of his neck as he tried to figure out what to do. Because, what the actual fuck was he supposed to do? How could he turn this around when he wasn’t the one to even put his life in this direction in the first place? He didn’t fucking do anything wrong, didn’t do anything to anybody. He had no control. He was helpless.

Even as he tried to stay in his seat when called up to solve an equation on the board, he could do nothing about it. There would be consequences if he didn’t get up right now. He was completely at the teacher’s mercy. At the other students’ mercy. At his Sensei’s mercy.

At everyone else’s mercy, just like he’d always been.

His life wasn’t his own, it never had been. And he couldn’t fucking take it anymore. He didn’t want to die, but he wanted everyone else to. He wanted everything around him to just crumble away and leave him alone and finally give him some goddamn fucking peace — whatever that was.

Because he couldn’t imagine peace, truly. He’d never had it. All he had was hatred, the desire to destroy everything around him. He hated this school, these fucking people, this life.

Himself.

Jesus, that’s probably what he hated most of all.

And then he didn’t have many more thoughts after that. It was all a blur of screams and people grabbing him and blood loss. Overwhelming pressure and a searing itch that seeped all the way down into his bones.

Yeah it had been bad, even he could admit that. It was pretty hard to deny when the scratching episode had ended with him in a forced stretcher and ambulanceride to the, several stitches, and an express ticket to the stark white intake room of Jaku Hospital’s Psychiatric Ward where little Miss Nurse Ratched was currently watching him like a hawk as he unbuckled his belt.

Seriously, if he wanted a woman to look at him this unimpressed while he undressed, he would’ve accepted a night with one of Sensei’s hookers.

Whatever, it’s not like any of that really bothered him that much now. It was done, he was here. The bitch could glare and gripe at him all she wanted, but what was really irritating him the most about this situation was the pounding in his head. For fuck’s sake, they were in a hospital after all. Was it too much for him to get some goddamn ibuprofen before he took his pants off? The hell kind of operation was Garaki running here?

Free from the loops of his slacks, Shigaraki dropped his belt onto the ground, pointedly next to, but not in, the personal items bin that the Nurse had set out for him.

She didn’t so much as blink at the disrespect, only informed him:

“Dress shirt too.”

Shigaraki shot her a look, “Seriously?”

“You could swallow the buttons,” she explained simply in that obnoxious deadpan.

He scoffed at the explanation, but did start to undo his uniform shirt. Whatever, he figured, as the bloodied collar slackened around his shoulders and into his view. It’s not like he could wear this one again anyway.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to be an asshole about it though.

“Sure you don’t need my pants too? I might make a noose out of them,” he spat as he tore the shirt from his forearms, “Ooh, or how about my underwear? If I’m determined enough, I bet you I could choke on those too.”

The Nurse just stared at him with that completely unimpressed expression.

“Just the shirt will suffice.”

Well, then. He was sure that she was just a blast at parties.

Stripped down just to his black undershirt and school slacks, the Nurse gave him a final onceover. She lingered for a moment on his uwabaki — having been rushed out straight from his math class, he hadn’t had the chance to switch out of them.

“No laces on those?”

“Does it fucking look like it?”

She circled around him, checking the shoes at every angle, before making another mark on her clipboard.

“You can keep those.”

“Well thank God for that.”

She looked up over her clipboard blankly, “You know, we have scrubs we can give you. Then we can skip this whole ordeal.”

Clearly she wished that he’d gone with that option. She wanted this over with just as much as he did. But the reality was that she was wasting her time even more than she realized. The doctor had told him that they were putting him on a 72-hour psychiatric hold sure, but they were fucking idiots if they thought that was actually going to happen.

He shivered a bit as a gust from the AC rushed over him, bringing up his bare arms to wrap around himself.

“I’d prefer you guys give me a jacket or something to put on in here,” he growled, “It’s cold as shit.”

“You can ask your guardian to bring any necessary items like that when you see him,” she explained, not looking at him, “Just make sure he reads all the guidelines first.”

Shigaraki rolled his eyes, because of course they weren’t going to offer him anything actually useful, “Whatever. Is he here yet? Are we done?”

Finally she seemed to be finished with her clipboard, bringing it down to rest at her hip and looking him in the eye.

“He just arrived, actually. Do you want to see him?”

Shigaraki gave her a confused look.

“Wha- yeah? Why the fuck wouldn’t I?”

“I’m just asking,” she explained, “I don’t know what your home-life situation is. And our goal here is to keep you safe and mentally stable. If he’s someone that might upset or trigger you, we want to respect that.”

Shigaraki’s eyes narrowed. God, this bitch was really pissing him off.

“Well I’m fine, so just get me the hell out of here already.”

She didn’t respond for a moment, just stared at him with that blank expression that Shigaraki was quickly realizing was a poker face. She was analyzing him, looking for cracks? Waiting for him to snap or break down or all of it? Whatever her aim was, it had him itching to grab the plastic bin next to him and cuck it right at her.

“This way then,” she finally relented, turning to lead him out of the intake room, “We’ll need you and your guardian to fill out a couple of forms before we can fully admit you.”

“Yeah well, good luck with that,” he said, happy to keep as much of that biting attitude in his voice as possible.

She paused for a moment after typing in her door code, remembering seemingly.

“Oh. One more thing before we go though.”

