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may--hawk · 19 days ago

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birds of england (ineffable remix)

Birds of England, take me high / atop this burning treeline / sending signals up in smoke / I’m never coming home

Sometime, oh, in the year or so after Armageddon, when all the world had felt like eternal springtime stretching on and on into forever, the Earth reborn, reprieved, an exhale of relief, Aziraphale would start each morning with the dawn coming down across the city. Each morning the bright swell of hope in his chest that this would be the day something would change between them, the day one of them would finally reach out to the other, and say - but of course they never did, each day following the same course as the day before it and the one to come after, stuck in the same old round, their predestined orbit. Each day, Aziraphale watched the morning skies for some great portent, some sort of sign. A certain color in the sunrise, a waver of cloud, a flock of crows on the rooftop across the way. A fortuitous crossword clue, a dark old car on the street. Anything to signify this particular day as different from the others, this the day where everything changed.

And then one particular day out of a hundred similar days Crowley called him up, the quick short ring coming down the line and Aziraphale already picking up, phone cradled between his cheek and shoulder as he carefully sewed a set of signatures back together. “Park, ten minutes,” said Crowley, and Aziraphale said “thirty,” automatically, his heart already fluttering faster in his chest, not that he needed the time, not that he even wanted it, but it was always like this with him and Crowley. A negotiation, a push and pull. A careful dance, a guard against ruin.

So he met Crowley at the park in twenty-eight minutes, and had to look away from the little curl to the edge of Crowley’s mouth that showed his pleasure, and when Crowley handed him a bag of frozen peas because Aziraphale had forgotten about them again their hands had brushed, Crowley’s fingers cold from the bag, and this was no different from the day before, would be no different from the day after. The bag of peas the same brand, the same spies around the pond, Crowley dunking the same mallard he dunked every time because he didn’t like way it looked at them. Nothing different. No sort of sign telling Aziraphale to act, and now. They fed the ducks, and talked about something they’d talked about a dozen times before, and when Crowley suggested lunch, that same little hopeful rise to his shoulders Aziraphale had seen for thousands of years, Aziraphale said yes. Yes, of course. They turned to go. At a sharp cry overhead, Aziraphale looked up, stopped walking. Crowley, hands shoved in his pockets, didn’t seem to notice. A long dark snake moving away from him, slinking through the park like oozing asphalt. Aziraphale put out a hand to Crowley’s arm to stop him, not quite touching him, just the faintest brush of fingertips on cloth. Crowley turned, his mouth parted, his eyes - visible through his glasses at this angle - fixed on Aziraphale’s hand, still between them. “Look,” Aziraphale said. He pointed up. A second, two, where Crowley just kept staring at him, as if waiting - finally he seemed to see Aziraphale’s hand. He stepped back, looked up. Another sharp cry from above, from the pair of falcons in the sky, circling around and around each other, crossing and swooping some great delicate dance where, despite feints and thermals and sharp cuts, they never once touched.

“What’re falcons, again?” said Crowley. “I never paid much attention to the oracles.”

“That’s because you were too busy drinking with Claudius,” Aziraphale said, and then admitted, “I don’t remember,” the weight of thousands of years of knowledge and memory and want pressing down on him, bearing him down to Earth. The falcons soared above them, cutting across the sun, just dark outlines from this far down. “Oh, just look at them,” Aziraphale said.

“Jealous, angel?”

“A bit.”

Crowley said, “We can, you know. Go flying. If.” He swallowed heavily. “If you want to.” Crowley’s thin chest heaved, as if he’d run a race, or gone for a fly, and Aziraphale didn’t understand it, he didn’t understand why -

(And Aziraphale had thought he would know when the perfect moment came: that the very air would still around them, the birds would cease to fly, the planet stop in its turning, even the stars faltering in their twinkling, that he would know the moment when he would finally turn to Crowley and lay a hand on his arm, and say, “Crowley, I-”)

Aziraphale crumpled up the pea bag and shoved it deep in his pocket, shoved it down, out of sight, and Crowley watched him, brow furrowed, watching the movement the whole way down, but he didn’t say anything, either. “We shouldn’t,” Aziraphale said, and tried a smile. “Someone might see. We’re much larger than falcons, you know.”

“Don’t have to be,” Crowley said, but his mouth was thin and flat, and in his dark glasses all Aziraphale could see was the reflection of the ground. His own pale and wavering self, and beyond, the empty sky.

