#the walled city of manila

[postcard-from-the-past]

The Walled City Of Manila, Philippines, on the Louisiana Purchase Exposition in St. Louis, 1904

American vintage postcard

[visualcamper]

Explore the Significance of Fort Santiago in Philippine History

[alicenowonderland]

THE WALLED CITY, INTRAMUROS 🧱

[ebodebo]

Tough As Nails—Cowboy Like Me

thinking about cowboy!simon riley… | part four |

<- previous

The beginning of August usually brings the peak of summer warmth, but unfortunately for you, it seems the end of July supplied the real heat—just not in the ways you had expected. 

Even all of two weeks after your encounter with Sam, you seethed. Harsh anger and heat spread through your being, boding for a tiny little catalyst to ignite your flame. And you weren't the only one feeling the feverish heat.

To say that Simon was angry would be a gross understatement. A storm has been brewing inside him ever since he pulled up to that shitty dive-bar, seeing you sitting on the dirty curb, smudged mascara dripping down your plump cheek, tainting your beautiful face, eyes blood-shot and swollen. Your voice strained and cracked as you said his name, questioning if it was really him. 

The real nail on the coffin was what you had confessed to him in his truck. Sam had insinuated you were a slut. Simon's muscles tightened, and his jaw clenched every time he remembered what that deprived asshole told you. The only reason he didn't flip the truck around and speed back to that dive-bar, grab Sam's sorry-ass out of the seat he sit in, and slam him into the wall, was because you had pleaded he didn't.

He was gracious to you by respecting your wishes, but this ordeal festered in him too much to leave it untouched. Simon was a God-damn machine with no impulse control. A loose-canon. And this canon was ready to blow right through that city-slicking prick's front-fucking-door. 

Which was preciously what he did.

Simon threw himself inside his truck at about eleven at night, a Manila folder tucked gently away in his jacket, not even bothering to strap on his safety belt as he drove to that bastard's house. Simon hoped, prayed, that Sam was asleep so that he could be the one to jerk him out of his peaceful slumber and make him wonder if he was in a nightmare. 

He halted as his truck brushed against the curb in front of his house, turning off his engine and stepping out of the truck. He scoffed as he took in the sight of the house. It was huge, no, enormous. Creamy, muted blue paint coated the paneled front and sides of the house, and a classic picket white fence encased the backyard. 

Two white Range Rovers and a white Porche sat in the driveway, along with two golf carts sequestered to the right side of the house. Simon noticed the Porsche's shit parking job and dirt-covered windows and noted it was Sam's car, just for future reference. 

After his observations, he casually strolled up to the front door, pressing a little bell encased in a palm leaf cover. It didn't take long for Simon to hear the soft pad of feet descending down what he assumed was a staircase. 

The door swung open to reveal a disheveled Sam; clearly, he was asleep. Simon smiled internally. Sam's eyes looked like saucers when he realized it was Simon. His face paled like he had seen a ghost or something.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Sam spit, perplexed at Simon's presence.

"Came to chat," Simon says cooly. "Preferably outside."

"Fuck no." Sam gnarls. "You need to leave my property."

"Ah." Simon tuts as he reaches into his jacket to grab the nicely tucked-away Manila folder. He carefully opens it and reads the first couple of lines. 

"Ryan Jennings worked for Capitol Guild Investment Firm before it was found he had embezzled a million—"

"Hey, hey. Where the hell did you get that?" Sam quickly supplied, stepping away from the door to try and snatch the folder from Simon's grasp. Simon jerked away from him, holding his finger up as he continued reading. 

"—dollars from the firm's clientele, though no legal action was taken, Jennings was to return all assets, estimating one million dollars, and issue his resignation promptly." Simon neatly closed the folder, eyeing Sam.

"So, as I said," Simon began. "Let's talk outside." Sam sighed deeply before turning to close the door gently.

"I have my resources." Simon casually says, stepping into the grass on the front lawn, with Sam following suit.

"So, what, what do you want? Money?" Sam timidly asks, running his hands through his hair.

Simon lets out a gruff laugh. "Money? You think I want money?" 

"You don't?" Sam questions, unable to believe a man like Simon could be doing this for more than monetary gain.

"You don't talk to her. Ever." Simon roughly says as a sly smirk spreads across Sam's face.

"Is it that good?" Sam smugly asks, placing his hands in his sweatpants pockets.

"The fuck you talkin' about?" Simon cocks his head, narrowing his eyes at Sam. 

Sam shrugs. "Her pussy."

Without warning, Simon lunged forward, his fist aiming straight at Sam's jaw. An immediate stinging pain spread that radiated through his face and head, making him falter back. Blood seeped out of his mouth, and a faint ringing noise could be heard in his ear. But, he quickly gained momentum, his own fist coiling like a spring.

He unexpectedly connected his punch to Simon's face head-on with a swift, decisive motion. Busting his bottom lip, with blood seeping down his chin and jaw. Simon quickly spit out some extra blood onto the grass before grabbing Sam by his shirt. 

"I know guys like you." Simon roughly says, his own blood and spit spurting onto Sam's face. "Pretentious little bastards who only think about themselves." 

He gripped his shirt tighter, making him slightly hover above the grass. "I bet you'd blow yourself if you could." He grits out, forcefully throwing him onto the ground.

"Stay the fuck away from her." Simon wipes his lips with the back of his hand as he turns to go to his truck.

"You know I'm not like that anymore," Sam speaks, making Simon roll his eyes. Simon turns to face Sam, who is still on the ground.

"You can change your name. Run from the city with your tail between your legs, but nothin' can change the greedy fuckin' animal you are." 

With that, Simon turned away and went straight for his truck, leaving Sam to sulk with the ants.

On the drive back to the ranch, Simon regretted not doing more to Sam, but Sam had a worse punishment than Simon releasing his venom on him: living the rest of his life as a nobody with his legacy cloaked in disgrace. 

Simon pulled up in front of his house, hissing as the cold air brushed against his busted lip, as he stepped out of his truck. He pulled open his front door to meet you sitting on the couch in the living room. 

"You haven't been answering your phone." You somberly say from your position on the couch, not noticing his busted lip and bruised face because it was dim where he stood.

"I know." He ducked his head, not moving closer to you, not wanting you to see him so clearly in the light.

"Come here." You pat the cushion next to you, tilting your head as he turns to go to the kitchen instead. You stand, following him to the kitchen, observing him as he fills a glass full of water at the sink, his back to you.

"You should be asleep," He gruffly says, taking a sip of the water, swirling it in his mouth to remove some of the coppery taste, and spitting it into the sink.

"Don't change the subject." You scowl, moving closer to him, bringing your hand to touch his own gently.

"Why won't you look at me?" He takes another sip of water, this time swallowing it.

"Cowboy?" You softly urge, your fingers gently brushing his forearm. He takes a deep sigh, though his lip quirks at your nickname.

"Please look at me." There is a pleading note in your voice. He takes a longer sip of the water, swallowing, before slowly turning to face you. Your eyes widen as you observe the purple bruises covering various parts of his face, his busted lips caked in dry blood, and the blood dripping down his chin and jaw pooling onto his shirt.

"What happened?" You quietly question, raising your hand to brush your fingers along his lip delicately.

"Ah, just some shit." He vaguely says. You narrow your eyes at him, but you see it in his eyes. He was tired. Worn-out. It could wait until tomorrow, you thought.

"Okay. I won't push tonight, but tomorrow, we will talk about it." You affirm, giving his arm a soft squeeze. He nods as you grab his hand, lacing your fingers and dragging him into the bathroom.

"In the meantime, let's get you cleaned up."

You made him sit on the toilet seat as you reached under the sink to grab an emergency kit. You opened the kit and grabbed some alcohol and some gauze. 

"Si, you need stitches." You say, observing a muscle of his lip sticking out.

"You can do it." He assures, looking up at you. 

"Last time I checked, I don't have a medical degree." You laugh out.

"It's easy. Just need some dental floss and a needle." He reaches into the kit and grabs a needle, bending it into an arc, and a pack of dental floss. "Learned it in the military."

"You were in the military?" You question washing your hands before taking the needle and cleaning it with some alcohol to sterilize it. 

"Course I was." You smiled down at him as you wiped his lip with some alcohol.

"How long?" You ask, throwing away the cotton pad.

"Long time." He vaguely answers with a slight smile.