Continue on AO3

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girlactionfigure · 2 months ago

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A very powerful message from Hillel Fuld: I really don’t think you understand the absolute miracles that we witnessed last night here in Israel. In fact, I am sure you don’t. Let’s break this down. Israel has three air defense systems, each one of them a technological wonder and that’s not me saying it. That’s Dr. Gold who basically invented the Iron Dome who told me that. The level and sophistication of the Iron Dome is simply unparalleled. But the Iron Dome only knows how to detonate short range rockets or missiles within a 70 km range, give or take. Then Israel has the David’s Sling system. That knows how to deal with mid range missiles up to approximately 300 km. Then we have the Arrow system that literally detonates missiles that can fly outside of the earth’s atmosphere. That has a range of about 2,400 km!! 🤯 Last night, as Iran rained down ballistic missiles on Israel, all three defense systems were activated and implemented to perfection. The chances of all of these incredibly complex systems working in unison as flawlessly as they did last night, are basically non existent. If one thing went wrong, if one of those ballistic missiles hit an apartment building, a shopping center, or an army base, we would now be burying hundreds of Israelis. And all of that is not even the biggest miracle. A few hours ago, I got a WhatsApp message from a good friend who is a senior executive at Microsoft and who wasn’t exactly a God fearing Jew. Until yesterday. Here is what he wrote me. “If you’re looking for miracles man - last night I started believing. Missiles hit all around me but none of them hit my house or any house, for that matter.” He elaborated some more and shared info about the missiles that he watched land just meters away from very strategic places in Israel, to say the least. Each one of those defense systems is, in and of itself, pretty miraculous, but what is even more insane is the low casualty numbers from the rockets and missiles that we’re NOT intercepted. Where did those missiles go? I’ll tell you where. They landed in sand, in water, and in “Empty spaces”. Have you been to Israel? It’s a microscopic country. What empty spaces? Where are these empty spaces? 🤷‍♂️ How have hundreds of Iranian ballistic missiles all either get detonated by miraculous systems or totally miss their mark and land in empty spaces causing zero casualties and minimal damage?! How?? Listen, I get it. This thought process begs the question, where was God during the horrible terrorist attack yesterday? Where was He on October 7th? Where was He during the holocaust? All valid questions that require a very serious nuanced conversation. But if you know anything about what had to happen last night and throughout this war in general, for such a low number of casualties, you’ll know that what we witnessed last night was the equivalent of God splitting the sea right before our eyes. Guess what. When God split the sea, there were those who didn’t believe it was a miracle and didn’t jump in. And there are also those who feel the need to explain it naturally. Ok, that’s fine. You don’t want to call yesterday an act of God? That’s your choice, but like my Microsoft friend, if you look at these events objectively, you’d have a really hard time seeing those hundreds of deadly missiles land in empty spaces and not see the hand of God. Last night was an incredible display of the collaboration between two of the powers that protect the Jewish people: The IDF and Hashem. Last night will go down in history right alongside many of Israel’s accomplishments in this war including the beepers and the unprecedented low ratio between combatant and civilian, as a military operation the likes of which the world has never seen. Ever! Last night will be analyzed by military strategists and experts for generations. Last night, we witnessed history. Last night we witnessed open miracles. Last night, we witnessed God in all His glory watching over His children.

#Israel #Iran #Ballistic Missiles #IDF #Hashem

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cyandreamz · 4 months ago

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✭ Trucy Wright ✭

Yesterday I drew Trucy and I really like how this picture looks, definitely my favourite out of the 4 AA sketchbook page drawings I did and will be the last one (at least for now, may go and do more in future if I feel like it).

Didn't change a lot lot of her canon outfit aside from making the brooch gold instead of sliver, to match the gold earring, buttons(?) and accents on the cape. And I also changed her boot design as the original boots looked too much like rain boots to me (which works for her child design but, even at 15 rain boots feel too juvenile imo). So after much thought on different boot designs (even considered white Demonia's!) I realised that go-go boots look really similar to rain boots, and decided that they'd actually work for Trucy! Especially since the shape of her dress does kinda remind me of the silhouette of a lot of mid-late 60s dresses and go-go boots (while more associated with the 70s) I'm pretty sure are from late 60s so it works (hopefully!).

Now for some hc's:

Her and pearl are childhood friends

She has a really good vocal range and is pretty decent at doing accents thanks to performing Mr.Hat from a young age, I like to think Mr.Hat has a really deep masculine voice and a fancy British accent

She is bi because the idea of her coming out to Phoenix and him just going "same" is funny to me

Trucy runs social media accounts for Wright anything agency, however most posts on the WAA accounts are re-sharing posts from her Trucy Gramarye social media accounts (she manages 6-8 accounts total across like 5 different sites, how she does it no one knows), which further adds to people not realising most employees at WAA are defense attorneys.

#ace attorney #ace attorney fanart #ace attorney art #ace attorney headcanon #trucy wright #traditional art #sketchbook art #sketchbook page #artists on tumblr #cyanart #cyansketchbook #cyanfanart #cyanaa

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ujimoo · 1 year ago

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SMITTEN - Part Six

summary | Jisung never knew the best thing that could happen to him would come from annoying his best friends.

pairing | han jisung x reader

a.n | sorry there isn’t a read more section. i’m on my phone and unable to add one! will try and add one when i can. Also a big thanks again to @awooghan for being my go to for edits/running ideas by and all round bestie!<3

a.a.n | not completely edited, sorry for any silly mistakes!

—

You stare at yourself in the mirror, smoothing out the outfit you had just put on. When your eye catches the several other discarded clothes tossed onto your bed, you let out a deep sigh.

You’re blaming the weather for your multiple outfit changes. It’s hard to look cute when you don’t know if it’ll rain today. This has nothing at all to do with your date– fake date with Jisung.