So the days slipped on away from the end of the world and the right moment still didn’t come, because Aziraphale would know it. It would be something big and momentous and fitting, and if that wasn’t it, if there was no great epiphanic moment that Aziraphale was waiting for, then it meant he was just afraid -

So Aziraphale waited, and waited and waited, and nothing ever changed, a hundred times in the shop where Crowley’s eyes sparkled at him in the dim light, his chin propped up on his hand and the look on his face, Aziraphale’d only seen it on statues, only heard it in music, only seen it in the bright new glory of a star, and their hands were so close as Aziraphale reached forward and played another move or Crowley poured him another glass of wine, and once Aziraphale had been busy talking about something or other, he didn’t even know what, was just talking to fill the space between them, which was narrowing every year, it seemed, drawing them closer and closer together, and Crowley had cut him off, said, “Aziraphale.” Just a low murmur, really, and Aziraphale gasped a little, he couldn’t help it, his heart jerking abruptly like it’d caught a thermal, and he said, “Yes?” leaning forward a bit, and Crowley leaned forward too but didn’t speak, his lips moving wordlessly, his eyes bright, fixed on Aziraphale’s, and Aziraphale said again, “Yes, Crowley?” leaning forward in his chair, about to slide off, where he would fall on his knees in front of Crowley -

Then a noise on the street: a car door slam, a pair of loud human voices, raised in laughter. Crowley frowned and sat back very slightly, and so Aziraphale too, pulling himself up as if from the edge of a great cliff, pushing his shoulders against his chair to steady himself. They stared at each other. Crowley said, “Nothing, I - nothing.”

And then Aziraphale’s in the elevator, and this is it, it’s here, the second coming, and he will stop it or ruin himself trying, he already knows. It’s what he was made for. He will not see Crowley again, he thinks, not unless it is across the battlefield, because despite all his bark and bluster Crowley is too stubborn to run away, to save himself. Aziraphale can already feel the reach of Heaven coming down from above, the holy brightness settling over him like a hood over his eyes. He can barely see Earth, its rich golden sunlight. He can only make out Crowley because he’s so dark and still. Far above him, something catches his eye: a bird in the sky, just a dark blot, singular and high. Freedom, thinks Aziraphale suddenly, dredging deep in his thousands of years of memory. Falcons mean freedom. But he can’t tell if it’s a falcon he’s seeing now. He’s not sure what he’s seeing. From down here, Aziraphale thinks, half-blinded, it could be anything. Even a sign.

Read the rest of the mixtape on AO3.

#good omens #good omens fic #mixtape #aziracrow #aziraphale/crowley #ineffable husbands #my fic

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thisisarcanereverie · 2 years ago

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May i request a Yandere Moonknight System with a reader who’s like visiting London on work or something and they meet one of the boys. over their stay they get close as the boys show them around London and they sort of ignore the fact reader eventually has to leave untill they tell the boys they’re leaving the next day and they snap and take reader. Idk if that makes sense. 🤍

Cutting Ties (Dark! Moon Knight x Reader)

A/N: This is Part 1 of a 3 Part fic. This is also a dark fic so please DNI Minors and others. (I got a little carried away with this idea Anon so thank you for the suggestion)

Now if you can interact or want to, please do! Like, reblog, reply!

DISCLAIMERS/WARNINGS: kidnapping, angst (like a ridiculous amount of it), light cursing, I've never been to London or England in general so I'm going based off of what I've seen, English is my first language I just suck at it. I do not own the picture above but i DO own the header below, it's something that I made. I might make a few others idk. Enjoy!

Summary: You're a former Widow on the run, only in London for a year you meet Steven Grant, a goofy gift shoppist. But is there more that meets the eye?

You weren’t sure what it was about London, maybe it was the almost constant cloud looming over the city-or perhaps it was the way you barely understood what the people around you were saying- but you didn’t get what all the hype was about. Yes, it was beautiful if you put a filter over it looking at it through a tourist’s perspective. However, looking past all the buzz and touristy wonder, it was just like every other city- gray, busy, and foul smelling–filled to the brim with more people than it could possibly provide for. The only difference was the currency and the fact that everyone sounded like they came out of either Downtown Abbey or Derby Girls.

You sighed as you reminded yourself that you were only going to be stuck here for another year, until this identity expired, then you got to go somewhere else, maybe somewhere warm and remote. Though you doubt it, that’s the thing about being on the run–you don’t get to choose where you go. You’ve been running close to 8 years now, almost a decade. Ever since Natasha Romanoff sent the Red Room hurdling from the sky and freed every Widow in the process, including you. How you got here exactly was a very long story, with parts you would rather not relive.

You looked out the window of the bus, filled with thoughts of nothing but warm places with lots of sun and color with next to no people around. You could probably stay there longer than usual, hell maybe forever if you were careful. You could feel a small smile gracing your features as you thought of a nice, quaint home; decorated with plants, a nice kitchen to practice cooking in–oh and a sunroom that doubled as a greenhouse of sorts. You started making a list of flowers you would like to grow when you felt a sudden, foreign weight on your shoulder. You turned your head away from the silver light of the window towards the dark mess of curls next to you. You recognize him almost immediately, you don’t know his name but he always got off at that museum you’ve been meaning to visit, he always looked so tired with dark almost bruise like circles under his eyes; his dark hair almost in a permanent state of unkempt. You looked at his face a bit longer before your eyes trailed to his hands, his knuckles were white with how harshly he was gripping his bag and sweat was starting to form on his brow. A nightmare. You got those as well.