"You're always so vague." You roll your eyes as you step between his legs, bringing your hand up to grip under his chin, tilting it up slightly. He brought his hands to rest on the sides of your thighs, lightly massaging the fat.

You hold the sides of his lips together, carefully suturing the skin back together. You had no idea what you were doing, but Simon didn't say anything, so you assumed you were doing alright. 

Simon flinched as the needle pierced his skin, coming in and out of his lip. His eyes fell shut as you worked, occasionally twitching, his hands still kneading your thighs. 

Once you finished, you cleaned up the area, put away the kit, and threw away the needle. 

"Forgot somethin.'" Simon huffed, still sitting on the toilet seat. You raised your brow, giving him a curious look.

"What?" You question, leaning against the counter facing him, your hands on your hips.

He pressed his pointer fingers to his lip, slightly puckering them. You brought your hand up to cover your mouth as you let out a laugh, walking over to him and pressing a sweet kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"I could use some more." His lips form a smirk, just beckoning you.

"Ya, I bet you could."

a/n: idk why i include an authors note bc i literally don’t say anything interesting

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

[cyber-dump-171]

Prologue: Missing

Objection! Stand your ground! Marvelous! (Twisted Wonderland x Reader)

Masterlist | Chapter 1 →

Word count: 3.2 k.

WARNING: N/A

Note: thank you for stopping by and reading! Comments, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

“Excuse me, coming through".

You walk down the dim corridor, the sound of telephones and mundane conversations muffled by the large window that separates the common office from the rest of the rooms. You take a quick glance inside and notice that it is emptier than usual, with only a couple of agents sitting at their desks filling out forms, watching the television broadcasting the evening news, or chatting with their cubicle neighbors.

You continue, carefully hugging the old box tighter as you slip past some of your father's co-workers, who greet you quietly before resuming their conversation, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and cigarette smoke clinging to their shirts wafting through the air. You're thankful it's not a stupidly strong cologne like the one James Blanc, one of the junior officers, wears. He puts on too much and it always makes you sneeze.

It reminds you of your male classmates who shower themselves in body spray after gym class, the smell making you dizzy as you sit inside the suffocating classroom.

After a few minutes of walking down the dull, gray hallway, you finally reach your destination, stopping in front of a worn wooden door with a silver plaque that reads a familiar name in faded letters: "Det. Pembroke”. Behind the doorway, you can hear a male and female voice, the latter sounding distressed, though you can't discern what they're talking about. Balancing the cardboard box on one arm, you lift your free hand and rack your knuckles against the solid material.

"Come in, door's open", replies a gruff voice after a couple of seconds of silence. Grunting and mentally begging yourself not to drop the heavy package, your hand quickly finds the handle and turns it urgently, the old wood creaking loudly as the door swings open, giving way to a simple yet messy office.

Tall rectangular metal cabinets and bookcases line the dark green walls, with various certificates and diplomas filling the empty spaces. On the right side of the room is a large display cabinet with various comic book figurines, knick-knacks, trophies and photo frames, displaying some of your family's memorabilia and achievements. On the opposite side of the office, under a rectangular window, is a wooden table with small drawers containing a small coffee pot and water dispenser. 

Your eyes sweep around the room and settle on your father, who sits behind a metal desk, with piles of documents, dirty mugs, a cup full of pens and pencils, and an old laptop taking up space on the surface. Behind it is a large map detailing the geography of your city, Kotohira. You take notice of several colored thumbtacks mark certain areas, though you can't see exactly where they point to.

He lifts his head to acknowledge your presence and his slender finger points to a table hidden in the corner of the room. “Put it there, kid. Careful with that, it's important,” you nod quickly at your father's words and head for the cabinet, pushing aside the manila folders to make room for the box. 

You place the package down with a quiet sigh, using your now free hands to wipe the dust from your button-up shirt, your legs burning as a reminder that it's been hours since you've sat down, too busy running errands and fetching documents around the station. 

Your father's eyes focus again on the woman sitting across from him, and he clears his throat as he continues. “Mrs. Enma, please don't worry, my men are working full-time to solve this case,” he reassures the woman, who nods silently at his affirmation.

Your gaze is drawn to the figure, an old woman you recognize as your upstairs neighbor who lives in apartment 305, Saeki Enma. You have bumped into her and her husband several times, either in the building's elevator or the nearby supermarket. It's strange to see her like this, with her usual warm smile and cheerful laughter replaced by a chagrined expression and puffy red eyes.

However, her reaction is understandable, as her only grandson is now the ninth person to go missing in the last month in Kotohira.

Saeki shakily reaches for her small black leather purse sitting on her lap, her small hands pulling out a beautiful baby-blue silk handkerchief, dabbing the corner of her wrinkled eyes to wipe away the rest of her salty tears. Her lips quiver as she looks down.

"Thank you, Detective Pembroke. My little Yuuken means the world to me, he's a kind and responsible boy. Oh my God... he must be so scared," she breaks down after glancing at the file in front of her, the picture of her grandson quietly staring back at her.

Her hands cover her eyes as her body shakes, the sound of her sobs echoing off the walls of the quiet office. Your father immediately gets up from his swivel chair and places a comforting hand on the old woman's back, while you run to the water dispenser, fill a glass, and hand it to her with a comforting smile.

Saeki accepts it with a sniffle, her trembling hands wrapping around the transparent glass as she sips in silence, her crying ceasing. A few minutes later, she calms down and sighs, gently patting your father's hand as a sign of gratitude. And suddenly, her eyes widen as her attention turns to you. 

"Oh my, (Y/N)! It's good to see you, what are you doing here? I apologize that you have to see me in this state," she laughs weakly, and you can still hear a hint of sadness in her voice. You suspect she's trying to distract herself from the grief of losing her grandson.

In return, you offer a small smile and a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Please don't worry, Mrs. Enma. It's good to see you, too." Your father suddenly slaps a hand on your shoulder with a toothy smile, causing you to jump in surprise as you turn to look at him in confusion.

“Kiddo over here had no plans for the summer, so I dragged them to the station to help out” - bullshit, you did have plans! You were going to spend every day inside, locked in your room with the air conditioning on, sprawled on your bed, and enjoying your free time. Hell, you'd even bought so many books and comics to read during the break! Now they're just going to sit there, gathering dust.

As Saeki finishes her glass of water, she lifts her head to look at the clock, whose hands point to the current time, 8:43 p.m. “My God! I apologize for taking up so much of your time, Detective Pembroke. My husband will be worried, I should be getting home,” she gasps in surprise. As you help Mrs. Enma out of her chair and pick up her cane, your father heads down the hallway, shouting for a nearby officer to help escort Saeki home.

In a matter of seconds, you hear a pair of footsteps running toward the office, and suddenly a young blond policeman stands in the doorway, nervously greeting your father. You remember that his name is Renart, a French cop freshly graduated from the police academy near Chichibugahama beach. The officers at the station call him "Croissant Surfer.”

Renart escorts Mrs. Enma out of the office, but not before she thanks your father again and gives you a warm smile as she bids you farewell. Your father promptly closes the door, sighing as he pinches the bridge of his nose. "Nine people... nine people just gone," he whispers.

As you walk to the desk, your eyes scan the missing person's report. Yuuken Enma, a second-year student of Hibari Municipal High School disappeared this afternoon after leaving the Ishimoto gymnasium at around 2:30 p.m. He was reported missing by his grandparents who explained that Yuuken failed to pick up his phone and had never arrived home at an agreed hour.

According to witness reports, he was last seen by his fellow kendo club member and first-year student, Koito Saya. The two of them were training for an upcoming kendo match which would take place after summer break ended. 

Koito explains that Yuuken left practice early because "he was feeling unwell and he had to help his grandmother prepare some things for the Tanabata Festival.” The first-year student stayed in the gym for another hour of training, and when he left the facility around 4:00 p.m., he found a keychain from an action figure that belonged to Yuuken on the floor. Minutes later, the Enma's called the police station.

Your fingers grab the corner of the paper and turn the page to read some additional details about the case. This Yuuken boy... the two of you stood together at the bus station, but you never really spoke. You went to different schools, and his appearance and aura communicated that he didn't want to be bothered, so you left him alone. Besides, you're not the most outgoing person, so you never really made a move to befriend him. You only knew of his personality from the comments of neighbors and even your parents; a "charismatic and determined young man.” 

Your eyes land on an evidence report detailing the footage from the gym's surveillance camera. Your eyes widened as you remembered the conversation you overheard in the records room about two days ago about the recent missing persons cases.