Why would you be worried? He’s just a client, not to mention Hyunjin and Felix’s best friend. And it wasn’t like that was the weirdest way someone has asked to schedule a date…

Shivering at the thought, you slip on your trainers and grab your bag before heading out into the hallway.

The door to the living room is wide open with Lily and Rose lounging across the couch. Hearing the voice of a familiar actor, you stand at the doorway and gasp offendedly when you see what they’re watching.

“What the hell?!”

Both Lily and Rose look over and shrug.

A pout forms on your lips and you cross your arms across your chest. “We’re meant to be watching this together, assholes.”

“Thirst waits for no woman,” Lily laughs to herself, sinking further down into the sofa.

“Then get a drink,” you retort, rolling your eyes.

“Shh.” Rose holds a finger up to you. “Don’t you have a date to get to?”

“He’s a client.”

“One that you should be getting to, you’re going to be late.”

Quickly checking your watch, you curse to yourself before rushing to the door.

“Have fun!” Lily and Rose call out.

Before closing it completely, you stick your head back through the small gap, yelling out, “Don’t you dare watch more without me!”

—

Jisung stares at his shoes as he waits for you to show up. He digs one foot into the grass, twisting it back and forth until he realises he’s just making his shoe dirty. The pure white sole of his Converse would be tainted, and render the thirty minutes he took scrubbing them the other day useless. And these are his good pair, too! He can’t have you catching him dead in dirty shoes, especially his favourite ones.

He instead opts to bounce his leg up and down as he watches a couple snuggle under a tree. Maybe he shouldn’t have come twenty minutes early, but he’s just too excited. How can he not when he has your undivided attention for almost two hours? Maybe you two could be cuddling somewhere— Jisung stops his thoughts short. He can’t jump too far ahead, after all. It’s only the first date— fake date.

Looking down at his outfit, he sighs. He told you when you messaged him yesterday to keep it casual. However, looking at himself now, maybe he went a completely different direction. A white buttoned-up shirt, dark skinny jeans and a pair of sunglasses on his head? He felt like a 70s biker guy straight from Grease… and a foolish one, at that.

He didn’t change that many times. It was no more than three, if you don’t count the number of times he changed just the pants alone. It’s just nothing felt impressive enough, it was your first date– fake date of four. Jisung was on a time limit, he had to woo you and he’s willing to do what it takes.

He looks up when he hears footsteps rushing towards him. You have your bag thrown over your shoulder and your hair is blowing behind you as you run to him.

Jisung can’t help it when his face turns red, a small dopey smile taking control of his lips.

When you stop in front of him, you’re basically dry-heaving for air. Leaning forward, one hand resting on your knee and holding the other up. While at the same time trying not to mentally curse yourself out for how un-cute you feel at that moment.

“Gimme,” you gasp. “One second.”

Chuckling, Jisung nods, and the dopey smile stays on his lips. “It’s fine, don’t worry, take your time.”

You run a hand through your hair to try and tame it. You stand back up straight, matching Jisung’s smile when you notice it.

“I’m sorry I’m late, I promise next time I won’t be.”

“You’re fine,” Jisung affirms. “You’re right on time.”

You don’t need to say anything else, but the look in your eyes is enough for Jisung to tell that you’re thankful. It was only a simple response, but it was enough to bring comfort to you.

“So…” you begin, mindlessly fiddling at the strap on your shoulder. “Where are we going?”

Motioning you to walk, you both begin to slowly wander from the courtyard and out of campus.

“I thought that sometimes the simpler things work well.”

You tilt your head at him, not really understanding what he means and when he notices, he continues.

“We should get to know each other right?” He asks and you nod silently. “So we’ll walk, talk, get to know each other’s deepest and darkest secrets and get some ice cream whilst we do.”

“Deepest and darkest secrets?” You laugh.

Jisung pushes his lips into a line, nodding his head slowly.

“Yes, but you can only find them out after we’ve gotten ice cream.”

“So, where do we begin? If we have to wait for ice cream.”

You watch Jisung as he laughs to himself and you have to tell your heart to keep calm as you notice the way his face lights up as he does so.

You turn your head to look away and clear your throat. When you look back at him, he’s already gazing at you.

He’s smiling lightly and you’re not sure how, but his eyes look like they’re sparkling. “Tell me about yourself.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Anything, everything.” His smile somehow grows.

“Well,” you hum, thinking to yourself. “Where do I begin?”

“I know you work with my best friends,” Jisung comments.

“True, I do and they’re great friends and co-workers.” You smile, “which means if you’re friends with them, it must mean you’re pretty great too.”

Jisung is sure his cheeks are red when your words grace his ears.

You don’t know it, but you’re just adding more reasons to the list of why Jisung is so drawn to you. Because, sure, maybe he can’t pinpoint a single reason, but he sure could give you an essay full.

“Well, we all work together, obviously, my one friend was the one to come up with the idea of the business.”

“So why do you work there?” Jisung asks, causing you to look at him.

“I mean, even though it was my friend’s idea, we all helped to bring it to what it is today. I work there 'cause it’s fun, you meet so many people you know?”

“You do seem a lot more outgoing than I am,” Jisung hums in amusement.

Shrugging your shoulders in response, you look at him with a smile. “You seem plenty outgoing, to me at least.”

“Nah, not really, I just pretend to be you know? But in actual fact, people can be scary.”

“That is very much true.”

Before you knew it, you were both standing outside the ice cream shop. Jisung holds the door open for you and you both seem to sigh happily at the a/c cooling you down.

You tug your bottom lip between your teeth in thought as your eyes scan the menu. Jisung watches you silently with a small smile on his lips. You’re so focused on going over the menu, it’s like you can’t sense the world around you.