According to the officer, all of the nine disappearances have been caught on CCTV, but you can never see who is taking them or where they are going because the recording always glitches.

He described in detail the disappearance of Fígaro Koskela, the young heir to a Finnish jewelry empire, who was walking home from a party organized by his classmates. He's alone, it's the middle of the night, he's strolling down an alley near some residential houses, when all of a sudden his head whips around as he hears a strange noise, the policeman describes the sound as that of a loud roar followed by a cry similar to that of horses.

Figaro's expression morphed into one of shock and bewilderment, paralyzed on the spot as his blue eyes did not look away from where the sound came. At that moment, the camera stops and the footage goes black. Suspiciously, the camera reactivated itself hours later as police arrived on the scene and neighbors peered out their windows and doors to see what was going on.

The officer explained that all the victims disappeared in the same way: they were alone in Kotohira, they heard something, and the camera footage went black, adding that the people who were near where the victims disappeared never heard anything strange. But he also points out that none of the victims have anything in common. Age, appearance, socioeconomic status, even where they live, nothing.

You're jolted out of your trance as your father clears his throat and walks past you, taking a seat in his chair, before turning to face you, the lack of sleep and stress evident due to the dark circles under his eyes. "From the looks of things, I don't think I'll be leaving the office anytime soon. Do you think your mom can pick you up?"

Normally, you would walk home, since the police station is not that far from the apartment building. That, and the night air feels good on your skin, plus, it gives you some time alone to think and take some pictures of the sky and wildlife.

However, because of the recent disappearances, everyone in Kotohira is on edge, including you and especially your parents. This morning, you even received some messages from a few of your school friends who were outraged because their parents wouldn't let them go on their annual trip to the beach for fear that their children would be the next victims.

You nodded at your dad’s request before taking the seat that Mrs. Enma had previously occupied and wasted no time dialing your mother's phone number. Frankly, you were tired and hungry, having accidentally skipped lunch to help the Chief's secretary organize a mountain of paperwork that needed to be archived. Seriously, these guys are a mess.

After a few dials, you hear the sound of the phone picking up and your mother's cheery voice answering from the other end. "Hello, honey! How's my baby doing?" you see out of the corner of your eye as your father chuckles, having heard your mother's cooing over the loud volume of the phone. "I'm fine, Mom. How was your case?"

You can hear your mother gasp in surprise before she giddily recounts the details of the latest case she took on. "Oh, you bet your ass I won it! You should have seen the look on that idiot Howard's face when they declared my client innocent. That asshole always takes the side of dirty money," you laugh lightly at your mom’s colorful words; she has had a fierce rivalry with Vanguard Legal Services’ best attorney, Howard Waltz, ever since college. They even work at competing firms.

Your mother spends a few minutes telling you more details about the case before asking you why you called her. You tell her about Yuuken Enma's recent disappearance and that your father won't be able to take you home due to the heavy workload. 

"Yuuken has disappeared!? Oh, poor thing, I hope they find him soon. Don't worry, darling, I just left the office, I'll be there in about half an hour," after exchanging a few more words, you hang up the call.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

You hold your head in your hands, it feels like someone is violently sticking a sharp needle into the left side of your brain and your eyes won't stop throbbing. 'What the actual hell happened? I was doing fine a minute ago.’

Your father had left after the Chief knocked on the door and told him that they were going to have a brief meeting to organize a search party for Yuuken and share some updates on the case. Seconds after they departed and your dad bid you goodbye in case you were gone before he returned, your terrible headache suddenly appeared, and now you feel like you're going to throw up.

“O, thou who were guided by the dark mirror”.

"What was that!? Hello!?" you yell, the chair legs squeaking loudly against the floor as you quickly stand up, your eyes scanning the room trying to find the deep voice that just spoke. Your heart is beating fast, your breathing labored as your hands immediately find a fountain pen sitting on top of some papers, grab it, and point the tip outward to use it as a makeshift weapon. 

‘Are the rookies pulling a prank? Or am I hallucinating? Damn it! This fucking headache is driving me insane!’ You lower your head to look at the gap between the door and the floor, but you don’t see anyone standing outside or hear any movement from the hallway. Before you can continue to examine the room any further, your phone vibrates and the screen turns on, displaying a recent message from your mother alongside other notifications: "I'm outside." 

You waste no time getting your things, slinging the messenger bag over your shoulder, grabbing your sweater off the back of the chair, and throwing the pen away, landing behind your father’s chair. You're tired, you're hungry, you don’t want to deal with whatever prank somebody’s pulling on you, and you want to take care of this headache before it turns into an excruciating migraine. 

You make your way over the door, making sure you stomp your feet as hard as you can to warn whoever is hiding and pulling your hair, to start running before you catch them and kill them. You twist the doorknob and open the door quickly, only to find... the hallway completely desolated and eerily quiet.

This is strange... even if everyone was working, you would hear the noise coming from the offices, but, there is no sound at all. You can’t even hear the wind blowing outside or the droning songs from the cicadas. Your stomach twists into knots, a feeling in your gut screaming at you that something is wrong. You need to get out of there now.

“Let thy heart’s desire reflected in the mirror take thee by the hand”.

Yeah, no, this is no prank. Whatever's going on here is some paranormal shit. 

You don't waste a second as you bolt from your father's office, running down the hallway as fast as you can, never looking back for fear of something coming after you. You groan as your headache begins to worsen, your head now throbbing and your ears ringing loudly as you begin to hear a chorus of unintelligible voices inside your brain.

“In me. In them. In you.”

You pant as you run past the common office, your eyes widening as you find the entire room empty, all the equipment turned off and the chairs scattered around the room as if everyone had suddenly gotten up and gone home. The deep voice rings louder in your head again, its words feeling like mockery. ‘What the hell is going on? Where did everyone go? Dad, please be okay!’

“We all have very little time left.”

"AGH, JUST SHUT UP!" you shout, hoping the voices will go away, but they only get louder by the second. Thankfully, you reach the entrance of the police station, your eyes widening in relief as you find your mother's gray car parked right outside. Swinging the glass door open, you dash towards the vehicle, panic running through your veins.

"MOM! PLEASE! IT'S ME! OPEN THE DOOR!" you slam your right hand against the window as you yank hard at the handle of the locked car door. But as you duck your head to look inside the car, your breath is cut short and you feel your heart come to a screeching halt. The driver's side is empty, not a trace of your mother inside.

You slowly back away from the vehicle in utter disbelief, the voices having stopped, but you don't even notice, too preoccupied with the sudden disappearance of everyone around you. Your attention, however, is drawn to a hellish sound coming from your right. A loud roar, creaking wood, heavy wheels rolling on the pavement, and the whole cacophony accompanied by the cries of horses.

You feel frozen in place as your head turns to the side and your eyes widen at the sudden appearance of a funeral carriage drawn by two elegant horses coming at you at full speed. 

You want to run, to escape from this hellish scene as quickly as possible, to run into your parents' arms. ‘This has to be a nightmare. This isn’t real!’ Every single muscle and nerve in your body is screaming for you to move, and yet something is holding you back. You close your eyes in fear as the sound of hooves comes closer and closer.

You feel nothing as the carriage crashes into you.

“Welcome to Night Raven College, young soul”.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Tag list:

@rotknox

[theoxenfree]

FATHOMLESS

eldritch detective x reader | 2.1k | 18+

everyone at the precinct spoke at length about detective arsenè being the best in watt city. others claimed he'd always been there; meanwhile, he seemed to have just appeared one day. more concerning than that, however, was the fact no one ever pointed out he had no face.

warnings; dubcon, alcohol consumption, fictitious precinct + detective work, roughly proofread.

repost from my old blog 2kmps. please interact + reblog of you enjoyed!!

Everyone at the precinct called him Detective Arsené, but they never said anything about his face. It was simply that there wasn't one there, not that you were able to discern in any instance you'd seen him wandering the floor. You'd blamed the long hours, the glowing blue screens and useless eye prescriptions and corporate greed and mixing alcohol with allergy medicine before you finally accepted what you were seeing was real, yet no one else noticed it apart from you.

“What's wrong with his face?” you'd ask anyone with the time to spare to listen.

“Who? Arsené?�� they'd laugh, whether in disbelief that you were speaking about Watt City’s genius detective in such a fashion, or that they thought you were the funniest person in the office. “What are you talking about? He's always looked like that! Lay off the booze, yeah?”

Those responses had never been satisfactory enough, going as far to set you ill at ease for the remainder of your shift, sufficiently distracting you from furthering your workload because your mind always came back to the detective and his non-existent face.

“He looks pretty normal to me,” said a senior member in your division, an older man you'd come to know as forthright and virtuous with a history showing that integrity. He had taken eyes off his computer screen, set aside his bifocals and pinched the high-point between his brows. “What's this about, really? I've worked with Arsené for years. You know that. He's been here since before I started. Good guy, hard worker. Drinks too much, though. Just like someone else I know.”

But, this was the first time you had heard he'd worked with Arsené, let alone acknowledged his existence at all. There was no reason for him to lie; he had spoken without inflection, warily, almost accusatory towards the end when he spoke about the alcohol.

“Detective Arsené? Well, I think he's really handsome. He just has that look about him, y'know?” The next person you questioned was a junior at the precinct, a pretty woman with silky black hair and long, blunt nails she used the tips of to clack away on her keyboard. “I've heard he has a really specific type, though. I've also never seen him take anyone out, or take a partner on cases, now that I think about it. Isn't he just a stand-up guy? I'd say he's the sort to bring home to mom and dad, but I hear he's got a drinking problem. Why do all the hot ones have vices like that?”

She particularly enjoyed her gossip, especially if it involved the detectives at the precinct; you were positive she'd never mentioned Arsené before now. As smart as she was, she didn't look below the surface very often when it came to men, so for her to say nothing at all of the detective’s smooth face was mystifying.

After that, you started paying attention to Arsené in a way you convinced yourself was discreet: slowly peeking your eyes above your computer screen to observe his movements across the floor. Always in motion, he stalked around the place with undaunted familiarity, maneuvering the razored corners of desks and blockades from doors and walls, and languidly sidestepped the oncoming traffic of bodies in such a way that seemed premeditated. Practiced. Repeated.

This staunch dedication of yours lasted well over a week before anything came of it; until one morning you found him waiting in your seat, teetering a bloated manila folder on a thigh while bouncing it impatiently. A very real sensation of unease took hold of the back of your neck, like a cold hand stroking lightly at the downy hairs there until they stood straight.

You thought about pretending you hadn't seen him, swiveling around, and leaving in a burst of urgency. It'd be easy to call in to say you had a personal emergency or became suddenly, very viscously ill and wouldn't be able to handle staring at a screen for twelve hours. No one would ask questions because you were exemplary, always on time, and seldom took time off as you couldn't afford to do so.

Arsené’s head slanting sideways and the waxy, flat face pointing directly towards you prevented you from acting on that impulse, however. He gestured you over with a lethargic wave, though the jitteriness in his leg seemed to worsen from impatience into sheer excitability.

“Clocked in early, aren't you? You have quite the habit of doing that, I've noticed.” He greeted, voice simultaneously undefinable and velvety. It wasn't so deep that you felt like it was gravelly or reverberated in the same way a baritone would, but there was a heftiness to it that weighted in your mind, as if it were possible for someone to reach through all your blood, tissue, and bone and press down directly on your brain. “I've seen you come in a few times, hours before anyone else. And you know what I think? I think, ‘That’s the kind of person who keeps a place like this running. That's the kind of person we want here in this precinct. That's the type of person who believes in the work that we do and who I’d want as my partner’.”

As much as you wanted to get away from the horrid sight before you, the no-face and potent voice wriggling around the wrinkles in your brain, you couldn't bring yourself to do so just yet. Not while you had questions you couldn't find answers to, not while you needed to sedate yourself at night because they ruthlessly endangered your dreams and were thieves of peaceful slumber.

“I've never met you before,” you said, giving a cordial handshake when he had offered it to you. The skin of his palm was warm and humanlike, though his grip was all wrong and entirely too firm. You didn't convey this to him, though. “I've seen you around, though. Were you transferred from a different department or precinct? Everyone says you've been around for a long time, but I find it hard to believe I've noticed.”

“Oh? Well, they'd be right.” Arsené said, finally releasing your hand to take up the thick folder. “I've always been there, and I'm always here. Now, that aside, I've cleared it with the Chief and I'd like you to help me on a case that I'm stuck on. If I've read right, you're the most recent person who's looked through everything to update the records, correct?”

“Probably.” You didn't move when he rolled up another chair from a desk nearby. “I'm a Recorder. It's my job to go through files and periodically update them. I'm not qualified to help detectives on their cases, though. You'd need to speak to the Chief about getting an Assistant for that.”

“Ah, didn't you hear me? That's all been handled. Sit down. Sit down.” He waved you close, then took you by the arm to sit you in the chair next to him. “We have a lot to cover. I think we should start from the beginning and work our way through the evidence list, and then the interrogation tapes. After that, it'd be a good idea to revisit the site of the crime. Don't worry about clearances, I've got everything we need.”

It wasn't often that you saw the inside of the precinct after that day as Arsené particularly enjoyed his busywork and bringing you along for it. Most days you simply operated as a Field Recorder by transcribing statements into the handheld device provided by the precinct to maintain a digital trail. The work wasn't especially difficult, but it did take a level of skill and technological literacy to be able to do effectively, more so to be the sort allowed to tail after a detective on his cases and still maintain an overall ninety-eight percent accuracy.

Despite your job dictating it as such, Arsené never allowed you to fade into the background or stand around as a fancy accessory to go with his title. Oftentimes, he utilized you as his sole confidant as he worked through evidence and suspects, waiting in revered silence for you to offer your insight (however weak it actually was), and afterwards only let you bask in a glow of confidence through streams of unending praise.

“Egads! Eureka! Genius! How is it that it never occurred to me that way? Truly, you're spectacular! You're divine! Who knows how long I’d be running around in circles if I didn't have you as my partner.” They were all slightly variating compliments, though essentially all the same at the core and all very untrue.

You'd never forgotten about the things your colleagues had said about him, of his unrivaled prowess and veneration as the best detective Watt City had ever come to witness. He didn't need you. He had never needed you to solve a case, so you had learned to take his praise in the same vein as you did the silky-haired woman’s comments on men: uninspired and shallow.

When your disinterest became palpable, he seemed to only rely on you more as though he couldn't stand to be burdened with the idea of a rift. He had started calling you late at night about cases, going as far to come knocking at your door and walking inside reeking of stale smoke and a haze of booze, neither of which you could comprehend as possible considering he had no face.

“I just don't get it. I just don't get it! Where am I going wrong?!” He said so wretchedly, sides of his head cradled in his hands that were tucked between his legs. “This case, it’s getting to me. It's getting under my skin. I can't figure it out. Have I finally met my match? Have I finally been defeated? You! You’ve got to help me. It can't end like this.”

For all his dramatics, there was something obscenely cruel behind his words. Perhaps he thought you wouldn't have caught onto it because you simply a Field Recorder, just a person at the end of the day.

“Why haven't you mentioned anything about the victim? You're acting like they don't exist, Arsené. Is this about solving the crime so they get justice and the family gets closure, or for your reputation?” you asked.

He immediately stopped complaining and jolted upright, taken by surprise like he had realized this oversight and wasn't sure how to navigate around it. On that glossy slate of a face, one you knew was piercing deep into you despite a lack of hollow sockets and rolling gelatinous orbs within, you could tell he was now thinking of an answer.

“Neither,” was what he gave you. “It's neither of those. Come here. Sit down and talk to me for a while. I can't go home like this.”

The pitying part of you usually won in those moments where Arsené presented himself as his weakest. There was a part of you that believed he was taking advantage of your feeble heart, your kindness, your blind generosity because at his worst, he'd find a way to strip you down and fuck you.

At least, that's what you assumed happened. You never really could remember as the memory was pitch black, his body was unfathomable above yours, but you were sure you felt his cock penetrating you, his hands desperately fondling your flesh and fat like there was too much to touch yet too little time to feel it all. He said things to you inside your head, words that you couldn’t seem to piece together yet ignited the tension between your legs, lit your skin on fire, and delivered lewd, high-pitched sounds to his ears that he reveled in.

He never left you a mess and he never spoke about those times after they happened. Since you were never sure of them yourself, they suffered the same indifference as his praise and the days simply moved onward in a similar way.

“Another case solved!” Arsené cheered, lifting a stout mug in the air for you to reciprocate with the long stem of your wine glass. It was a fragile tinkling sound, a gentle vibration up your fingers and into your wrist as you toasted his success. “I couldn't have done it without you, my beloved partner! If it's you and I, I could do this forever.”