He leans closer to you. “What’ya going to get?”

You practically jump out of your skin causing Jisung to burst into laughter as a result. Pushing him away lightly, you turn away from him, wishing for the a/c to cool your face down.

“I’m sorry,” Jisung tries to speak, but he can barely get the words out as he continues to laugh.

“Sure,” you mumble sarcastically.

“I am, I am, I promise.”

You’re not sure how he can smile so widely for so long, but at the same time, you didn’t want him to stop. “To prove it, you can ask whatever you want.”

Your eyes widen, a giggle escaping your lips.

“Your deepest and darkest secret.”

He clicks his fingers and points at you. The brightest smile you had ever seen on his face. “You got it.”

“But seriously,” Jisung’s laughter calms down. “What are you going to get?”

Your lip gutters out as your eyes go back to the menu. It really was too much choice and you felt like you could take all day to choose if you were given the chance.

“Why don’t you surprise me?”

He puts his hands on your shoulders, turns you around and pushes you lightly towards the door. “Wait outside, I’ll bring you the surprise as soon as it’s done.”

—

When you’re outside, you silently wonder if Jisung would notice if you went back inside to take advantage of the store’s A/C. However, you actually wait, somewhat patiently, outside.

Moving out of the way of a couple entering the store hand in hand, you let out a small sigh. What you had told Jisung earlier was true, you did enjoy meeting new people and the scheduled dates were nice. It was rare you had a bad one, some were awkward, but they were generally alright.

But this didn’t mean you didn’t miss having actual romance in your life. You wanted to see someone just because you wanted to and to have someone hold your hand and kiss your face. Whether or not you’d actually admit it aloud was another thing, but inside, your heart was just as desperate for love as the next person.

There wasn’t long to dwell on the thought though as you notice Jisung attempting, and failing, to open the door with his hands full. It was something out of a sketch show making you laugh to yourself for a moment before giving in and actually helping him in his efforts.

He’s soon outside with you without too much fuss and he’s standing there like a child who’s been let loose in a candy store.

“Your surprise ice cream,” he giggles to himself, the ice cream in full display in front of you.

He had gone the classic route, a full ice cream sundae. However, this was not your average sundae with bananas, cherries, whipped cream and a layer of hundreds and thousands. Except, this was in Jisung’s words: “A Jisung Special.”

“There’s whipped cream with chocolate and strawberry sauce, biscuit crumbles. Actual strawberries to simulate this being healthy, all on a bed of cheesecake ice cream, strawberry ice cream and vanilla ice cream.”

You’re smiling before you even know it. Taking it from him, the cool chill from the ice cream carton makes its way through your fingertips. “Why do I feel like this is something you get a lot.”

Jisung shrugs, as he shoves the mini plastic spoon into his own ice cream sundae and brings it up to his mouth in one swoop.

It’s honestly adorable that as soon as he tastes the concoction of his ice cream sundae, he does a little dance in place. It’s like he’s physically holding himself back from busting out a move just from how good the ice cream is.

Taking your own spoon and copying his actions, you take your own bite of the sundae in front of you.

It’s dance-worthy, so so dance-worthy. It’s like the flavours are having their own little party in your mouth, you swore you had never thought to put these things together until now. It’s a seemly obvious choice now that it’s been made aware to you.

“This is… This is amazing!”

Jisung’s laughter fills your ears once more and you never thought you could be as content as you are now.

“See, I told you!”

Before you know it, you’re both wandering again, picking at your sundaes and talking about anything and everything that comes to mind.

“Oh!” You say suddenly, pointing your spoon in Jisung’s direction. “Your deepest and darkest secret!”

“What about it?” Jisung smiles, tilting his head at you.

“Tell me, you promised after all.”

Jisung nods his head to himself, his lips in a thin line again as he thinks to himself. You’re waiting in anticipation, wondering what words will fall from his lips.

“I got it!” Jisung hums.

He stops walking and stares at you with a look in his eyes that you can’t detect. His eyes twinkle and you’re not entirely sure if he’s tearing up.

“My deepest and darkest secret…” He glances away, sighs and nods to himself before looking back at you. “To be honest, I cry at superhero movies a lot, like a lot a lot.”

Your mouth drops slightly, unsure of how to take this news. You can’t read Jisung well enough yet to know if he’s joking or being without a doubt serious. The little crack of a smile clues you into his joke.

Raising an eyebrow, you look at him. “Crying at superhero movies?”

Jisung nods.

“No one ever asks how they’re doing, they’re always expected to be strong.”

“I guess that makes sense…” You mumble to yourself. “So no other deeper darker secret?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest.

Jisung nods again, “Cross my fingers.”

You blink at him in confusion.

“That’s not the saying?”

“Are you sure?” He smiles again before holding his hand up to form a finger heart.

You break into a smile, unable to stop the laughter escaping you. Jisung looks at you contently as he watches you laugh to yourself. His heart skips a beat, confirming more to himself how if he could be the one to make you laugh like this forever, he’d take it and then some.

With all of your walking and talking, it’s gotten later in the day and when your laughter starts to calm down, you hold up your hand to block the sunlight from getting into your eyes.

He’s swift about it, you don’t even realise it’s happening until it’s happened when Jisung removes his sunglasses from the top of his head and delicately slides them onto your face.

If anyone were to ask, you’d blame your heated cheeks on the sun sending its rays directly at you. You’d ignore the way your heart picks up the pace as you feel the heat emanating from his fingers and how you miss it when he pulls them away.

“Is that better?” Jisung asks, his voice so soft that you barely hear it.