You swirled the liquid inside; a light and dry, raspberry and vaguely earthy smell wafted up your nostrils before you tasted it and let your cheeks pucker. As you drank, you watched as Arsené lifted the stout towards the expanse of taut, clear skin that should've been his face, and saw liquid inside empty into nowhere.

[ltwilliammowett]

Mourning Ring for Vice-Admiral Sir Samuel Cornish, 1770

Amethyst, diamonds, gold and enamel. Bezel set with a faceted amethyst encircled by diamonds in a closed setting, the shank set with black enamel decoration around the inscription ‘Sir Sam. Cornish … 30 Oct 1770 AE 56’.

Sir Samuel Cornish is remembered for the Capture of Manila in 1762 during the Seven Years War - the conflict that found Britain competing with France and her allies around the globe. For nearly 200 years Manila had been at the centre of the imperial Spain’s galleon trade with Acapulco, trading Mexican silver for Chinese silk, porcelain and spices. After Spain allied herself with France in 1762, the British government approved plans to attack Havana and Manila. 

Samuel Cornish was appointed to the command of the naval forces bound for Manila comprising 12 ships-of-the-line, 3 frigates and 4 store ships, with his flag in HMS Norfolk. Brigadier-General William Draper commanded land forces of 6,839 soldiers, sailors and marines. By posting a frigate in the Strait of Malacca, Cornish ensured that no news of the impending strike reached Manila prior to the fleet's arrival on 23 September 1762. The city walls were breached on 5 October and on the following day the place was taken by storm. Draper did his utmost to put a stop to the rape and plunder of the town, and with Cornish agreed to accept a ransom of 4 million dollars from the Spanish acting Governor-General Archbishop Manuel Rojo del Rio y Vieyra. 

The British occupation of Manila lasted 18 months until the city was returned to Spain under the 1763 Treaty of Paris.During their time in the Philippines, the British found themselves confined to Manila and Cavite, but were rewarded with the capture of the treasure ships Filipina and  Santísima Trinidad. These captures made Draper and Cornish wealthy men to the extent that they could retire on the prize money. Both were thanked in Parliament, and Cornish received a Baronetcy.

Sir Samuel Cornish (c1715-1770) was believed at one time to have risen from modest origins, and to have served his apprenticeship on a collier before being appointed to an East Indiaman, but it has been suggested these details relate to his father. Cornish is known to have entered the navy as a volunteer ‘per order’ in 1728. He was commissioned lieutenant in the Litchfield on 12 November 1739, and on 11 November 1740 he moved, with Captain Charles Knowles, to HMS Weymouth, in which he served in the ill-conducted combined operation at Cartagena during March and April 1741. On his return to England he was appointed to command the bomb-ketch Mortar; and on 12 March 1742 he was posted flag captain of the old HMS Namur, flagship of Admiral Matthews in the Mediterranean. In 1742 Cornish was appointed to command the Guernsey (50); and continued in her until the end of the ‘War of Jenkin’s Ear’, doing occasional good service in the destruction of Spanish privateers. 

During the war of the Austrian Succession, he was present at the Battle of Toulon which saw the British lose control of the waters around Italy and Spain take the offensive against Savoy. Matthews was dismissed from the navy along with seven captains for lacking offensive spirit. Cornish’s part occasioned no comment, which must be considered an achievement in the light of the number of careers destroyed. On 9 March 1749, as a 'gentleman well skilled in mathematicks and natural knowledge', Cornish was elected to the Royal Society. In 1755 he commissioned HMS Stirling Castle for service in the channel, and in 1758 he was transferred to the Union (90 guns), and was ordered by Lord Anson to wear a distinguishing pennant.

On 14 February 1759 Cornish was promoted Rear-Admiral of the White, and sent out to the East Indies with a small squadron to reinforce Vice-Admiral George Pocock, and undertook operations to clear the coast of Coromandel, which established his reputation as a commander able to co-operate effectively with the army. He succeeded to the command of the East Indies station in 1761, but became embroiled in a dispute with the East India Company over the plunder taken from the French at Pondicherry. Nevertheless his professional competence in combined operations won him the command of the Manila expedition.

Cornish returned to Europe with a comfortable income from prize money. In 1765 he purchased the manors of Sharnbrook, Tafte, and Temple Hills in Bedford. The Duke of Norfolk supported his election as MP for Shoreham, a seat he held from December 1765 until his death, and on 9 January 1766 he was created a baronet, taking his style as Sir Samuel Cornish of Sharnbrook. About this time he married Susan, daughter of James Gambier of Holborn and sister of Admiral James Gambier; they had no children. Cornish died on 30 October 1770, whereupon his title became extinct and his estate passed to his nephew, Samuel Pitchford, captain in the navy, who took the name Cornish.

[louisupdates]

LOUIS TOMLINSON: LIVE IS AVAILABLE TO PRE-ORDER NOW ON CD AND DOUBLE PICTURE DISC LP.

19 TRACKS. 18 CITIES. 5 CONTINENTS. 1 ALBUM.

RECORDINGS TAKEN FROM LOUIS’ BACK-TO-BACK TOURS OVER THE LAST 3 YEARS.

PICTURE DISC DOUBLE VINYL

INCLUDES 3 ADDITIONAL TRACKS 'HIGH IN CALIFORNIA', 'ONLY THE BRAVE' AND 'KILL MY MIND’.

PLUS A LTD EDITION TOUR BOOK WITH EXCLUSIVE PHOTOS

AND MESSAGES FROM THE FANS.

DOUBLE CD

WITH 2 ADDITIONAL TRACKS ‘HIGH IN CALIFORNIA’

AND ONE DIRECTION CLASSIC ‘WHERE DO BROKEN HEARTS GO’.

TRACKLIST

1. THE GREATEST (LIVE FROM LONDON, 17 NOVEMBER 2023)

2. FACE THE MUSIC (LIVE FROM NASHVILLE, 18 JULY 2023)

3. BIGGER THAN ME (LIVE FROM VANCOUVER, 26 JUNE 2023)

4. HOLDING ON TO HEARTACHE (LIVE FROM BARCELONA, 6 OCTOBER 2023)

5. WE MADE IT (LIVE FROM MANILA, 16 JULY 2022)

6. CHICAGO (LIVE FROM CHICAGO, 15 JUNE 2023)

7. FEARLESS (LIVE FROM RIO, 27 MAY 2022)

8. COMMON PEOPLE (LIVE FROM SHEFFIELD, 10 NOVEMBER 2023)

9. ALL THIS TIME / SHE IS BEAUTY WE ARE WORLD CLASS (LIVE FROM MUNICH, 22 OCTOBER 2023)

10. WALLS (LIVE FROM BUENOS AIRES, 21 MAY 2022)

11. WRITTEN ALL OVER YOUR FACE (LIVE FROM BUDAPEST, 15 SEPTEMBER 2023)

12. OUT OF MY SYSTEM (LIVE FROM BRISBANE, 30 JANUARY 2024)

13. SATURDAYS (LIVE FROM PARIS, 14 OCTOBER 2023)

14. SILVER TONGUES (LIVE FROM KRAKOW, 10 SEPTEMBER 2023)

LP ADDITIONAL TRACKS

HIGH IN CALIFORNIA (LIVE FROM AMSTERDAM, 15 OCTOBER 2023)

ONLY THE BRAVE (LIVE FROM MILAN, 3 SEPTEMBER 2022)

KILL MY MIND (LIVE FROM SANTIAGO, 15 MAY 2022)

CD ADDITIONAL TRACKS

HIGH IN CALIFORNIA (LIVE FROM AMSTERDAM, 15 OCTOBER 2023)

WHERE DO BROKEN HEARTS GO (LIVE FROM TALLINN, 5 SEPTEMBER 2023)

ORDER

LISTEN

emails sent to fans 31.7.2024

[xander-voight]

They were in a dimly lit garage.

The air heavy with the scent of motor oil and burnt rubber. Xander leaned against a workbench, his grease-stained hands clutching a cigarette that had long since burned out. His boss, Sebastian, paced back and forth, his polished shoes clicking against the concrete floor. Sebastian was dressed sharply as always, his crisp suit an ironic contrast to the grimy surroundings.

“It’ll work,” Xander muttered, his voice low. He flicked the dead cigarette to the ground and crushed it under his boot. “I can’t spend the next ten years in a cell because of this. These guys are good – willing to take the fall as long as their families are taken care of.”

Sebastian stopped pacing and turned to face Xander, his expression cold and calculated. “We wouldn’t need them if you hadn’t fucked up.” He pulled a pack of gum from his pocket and popped a piece into his mouth, chewing methodically.

Xander shifted uncomfortably. He’d been working for Sebastian for five years, ever since he’d moved to the city. At first, the job seemed simple, but things had escalated.

He walked to the desk piled high with papers and picked up a manila folder. “These are the guys – guys with records, easy to pin it on.” Xander handed the folder to Sebastian, and he flipped through it. Mugshots stared back at him, along with criminal records detailing thefts and DUIs. The fall guys were perfect marks: no alibis, and plenty of priors to make them believable suspects.

“How’s it going to work?” Sebastian asked.

Xander shrugged. “We’ll set them up in one of the warehouses. Pull in a couple of the cars. Make sure their fingerprints are all over the place, leave out some altered documents. We’ll make it look like the base of operations.”

Sebastian nodded.

“The DA’s office will grant me immunity if I lead them to who I work for. I’ll get the guys set up and then call Detective Bishop in. They’ll be caught in the act, and we’ll both be clear. You can keep working.”

Xander circled the desk and sank into the chair, his shoulders heavy with resolve. “I’m out after this,” He said finally, his voice firm.

Sebastian laughed, a hollow, chilling sound that echoed through the garage. “We’ll see.”

-

Xander stood against the wall, arms crossed, watching the four guys they’d recruited for the night’s work. He didn’t know enough about them, other than they were desperate enough to be useful.

"Alright, listen up," Xander said, his voice sharp. The men looked up at him, nervous energy radiating from them. They’d been told this was their big break. Their chance to show they could handle the real business. "You’re going to do exactly what I tell you, no questions."

The men nodded; eyes wide. Xander could tell they were scared. They were about to take the fall for crimes they didn’t commit.

Xander’s hands were steady, his mind focused. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pair of keys. "You’re gonna settle into the warehouse next door. You’ll make sure the paperwork is all set up, like you’ve been running this operation for months. After that, you wait."

The younger of the men, a wiry guy named Ben, shifted uneasily. "You sure about this, Xander? I mean, we’re talking about the cops. They’re gonna—"

Xander cut him off with a raise of his hand. “The cops will be here in less than an hour. When they come in, you’re going to be sitting around like you’ve just finished a hard night’s work. When they bust you, just keep your mouths shut and let them find everything. They’ll think they’ve hit the jackpot."

Ben didn’t seem convinced, but the older man, a grizzled, quiet type named Frank, just nodded and pulled a cigarette from his pocket. "Got it," Frank muttered. He didn’t look scared—he looked resigned, like he’d been down this road before.

Xander smiled thinly and tossed over the keys. His mind was already a few steps ahead. He had planted the tip-off an hour ago—a call to the detective who’d originally booked him. He’d given the exact location and set up just enough to make the bust look legitimate; the stolen cars, the forged documents, and the four men.

"Alright," Xander said. "Now get moving."

Ben and Frank exchanged glances with the other two before heading for the exit. Xander watched them go, the adrenaline in his veins a quiet hum. This was it—the final piece of the puzzle. When the men were inside the warehouse, Xander’s phone buzzed. He glanced down at the screen. A message from his contact in the department: We’re rolling in soon.

Xander typed a quick response. It’s all ready for you and he couldn’t help but feel a thrill in his chest. It was the same rush he’d always gotten after a perfect score—only this time, it was his escape.

[dreamings-free]

Live was captured across 15 different shows in 15 different cities over the course of three years while the singer embarked on two world tours

April 25, 2024 by Larisha Paul

After nearly two-hundred live performances spanning two international tours, Louis Tomlinson is celebrating the end of era on the road that spanned three years. On Thursday, the musician shared Live, a record captured across 15 different shows in 15 different cities.

“I’ve been lucky enough to spend the last 3 years touring the world twice over, the feeling I get sharing those live moments will be with me forever,” Tomlinson shared in a statement. “To be able to record these songs from all over the world and put them out as an album like this feels so special, and a real tribute to the fans who make each and every show feel unique and incredible. Thank you! Enjoy!”

The album features live performances from both the Louis Tomlinson World Tour — which was cut short in 2020 and resumed in 2022 — and the Faith in the Future World Tour, which kicked off in 2023 in support of the singer’s sophomore studio album of the same name. Combined, the tours included 170 shows in 47 countries across 5 continents.

Tomlinson captured performances of popular singles “We Made It” and “Walls” from his debut solo album Walls and “Written All Over Your Face,” “Silver Tongues,” and “Out of My System” from Faith in the Future. The album features recordings from London, Nashville, Vancouver, Barcelona, Chicago, Budapest, Paris, and more.

The digital version of Live is available now, with physical editions for the record set for release on Aug. 23 on a double CD and 2LP picture disc vinyl.

Louis Tomlinson Live Tracklist “The Greatest” (Live From London, 17 November 2023) “Face The Music” (Live From Nashville, 18 July 2023) “Bigger Than Me” (Live From Vancouver, 26 June 2023) “Holding On To Heartache” (Live From Barcelona, 6 October 2023) “We Made It” (Live From Manila, 16 July 2022) “Chicago” (Live From Chicago, 15 June 2023) “Fearless” (Live From Rio, 27 May 2022) “Common People” (Live From Sheffield, 10 November 2023) “All This Time / She Is Beauty We Are World Class” (Live From Munich, 22 October 2023) “Walls” (Live From Buenos Aires, 21 May 2022) “Written All Over Your Face” (Live From Budapest, 15 September 2023) “Out Of My System” (Live From Brisbane, 30 January 2024) “Saturdays” (Live From Paris, 14 October 2023) “Silver Tongues” (Live From Krakow, 10 September 2023)

[fueledbysano]

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐋𝐀 with Mikey

Mikey's life in Manila with you ♡

♱ a/n: this is for all the Manila Mikey lovers and Filipino girlies ♡ (belated) Happy birthday to our man ❤️‍🔥

🦇 @hiraethsdesires @sukunassuka @anahryal @half-baked-biscuit @fuyuluvr @iluvizana @saenora

Mikey sat in his tiny apartment in the heart of Manila, looking at the photograph of his late brother on the wall. He had dreamed of this moment for years, ever since his brother told him of the bustling streets, the delicious food, and the warm, tropical islands of the Philippines, his favorite destination. It had taken time, but Mikey was finally here, living in the place of his brother's dreams. And then, the doorbell rang. It was [ Y / N ], the love of his life. “You look beautiful,” he said to [ Y / N ], smiling as he held open the door for her. “Thank you, Mikey,” she smiled. “You look wonderful yourself.” she blushes, eyeing down Mikey’s simple black pants and camisole outfit; layered with a plain white button-up shirt that exposed his toned shoulders.

They usually plan to have a date around Manila, a city that Mikey had only ever imagined. During jeepney rides with Mikey, he would let [ Y / N ] rest her head on his shoulder and hold her hand the entire ride. And on occasions when the wind blows harshly through her hair, he reaches around her shoulder to hold it for her.

Getting street foods and strolling around the park is a regular occurrence in the relationship. Given that everything that Mikey loves is in it; cheap and delicious food to satisfy his sweet tooth, the town, and you! Mikey’s favorite has to be the pink, frozen dessert, Ice scramble and Turon. And on times when he misses the dorayaki and taiyaki back home, he would just take [ Y / N ] to Mitsukoshi Mall, a big Japan-themed mall in the southern part of the Metro.

But Mikey and [ Y / N ]’s favorite place in the city is Intramuros. While it was now mostly a tourist attraction, there was still a sense of history and beauty in the air. They walked through the ancient walls and narrow streets, passing by old churches and museums, each one with a story to tell. Carriages run by horses still strolled the roads of the historic city, making Mikey ang [ Y / N ] excited to be on a date around Intramuros every time.

The two of them climbed into the classic, horse-drawn Kalesa and settled into their soft, leather seats. The driver smiled and called out a greeting in Tagalog, and the couple greeted back. The Kalesa began to move through the quaint streets of Intramuros, and Mikey and [ Y / N ] watched as the city came to life around them in a unique, old-fashioned way.

Mikey never had a deep interest for the fine arts, but when [ Y / N ] asks to visit the National Museum, he couldn’t pass it up. As they walked through the museum, their hands entwined, they felt the weight of history pressing down on them. It was almost as if they were walking through the pages of a history book, each exhibit a new chapter in the story of this incredible country.