You’re unable to talk, not trusting your voice as you nod. His smile makes you lightheaded and you’re honestly not sure how you’re going to cope.

—

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dbtucson-blog · 3 months ago

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It has been hot. Not June hot when it’s like a very dry oven, but monsoon hot. Small humidity when you’re from other parts of the country but stifling combined with the heat.

The heat is what pumps the monsoon moisture our way and for the bulk of the entire summer we have had much higher than normal monsoonal moisture to deal with. Typically it will rain for a few days to a week or two, then dry out for a few days and back into it. This year it has been relentlessly sticky. And when the humidity is high our temperatures don’t drop at night like they do when it’s dry. For weeks we were lucky if the nighttime low fell below 80.

At 71 years old, Tumamoc Time is an important part of my life. It gets me back in shape when I fall ill or suffer a physical injury. In shape or not it inspires me day or night with a front row “seat” to the beauty of the desert and the changes of the land, plants, animals and sky over the course of the day, and the year.

People ask, “When do you go up Tumamoc.” I say, “When it’s closest to 70 degrees.” Lately the closest has been still above 80 and sweaty so my trips to the hill have been fewer. But when I get back I can feel the change almost immediately, even if it takes me a month or more to make it to the top again. And I AM back on the hill, albeit in the dead of night.

Yesterday felt like June for the first time since May. And the continually damp weather has stalled a desert mission I’ve been trying to get done, well, since June I guess.

I’ve been working on a ten-year project with performance artist Laura Milkins called The Forty Seasons. Each season we do an environmental portrait somewhere in southern Arizona. Logistically it’s stressful but it’s always so much fun when it’s happening. We might have an idea going into it that goes straight out the window once we get to the location. Laura is a superb improvisor who finds grand and intimate things to do in a landscape. Occasionally I manage to keep up. My work mainly comes later.

In the spring we ended up improvising both the location and the rest, and as typically takes place, a half dozen or so distinct improvisational segments took place that were worth editing. Without spoiling it, one involved a particular saguaro that just happened to be where we decided to start shooting. And what happened was spontaneous and beautiful. Just shot at the wrong time of day. Still, it gave me an idea for our next shoot. And so I went back to see if I could find one saguaro in a forest of them.

Cut to the chase, I did not.

Yet.

In the northern part of the Ironwood National Forest is a striking mountain range that almost looks like the back of a Stegosaurus. I used to see this armor plated, jagged hunk of rock from Avra Valley in the 1970s when I was a geology student at UA doing field work for a geomorphology and remote sensing class. About seven years ago I figured out how to get there. And on average I’ve been back about once a week wherever possible ever since. There’s a lot to take it and it looks so different from various locations on the stretch of dirt road that runs alongside. A tiny bit of elevation shows you what a forest of saguaros this is. But there’s so much more.

In the past couple of years I’ve started to notice the ripple of ridges that parallels its length, each rise growing higher and higher as you approach the mountain from the road. The crests are only 100 feet or so high, but that’s 100 feet higher than the one before. So you’re climbing constantly, trying to avoid cholla and prairie dog holes and rattlesnakes and the critters that are watching you that you likely will have no awareness of unless the wind shifts and you catch their scent.

Naturally this was the backdrop to my needle in the haystack quest. And it was around 100 degrees when I headed there in the late afternoon, also seeking to know when the shadow of the mountain would overtake that saguaro. So I was working against the clock, and all common sense.

Going into today’s attempt I knew where I had parked and had a GPS anchor to take me there. I knew that we had started walking straight in from the road toward the mountain. Things were fairly familiar at the start because I’ve worked from this parking spot before. But the further out you get, the more uncertainty there is about how far off to the north or south you might have traveled. That was the challenge.

And then there was the actual experience.

I love the last couple of hours of the day in the desert, particularly toward the end of summer. It’s less intense than at the solstice but still beautiful in the way it touches the highest parts of the landscape at different times and changes your whole perception of where you are.

As it turns out, that section of the desert floor wasn’t shaded by the mountain this time of year at all. Good to know for a future dusk shoot. Yes, I could look this up in the Photographer’s Ephemeris but there’s no substitute for using your own eyeballs to watch the transition into dusk and darkness.

My job was to find the saguaro and see how things looked when shadows started to engulf that section of landscape. But I was carrying an actual camera and a phone with a good camera, and I did need to stop to wheeze now and then. The shots I took are not the best. More of a quick snapshot thing rather than a seriously composed shot. But weak as they are they carry a little bit of the beauty of the rapidly changing light in the desert in early September, in a year when the desert has been made “lush” with above average rain.

Looking forward to expanding my search. Patience and endurance are the secret superpowers of the elderly.

#arizona #danielbuckleyproductionsllc #saguaro #sonoran desert #tucson #ironwood forest national monument #desert #daniel buckley #cactus #photographers on tumblr #end of day #shadows #lush desert

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captainmartinisblog · 29 days ago

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After the Floods….

Wednesday 30th October 2024 – Valencia, Spain.

Yesterday, the port of Valencia was closed. Apparently, a year’s worth of rain fell in the area over just 8 hours and at least 72 people were killed in flash floods. Fortunately, in the 60s-70s and following a disastrous flood in 1957, they built a flood channel around the city, diverting the Turia River. However, while this spared the city from flooding this time, even the flood channel was overwhelmed by the amount of rain, flooding vast areas around the city. Consequently, the city was effectively cut-off from the outside world; even the airport was closed. Thankfully though, the port was opened again this morning, and Sea Cloud II tied up alongside.

My excursion this morning was entitled ‘Historic Valencia and the Modern World of Calatrava’. Born in the Valencia Province in 1951, Santiago Calatrava is today a prolific modern architect with a distinctly recognisable style.

He was commissioned to design a number of major public buildings in a small section of what was the dried-up Turia river-bed but which is today an 8km long city park – the ‘green lung’ of the city.

Developed 1998-2005, his buildings include an Imax Theatre, an Opera House (very much like that in Tenerife), a Science Museum, a Cultural Arts Centre and a vast open ‘conservatory’. They are all set-off against pools of clear blue water and are stunning.

From the ultra-modern to the historic, we next entered the old city at the 15th century Serranos Gate, one of 12 gates in the medieval city walls, hardly anything of which today remains.

The city was founded by the Romans and enlarged by the Moors and it was the city’s main Mosque that was later turned into what is today Valencia Cathedral.

At the same time, they built the Holy Grail Chapel.

As to whether the ‘Grail’ displayed was actually held by Jesus Christ, the notes just say, “there is nothing to prove it wasn’t”! Hmm.

One hidden gem nearby is the Plaza Redonda, an enclosed circular ‘square’ used as a market, hidden within the city maze of medieval streets. It was too difficult to photograph….

Another gem though is the central market hall, an Art Nouveau masterpiece and nearby stands the Silk Exchange (1492-1533) in gothic style.

The city was once famous for its silk-making and the trading hall is quite impressive.

Almost as impressive were the churros with hot chocolate sauce I finished my tour with before returning to the ship!

Sea Cloud II departed Valencia around 4pm and put to sea, headed for Cartagena…..

#valencia #cruise ships #sea cloud cruises #mediterranean #spain #sea cloud ii

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crepesuzette2023 · 10 months ago

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What’s a fic that made you cry ?

Thank you for asking—and for immediately sending me off on a brief 'meta' slingshot trajectory around my own navel! (Don't worry, I'll answer your question.)

Your ask reminded me of the fact that I almost never cry over stories. I either enjoy them, or I'm shaking with rage, if they're too painful. For a story to hit the sweet spot of undiluted sadness, of simply being moved, without spouting angry tirades in my mind trying to argue with the sad events of the story, is pretty special.

For this reason, the stories your ask made me think of are among my favorites. Sorry if I mentioned some of them before, but here we are.

(I'll mention some spoiler-y and hopefully brief explanations under the cut.)

Miracle Worker by @scurator. Still Mates by @pauls1967moustache. The late, great, johnny ace by @midchelle. Coast Starlight by bookofapril. All I Know Since Yesterday by RedheadAmongWolves.

I guess what the three quote unquote saddest stories in this list have in common, to me, is that they're a big, noble Fuck You to the ultimate adversary, everyone's final lover, the great oblivion, etc.: Death—while at the same time summoning its inevitability. It will get you, even if you love a Beatle. Even if you are one.

So, you better hold on tight and make the most of it while you can (she says, typing these lines on tumblr while seizing the fuck out of her instant coffee flavor).

Miracle Worker is about Paul and Robert Fraser making love after John's death. It's about death, and fading physical beauty, and the untarnished beauty between them. The guttering flame. Yes, it's very hot, and both sad and invigorating—like a good cry, but without the ugliness of anything as overt as crying.

Still Mates is about Peter Asher giving himself permission to reject a life of politely closeted desire by sleeping with Paul, his sister's ex, in '68. It's a story about courage, and the ability to face who you are and who you want. I'm sorry for sounding like a movie trailer. It's also a fantastically realized outsider's perspective on the beauty of J/P turning ugly, and on the mystery surrounding this legendary relationship—the elusiveness of Paul's soul is in striking contrast with Peter's hot but mundane physical closeness to Paul, the man.

The late, great johnny ace is a ghost story that denies being a ghost story, but at the last moment can't resist reaching for comfort. (At least that's what I choose to believe.) Paul, George and Ringo make a record in 1981. Paul writes Here Today. The ghost is John. The 'at the end of all things' atmosphere is shattering, but the music in Paul's soul, and the surviving bonds of friendship, and, just possibly, John's ghost, prevail.

Bonus: crying/tears without sadness

Sometimes a story is so beautiful it makes my eyes well up with it.

Coast Starlight is about a world where Paul and Robert Fraser are together in the 70's, and they're vacationing on Fire Island, and they fuck a lot, each other and others (together), and it's fine. More than fine. It's heaven on earth. As I said before, I really can't do this story justice. The relief (what a weak word) I felt in the end, when Paul realizes he can let go of his burdens and be loved for who he is (by Robert, who is giving this to him), nearly had me speaking in tongues of the awesome power of fiction.

All I Know Since Yesterday is about two teenagers in love, without either of them having told the other. They're sheltering at one of their houses after being caught in a rain storm, and dream about the future. A future with each other. And, finally, they kiss. The teenagers are John and Paul. And what I love about the story is that you feel throughout that this is the beginning of something big. The kiss is both sweet and elemental.

#fic recs #asks #mclennon #mclennon fanfiction #the beatles fanfiction #makes me cry fic recs

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perrydowning · 1 year ago

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My first birthday without him

Today I turned 47. The last time I celebrated a birthday without my beloved husband was my 25th. I met him seven weeks after that and everything changed. For the first time in my life, I felt precious. I felt like enough. I felt safe.

So now, 22 years later, I am again without him. But I'm not alone, as such. I still feel like enough, I still feel safe. I know I will always be precious to him, but in this one way time is frustratingly linear. He always said I was his flower and he was my gardener. I'm trying so hard to keep my petal-wreathed head up high, to turn my face to the sun, dance in the rain. But I've lost some sparkle.