After spending some time exploring the museum, they made their way to Fort Santiago, a historic fortification in the heart of Manila. As they walked through the ancient halls, their footsteps echoing with the weight of history, they knew that they were standing on sacred ground.

As they wound their way through the city, they passed by ancient doorways and carved archways, the scent of incense wafting in the air from the nearby churches, and they made a stop on perhaps the most famous one. As they entered the church, the air grew thicker still with the weight of history. The stained glass windows cast colorful rainbows across the floor, and the faint sounds of prayer and song echoed through the ancient halls.

Mikey and [ Y / N ] found a pew near the back and sat down, hands entwined as they looked around. They marveled at the intricate carvings and the ornate altar, feeling like they were in a different world entirely.

As they sat in the dim light of the cathedral, their hands tightly intertwined as they admired the beautiful architecture and the historic artifacts. Mikey couldn't help but feel a deep sense of love and adoration for her, and he knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. As they sat there, Mikey leaned in close and whispered in her ear, “I want to marry you here.”

[ Y / N ] stood still, stunned by his sudden confession. But she had always known that Mikey was special, and truly meant what he said. “Mikey,” she whispered back, feeling tears well up in her eyes. “I would love nothing more.”

Mikey and [ Y / N ] return to the Kalesa, watching as the ancient city of Manila passed by. They had had a beautiful day, exploring the National Museum, Fort Santiago, and the San Agustin Church, and now they were ready for one last adventure.

The driver of the Kalesa pulled up to the shores of Manila Bay, and Mikey and [ Y / N ] climbed out, eager to take in the sights and sounds of the ocean. They walked along the coast, watching the waves rock parked yachts and crash against the shore.

The sun was setting, casting a golden glow across the water, and the lights of the city glittered on the horizon. They made their way to the edge of the water, where they found a quiet spot to sit and enjoy the view. They watched as the sun began to sink below the horizon, turning the sky into an endless canvas of red and orange, and the waves crashed against the shore in a steady rhythm.

As they sat there, taking in the beauty of the moment, Mikey leaned in close to [ Y / N ] and whispered, "I want to spend every sunset like this with you. You make me feel like the luckiest man in the world."

[ Y / N ]'s eyes widened in surprise, and she turned to look at Mikey, her heart aching with love and joy. "I feel the same way," she said softly. "I never imagined that I could find love like this, in this place, with you."

As they sat there, hand in hand, surrounded by the beauty of Manila Bay and the magic of the sunset, they knew that they had found something truly special. A love that would last a lifetime, and a lifetime filled with memories of this quaint place that had brought them together.

[hldailyupdate]

Louis Tomlinson has dropped a surprise album ‘Live’ – featuring songs that he recorded at 15 shows across 15 different cities.

Announced and shared yesterday (April 25), the album comes after the singer and former One Direction member embarked on two world tours over the past three years – playing just shy of 200 shows globally.

Now, a variety of performances from both tours – the ‘Louis Tomlinson World Tour’ and the ‘Faith in the Future World Tour’ – have been compiled into a new live album, which is available now.

Fifteen songs are included in the tracklist, and each was recorded in a different city, at a different show from across the three-year run. The album comes in both digital and physical formats, and features his singles including ‘Bigger Than Me’, ‘We Made It, ‘Walls’ and ‘Out Of My System’, alongside fan favourite album tracks, all released live for the very first time.

“I’ve been lucky enough to spend the last 3 years touring the world twice over. The feeling I get sharing those live moments will be with me forever,” Tomlinson said in a statement. “To be able to record these songs from all over the world and put them out as an album like this feels so special, and a real tribute to the fans who make each and every show feel unique and incredible. Thank you! Enjoy!”

There are four exclusive tracks split between the physical editions of ‘Live’, including a special version of the One Direction classic ‘Where Do Broken Hearts Go’ – which is available only on the double CD.

Accompanying video clips of compiled tour footage will be shared on Louis’s social channels to support the release, showcasing a glimpse into his past three years on the road and 170 performances.

The ‘Live’ tracklist is:

‘The Greatest’ (Live From London, 17 November 2023) ‘Face The Music’ (Live From Nashville, 18 July 2023) ‘Bigger Than Me’ (Live From Vancouver, 26 June 2023) ‘Holding On To Heartache’ (Live From Barcelona, 6 October 2023) ‘We Made It’ (Live From Manila, 16 July 2022) ‘Chicago’ (Live From Chicago, 15 June 2023) ‘Fearless’ (Live From Rio, 27 May 2022) ‘Common People’ (Live From Sheffield, 10 November 2023) ‘All This Time / She Is Beauty We Are World Class’ (Live From Munich, 22 October 2023) ‘Walls’ (Live From Buenos Aires, 21 May 2022) ‘Written All Over Your Face’ (Live From Budapest, 15 September 2023) ‘Out Of My System’ (Live From Brisbane, 30 January 2024) ‘Saturdays’ (Live From Paris, 14 October 2023) ‘Silver Tongues’ (Live From Krakow, 10 September 2023)

At time of writing, Tomlinson has shared two huge solo albums since departing from One Direction. His debut album arrived in the firm of 2020’s ‘Walls’, which has sold over 1.5 million copies, and the follow-up was called ‘Faith In The Future’. The latter went to Number One in the UK, Spain and Belgium, and Top 5 in the USA, Australia, New Zealand and across Europe.

Since May last year, Tomlinson has been on his ‘Faith In The Future World Tour’, which hits South America next month for its final leg. From there, the vocalist has a number of festival appearances lined up for the summer. Find remaining tickets to his shows here.

In other Louis Tomlinson news, earlier this week the singer, alongside Courteeners and English Teacher, were among the acts to be honoured at the first-ever Northern Music Awards.

The inaugural ceremony was hosted by the UK’s largest music therapy charity, Nordoff And Robbins and took place at the Albert Hall in Manchester; celebrating northern artists, festivals, venues and industry figures. The event saw Tomlinson named as Artist Of The Year.

[visualcamper]

Fascinating Finds: Bamboo Bikes in the Courtyard

[anexperimentallife]

Glad we're not in Quezon City (Manila) anymore. This is near our old place there, and how Typhoon Carina (aka Gaemi) affected it. (These pics from news sites)

In Baguio we just have to deal with landslides closing off one of the two main routes in and out of town. Thankfully, no one was killed here, but I believe there were some lives lost in the lowlands. (These pics are from local news, also)

For anyone worried about our family specifically, we came through the typhoon just fine! (See the pics I took below)

Our place is well-sheltered by being below the lip of a little valley, and well-drained enough (see the drainage ditch below) that all we've gotten has been torrential rains, some stuff blowing around on our balcony, and some brief power flickers. You can see how thick our concrete walls are, and how well-reinforced our windows are, PLUS our front door is made of steel. This building has survived many an earthquake and super typhoon, and will probably outlast the sun.

And as always, we had a week's worth of drinking water, candles, emergency lights, power banks, and a gas stove with plenty of fuel. We're pretty much as typhoon-proof as it's possible to be here.

Carina is now heading towards Taiwan, and is expected to intensify into a super typhoon. I hope everyone there is prepared.

[dyslexicsquirrel]

This is a super rough draft and I'm working to polish it up for AO3 but have some childhood friends who kissed (no homo) second chance romance(?) Harringrove

I haven't posted anything in forever and this idea took over my body so uh I hope you like it? If you don't? Don't tell me lmao

Now I'm thinking about childhood friends Steve and Billy who practice kissing and whatever it's totally not gay. But Steve is like imagining their life after high school together, how they're gonna go to the same college and be roommates. Maybe if they get to kiss sometimes still that would be fine.

He tells Billy about it cause they're best friends and they tell each other everything. He thought Billy was on board. He helped Steve study, made sure he graduated.

So he's a little surprised when he gets to the school and Billy's Camaro isn't there cause he was running late but Billy always did like to make an entrance. Except Steve keeps checking down their row in the stadium and Billy never shows up. Doesn't come running onto the field when they call his name.

When he goes to return the cap and gown and pick up his diploma after the ceremony, the lady at the table check's her list and tells Steve "Looks like Billy picked his up the last day of class."

There's a big hole in the middle of Steve's chest that never really quite goes away. Not through college and parties or meeting his wife and getting married. Having his kids helps a bit but it's always there, sharp and jagged just like the boy who made it.