As ever, my tribe handled it perfectly. I had no idea how I'd feel, so I wanted low-key. If I needed to sob in bed I wanted the space for that. Folks were very understanding and gentle.

I didn't accept support until yesterday when I made plans with my brother from another mother to watch a Buck Rogers marathon while eating tacos. Shiny spandex and feathered '70s sci-fi was exactly what I needed.

I'm okay. Today I'm okay.

#personal #mrdowning

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fieldofdaisiies · 2 years ago

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Sunny one so true, I love you

first chapter of an Elucien story for the ACOTAR writing circle ship: Elucien word count: 2k words warnings: none, just a little suggestive thank you so much @azrielshadowssing for organising this writing circle, it was sooo lovely writing this and I am very happy to take part if it💛 this is now the first part of a story of an Elucien AU, the other parts you will find on the masterlist, they will be written by two other authors.

An amused smile on his lips, Lucien leans his shoulder against the doorframe, giving Elain, who has not yet noticed him, a once over. He pulls his lower lip between his teeth, watching the Archeron sister’s concentrated expression, her beautiful fawn eyes trained on the tablet in front of her, a cup of coffee tipped to her full and rosy lips. God, she is so gorgeous, Lucien thinks, but can also be such a feisty little thing.

The early morning sunlight casts the room and Elain in a beautiful glow. Her skin looks so soft, Lucien thinks. Her hair shines like golden threads have been spun into it. He loves when Elain has her hair open, she looks like a princess, like a faery–a forest faery. Lucien’s eyes trail a little lower, to the stupid green dress she is wearing. It is not stupid actually. It is just so…distracting.

On the radio soft music is playing, something from the 70s, 80s?

Sunny, yesterday my life was filled with rain

Sunny, you smiled at me and really eased the pain

It fits, Lucien thinks and when finally being done with regarding her silently, he pushes off the wall, making himself known.

“Morning.” Drawling, Lucien stretches out the word, his low and raspy morning voice brushing over Elain’s skin like a cat’s tail—a fox’s tail. Choking on her coffee, she spits half of the sip she has just taken back into the cup, knuckles turning white from how tightly she holds the mug. Elain brings a hand up and brushes her thumb over the corner of her lips, the movement not going unnoticed by Lucien.

And talking about Lucien…It is amazing living with him, brilliant, Elain thinks. So brilliant. It has been such a brilliant idea that her best friend Vassa has had.

Elain had been offered the last empty room in the shared flat of Vassa, Lucien and Jurian after her not so wonderful relationship with the economy student Graysen went downhill and ended in an over-dramatic break up (from Graysen’s side).

Vassa still thinks this to be perfect — she could finally live together with her best friend, her other best friend and her boyfriend.

Elain likes living with her best friend as well, there is no doubt about that. And also Jurian is a nice companion, but one person is a problem.

Lucien. Lucien Vanserra. Even his name on her lips does things to her. Things she does not like. Similar things to what his voice does to her and her toes that are still curled in her socks.

“Morning,” she grumbles, lips still placed on the edge of the coffee mug, eyes still focused on the IPad in front of her where she is reading through the newest article on winter blooming plants, trying to figure out which ones she could keep on the balcony and which ones would have to move into her room. She does not want to look at him yet. She knows he will look gorgeous with is ruffled morning hair, sleep written over his face, he is most definitely shirtless as usual and wears his idiotic grey sweatpants.

“Why so grumpy, sunshine?” Lucien chuckles, strolling past her. His arm softly brushes her when he passes her and Elain is fully convinced that this was not on accident.

He loves to tease her. Great gods, it seems sometimes that it is Lucien’s only purpose in life to tease and taunt her any chance he gets to do so.

And god, his scent. It still lingers in the air from when he passed her. Spicy, rich, lush and sweet at once—delicious.

“Breakfast?”

A crease appears on her forehead, her brow raising when she reluctantly lifts her gaze and then her mug, waving it in front of Lucien’s vision. “I am having breakfast right here, right now, Lucien.”

She loves pronouncing his name wrong, teasing him, and a grin appears on her lips.

“It is Lucien, sweetheart.” He wants to add that she should remember it for when she has to moan it in the bedroom, but keeps his mouth shut as it seems out of place somehow.

Elain continues grinning, eyes glowing brightly with mischief. “And yes, sunny, you are having a coffee. I was talking about proper breakfast. What do you want?”

You to leave me alone, Elain thinks, already feeling warmth creep into her cheeks. Not only warmth. She is sure there is a deep red staining to her skin at his words. He offered her breakfast? Lucien offered her breakfast!

And actually….he should not leave her alone. She wants him to stay. But he needs to stop teasing her, it makes her blush and feel hot and she knows that Lucien enjoys this a little too much. Oh, and there it is–this silly smile that breaks out every time he does something like that. It is different to the grin. There is this smile that somehow seems to be reserved for Lucien, this smile that is much more honest.

Sunny, thank you for the smile upon your face

Sunny, thank you for the gleam that shows its grace

This silly smile that Elain always tries to avoid from spreading over her face by either biting the insides of her cheeks or her lower lip. But this time she fails and is now sitting here, smiling at the male with the fiery red her and gods!

It is the first time she truly allows her to take in his figure this morning. And damn her — Elain has been right about everything she thought earlier.

Lucien he—The breath gets knocked from her lungs, her lips parting when her eyes slowly start exploring. Trailing over the gentle features of his face, his lean nose, the high cheek bones, the sharp jawline, she finds herself glancing lower. Her eyes trail over his strong muscles, his pecs that…did he just flex them?

Lucien chuckles low in his throat, his chest rumbling, the sound so raw and whole-hearted, it has Elain’s toes curling once again. She knows her cheeks are a beetroot red when she finally snatches her eyes back up to meet his gaze. Only for a split second has she allowed herself to move her gaze even lower. To the solid muscles of his torso, the V disappearing behind those lose sweatpants that really leave nothing to imagination.

He is stunning, alright?

Elain accepts her defeat, her gaze still locked with Lucien’s. The early morning sunlight falls perfectly into the room. It is early autumn, the faint orange light making Lucien’s skin glow. Elain inhales a breath, her dreamy eyes trying hard to stay focused on Lucien’s face. How dare he be so handsome? It should be forbidden. It should also be forbidden to go without shirt most of the time? What would he say if she did that?

Something like mischief is etched into his features, his eyes of russet aglow, sparkling with all sorts of emotions when Lucien tilts his head to the side. His lips curl in a feline, almost cruel way when he crosses his arms over his chest, his biceps flexing. “When you are done checking me out, sunshine, do you mind answering my question?” “Stop calling me sunshine!” Elain protests and once again avoids his question. Lucien’s lips form a dramatic pout and he pushes of the counter, strolling towards the table Elain sits at. “You are a sunshine,” he argues, his hands coming down on the table, bracing them on there which makes the muscles in his arms ripple.

Elain rolls her eyes, snorting. Her heart beats in her throat, her cleavage prickling and definitely turning a shade darker, also her neck and her already red cheeks. “Am not.” “You totally are. Look at you, lighting up every room you walk into with just your smile. And the flowers you grow on our balcony? You must have some sunshine inside of you otherwise this would not be possible,” Lucien hums, the genuine and kind side of him reaching the surface, making an incredibly beautiful smile appear on his face.

You are a sunshine, Elain thinks and cocks her head, laughing softly. She regards him silently for a moment, their gazes meeting. Lucien is smiling, his heartbeat increasing, a faster but steady beat in his chest,

Tapping two fingers on the table, Lucien straightens up and lets his gaze trail over Elain once. Yeah, she is stunning and what he has said about her being a sunshine that could light up every room she walked it no, has been 100% the truth. She truly is like the sun. Bright, stunning, warm, incredibly. Lighting up his life with just living in this flat. But she is definitely too good for him, so…

Elain smiles, a little sheepishly, when the butterflies break loose in her belly.

“That’s it!” Lucien expresses and points at her. “Sunshine smile. See, I am sure the room just got brighter.” He wiggles his brows, watching Elain shake her head, chuckling softly at his foolishness.

“I am getting impatient now. So?” Lucien once again stretches out the word, lips curling, his eyes glowing so very brightly when they fully focus on Elain. “Breakfast?”

Elain wiggles her foot on the floor and parts her lips— “Did I hear breakfast, brother?” With that, and with Vassa in tow Jurian marches into the kitchen, drawing an almost annoyed growl from Lucien. Oh, has he wished to be alone with Elain just a little longer. But no, obviously those two idiots have to destroy their moment once again. Well, Lucien is incredibly happy that Vassa even brought Elain here so he cannot really be mad at her, but still, she interrupted their moment.

Back then when Elain was first here in this flat, she still was with the idiot Grayson and he always had to watch her from afar. But now she is here and he can talk to her, tease and taunt her and watch her blush so very much. He loves it. Loves seeing her blush, seeing her grin, hearing her laugh. Her laugh–the most beautiful sound in the entire world, to his mind.

“Yes, breaky!” Jassa cheers, plopping down on the chair next to Elain and places her hand on the Archeron sister’s.

The girl with the fiery red hair wiggles her brows, a viscous grin plastering her face. “Or were you just enjoying some alone time?”

In unison and quick like a shot, both Elain and Lucien say, “No!”

Vassa roars a whole-hearted laugh, tipping her head back. “So cute you two. Now, what do we get for breakfast?”

Actually, Lucien has planned to make Elain her favourite breakfast – waffles, pancakes, fruits–things she loves. Things she eats on weekends because during the week she has not enough time, as Lucien has noticed. Now he has wanted to make her those things, so she does not have to waste her time but still gets her favourite things also on a weekday. But well…

“Whatever you want,” Lucien mumbles, hand reaching for the pan, flipping it into the air and catching it with an ease that is beyond Elain. A soft, silent gasp leaves her, eyes going wide. A calm cackle slips through Vassa’s lips and she squeezes her best friend’s hand. “Wondering if he is also as skilled at other things as he is at flipping pans?”

Elain turns her hand and pinches her best friend, rolling her eyes. Nevertheless a dark shade of red fills her burning cheeks, her skin prickling just once again because she is no pondering about what Vassa has suggested.

“Then I want–“ Lucien points the pan at Jurian and squints his eyes. “Not you.” He grins, turning on his heel, now the pan pointed at Elain. “I need to rephrase it. Whatever you want, sunny.”

Her breathing stops for a split second, her eyes widening when Elain glances back up at Lucien. His grin reaches from one ear to the other.

“Pancakes? And a fruit salad to round everything up?”

The Archeron sister’s lips part but no words leave her mouth. “Perfect. That’s it, Jurian, get up, help chop the fruits.”

~~~~~~~~

tags: @rippahwrites @shadowhunter2003 @my-inner-crisis @ladyelain @acourtofthought @itwasalwaysaboutthetea @multifictional @moonlightazriel @aayo-whatt @brekkershadowsinger

#elucien #elain x lucien #acotarwritingcircle

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