Steve focuses on work and raising his kids and maybe that's why his marriage falls apart. His wife handed him a big Manila envelope with sadness in her eyes. "You're a great dad and there's a part of me that will always love you, but I don't think you ever loved me, Steve, and I deserve better than that. We both do."

He agreed to everything, got split custody, and moved into an apartment in the city. It was beige and empty, but he covered it with pictures of his kids and ignored the way the hole in his chest started crumbling inward, growing every morning he woke up to silence until he felt hollow.

Steve got the kids for the summer and rented an RV. They were driving to California cause the kids had never seen the Pacific, he told his ex. She shrugged and sent them all off with hugs and kisses on the forehead. If a tiny voice in the back of his head called him a liar, he ignored it.

They ate at hole in the wall diners off the highway, but Steve splurged on hotels with pools cause sue him he was too high maintenance to live without soft sheets and good shower pressure.

Somewhere in Kansas or Colorado, Steve couldn't remember where they were right then, he saw the gas gauge getting low and pulling off at the next exit to find a place to get gas.

Steve almost ran a red light when he saw the sign at the convenience store on the corner. It had his brain lighting up like fireworks, memories of a past he didn't normally let himself think about crashing against the inside of his skull like waves.

There was no way. It was just a coincidence. He made sure the kids were fine and swung into the parking lot after the light turned green. "Dad's just a little tired. We'll find a place to check in after I fill up the tank."

The gas pump was old fashioned, not a single card reader in sight, and Steve shook his head with a chuckle, before rounding up the kids and heading inside. They dumped way too many snacks on the counter when they got to the front of the line. "Can I also get $40 on pump 3?" here told the guy behind the counter who was restocking cigarettes.

Short blonde hair, wide shoulders under a worn t-shirt, jeans so tight they molded to his ass and had Steve biting the inside of his cheek because he was in public, for fuck's sake.

He had to be really hard up if he was on the verge of making a spectacle of himself over some rando in a gas station. A grunt and the guy turned, pinning Steve with the brightest blue eyes Steve had ever seen.

Ones that haunted his dreams. "Billy?" he whispered, wallet slipping out of his numb fingers.

The guy who couldn't be Billy blinked at him, except he said, "Steve."

Robbie tugged on the hem of his shirt. "Who's that, dad?"

"Dad?" Billy repeated, sounding confused and a little accusatory. And seriously, fuck him.

"Just someone I used to know." He needed to get out of there before he made a scene of a different kind by jumping over the counter and punching Billy in his stupid, perfect face. "How much do I owe you?"

Billy's frown deepened. He bagged up all of the snacks, no longer meeting Steve's eyes and said, "Don't worry about it" when he handed them over.

Nope. He was not making it that easy. *You left. You left me. Why did you leave me?* clamored to get passed his lips, but Steve refused to be that pathetic when Billy obviously hadn't cared as much as Steve. He got his wallet off the floor and slapped his credit card on the counter, handing the kids the bags to hold.

Billy rolled his eyes, the way he had whenever they were kids and Steve did something Billy thought was stupid. They stood on silence except for the chatter of his kids and the bell chiming over the door when someone else came in. Steve took his receipt without a word.

"Come on, you two, let's go." He herded the kids toward the door, determined to walk out on Billy the way the other man had walked out on him, but Steve never did have much self control.

Billy was still watching him and their eyes met when Steve looked over his shoulder. "You know a good hotel around here?"

"There's a Best Western a few blocks down. Nicest place in town."

Was he imagining the question in Billy's eyes? Steve didn't know. Grace whined, "Come on, dad," the way only teenagers could and Steve let the door swing closed behind him.

Part of Steve was anticipating the knock at the door after the sun had set and the kids were both curled up in their beds. The other part called him an idiot for still holding a torch for the guy who broke his heart.

The rap on the door was soft, but Steve still jumped, tripping over his feet when he got off the couch.

There was Billy on the other side of the door, a cigarette dangling from his lips, hands shoved into his pockets.

Mindful of his kids, Steve stepped outside, leaving the door cracked behind him, while they stared at each other, the weight of all the years between them.

Billy broke the silence first, pulling the cigarette from his mouth, ash flicked from the tip in a cascade of sparks. "Where's Mrs. Harrington?"

That was about all Steve could take. He shoved at Billy's chest, still as solid as it had been back in high school, the prick. Billy didn't budge an inch. "I got divorced last year."

Billy took a long drag, a quiet "Shit" exhaled on a cloud of smoke.

"Yeah." Steve took the cigarette from Billy like they used to. He hadn't had a drag in years and almost choked.

There was no laughter, no jibe at Steve forgetting how to smoke. Instead, one of Billy's hands rubbed circles against Steve's back. Just that one touch unlocked something in Steve, all the years of longing, of loneliness, of regret. He wrapped his free hand around Billy's waist and tucked his face into the other man's chest.

"Why?" It came out garbled and wet from his tears but Billy understood all the same.

His answer made his tears run faster. But it was okay because size Billy's arms wrapped around him, holding Steve together. "Because I loved you too much."

"You're a fucking asshole."

"I know."

"I loved you too."

"I know." Of course he had.

They stayed like that until Steve got himself back together, the cigarette left to snuff itself out on the concrete. His eyes red and puffy and Billy wiped the moisture off his cheeks with his thumbs.

Steve leaned into Billy’s calloused palms, pulling the scent of Marlboroughs and warm skin into his lungs. He sniffed loud, echoed by the crickets and the distant traffic. He needed to say something or else he’d start crying again because Billy was looking at him the way Steve always secretly dreamed Billy would look at him one day.

He wanted to know what the hell he ‘loved him too much’ to stay meant, but this thing—could he call it a thing? Robin would probably call him a dingus right about now—was too shaky, like a house built on a cliff during an earthquake.

So instead, he said, “You know I meant why’d you pick that name when I asked why, but thanks for the declaration, I guess.”

Steve felt Billy’s chuckle where their chests still touched. “Now who’s the asshole?”

And, okay, Steve really was curious because Billy had to be the one who owned that place and had the balls to slap Pretty Boy on the front of a building.

Which meant he thought about Steve and the nickname he bestowed upon him enough to name his business after him. To have to see it every day and think about Steve.

So he was curious, but not enough to stop and ask when Billy was angling Steve’s head with the hand still holding his cheek to press their lips together.

It had been decades since the last time Steve and Billy kissed and it was still the best feeling in the world. The feeling of a full beard was new, but Billy’s hands felt the same, cradling the back of Steve’s head, the other pressed low on his back.

He still tasted like cigarettes and the mint gum he liked to chew.

Steve didn’t pull away until he heard the bathroom door close inside the room and even then he didn’t go far, pressing their foreheads together so they were still sharing the same air for as long as possible.

“How long are you here for?” Billy whispered, like he was afraid if he spoke too loudly, he would shatter the moment like spun glass.

“Just until tomorrow. The kids and I are going to California for the summer.” Saying it out loud, in front of Billy, made it feel like a dirty little secret. Billy knew why Steve was going there of all places if they way one side of his mouth kicked up. Steve had missed that smirk. He’d missed a lot of things if her were being honest.

“Maybe you can swing back through on your way back.”

The hopeful note Steve heard made him feel bold, reckless. “You should come with us.”

“What?”

“To California. You should come with us. I got an RV so there’s plenty of room. We could take turns driving. Grace and Robbie are cool kids, I swear. I’m realizing now that I said that that it’s kind of weird. Forget it—” His nervous rambling was cut off by Billy’s lips.

“Shut up, pretty boy. I’ve been wanting to go to California with you my whole life.” And, oh. Well, Steve was done for. His hands curled into the fabric of Billy’s shirt, holding on for dear life, scared if he let go Billy would disappear. “Besides, I should probably get to know your rugrats before I ask their dad to marry me.”

Steve's eye went comically wide and his heart stopped and that hole in his chest felt like Billy had slapped a patch over it. He wheezed. “Huh?”

“You think I’m letting you go again, Harrington?”

That was fine with Steve.

[mothmiso]

Ruins of the past (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) by _Tursiops

Via Flickr:

(1) Remains of the old prison at Fort Santiago overshadowed by the city towers. Manila, Philippines. (2) Decorative ironwork atop an old doorway at Fort Santiago, Intramuros. (3) The old moat and adobe walls of Fort Santiago are overlooked by the encroaching city tower blocks.