As gently as you could you shook him, it didn’t take much until he bolted upright and took a few very sharp breaths. You could see his eyes dart erratically in fear before finally settling on you, you couldn’t help but remark on the lovely shade of brown his eyes were. A moment or two passed by before his eyes met the ground and his cheeks flushed.

“I’m so sorry” he hurriedly apologized, eyes still trained on the ground, “didn’t realize I nodded off there.”

“It’s quite alright,” you assured smiling gently at him, “if you don’t mind me asking but do you suffer from nightmares often?” his eyes went from the ground back at you, “I don’t mean to pry it’s just that I’ve seen you a few times on here and you always look exhausted.”

“Yeah um,” he cleared his throat, “I, uh, I would guess so– not that I can’t tell the difference– it’s just complicated to explain–not that I wouldn’t tell you if I could, it’s just the best way I can explain it and I probably sound like such a knob.” You hold in a slight chuckle as his cheeks flush even more.

“I don’t think so,” you say, “I get those kinds of dreams often as well. The ones you feel like they belong to someone else…but not at the same time, I guess it really is difficult to explain out loud.” you hold out your hand and introduce yourself as the man beside you hesitantly accepts it.

“Steven Grant.”

///////////////////////////////////////////////////

That was almost a year ago, after introducing yourselves you gave him your number (which he called not even an hour after he got off the bus). At first you would just meet up for tea but tea quickly became more intimate. You would call each other during the nights that were the hardest to sleep or to dream. You would tell him about your hope to live somewhere remote one day, in a place full of sunshine and color and he would be silent and listen. It wasn’t long until he confided in you about his condition, and you met Marc Spector and Jake Lockely respectively.

You weren’t sure why but when Marc appeared he seemed familiar, for a moment you wondered if you had met him at some point but you were sure that you would’ve remembered. The Red Room forced you to have a good memory after all.

Jake on the other hand was completely different from Steven and Marc, where Steven was shy and Marc stiff, Jake was suave. He had kissed your hand and said dirty things to you in spanish, to which you surprised him by replying fluently and dirtier.

After some time you grew comfortable with Marc and Jake and went on dates with them as well. For a while you were happy, first time ever since coming to London. You were practically living in Steven’s small flat and you spent your days living as a normal person would. You pretended not to notice the weird things, like them leaving in the middle of the night or the strange looks they would sometimes get looking at absolutely nothing. You never pried or judged, it wasn’t like you aired out all the skeletons in your closet either. You never told them your real name (or at least the name the Red Room gave you) or where you came from or basically anything of substance at all about your past. You didn’t want to, it wasn’t like you didn’t trust them, but you feared what would happen if you did tell them. Tell them your real name, that you used to be a Black Widow and killed people. That the reason why you hated the color red was because it reminded you of the Red Room and the blood that stained your hands, how your nightmares were memories and that ghosts that haunted you refused to die.

Somewhere along the way you started to forget that this life you were living with your job and your boys wouldn’t last forever. That sooner or later reality creeps in and brutally murders the fantasy you have created and as you hold the almost expired passport in your hand you remember the cold truth. That you never should’ve gotten involved, that you slipped and got attached and worst of all..you’d gotten someone else attached as well. Without you knowing the year you had left in London was almost up, in less than two months you will be off again to a new corner of the world with a new name and a new life.

Deep down though you knew, knew that you couldn’t not go. Choosing to remain this person you’ve created with her perfectly normal job with her perfectly normal life with her not so normal–but still perfect–boyfriend was never an option. Too many people want you, for various reasons from recruitment to revenge for what you did as a Widow; and those people would stop at nothing to get to you, even if that meant hurting someone you’ve loved.

You’re doing this, for them, you had to leave. There was no other option, and it was better to break it off now rather than leaving in the middle of the night. You fought the urge to be selfish, to keep living this life with them until you board your one way flight. So with a deep breath you stuffed your passport back into its folder in the drawer you owned and grabbed your trench coat and umbrella. You did not let a single tear fall as you hauled a cab to take you to the familiar route to their flat. You tried not to think at all, you knew if thought for a little too long you would talk yourself out of this. You knew this would probably be easier over text, you wouldn’t need to tell those big brown eyes goodbye and see them fill with tears or hate. It would be so easy…but you couldn’t. You knew that if you didn’t end it in person Steven, Marc, or Jake would show up at your door and wouldn’t leave until you did what you were doing right now. Telling them in person that it was over.

You didn’t waste time when the cab stopped in front of his building, you told the driver to wait and that you would be back down in just a few moments. Your heels clacked against the wet pavement towards the door which a kind, elderly neighbor of Steven’s you’ve gotten to know opened the door for you to which you smiled and thanked him. Every move you made was robotic, you weren’t even thinking you were just on auto pilot. Hoping that they wouldn’t be able to tell the slight shake in your hand or how stiff you were. You reminded yourself that you were doing this for them, and for you as well.

You entered the lift and pressed the button for their floor, the fluorescent light flickers a few times and the hum and rattle of the wires lifting the metal box do nothing to quiet the thrumming of your heart. Seconds pass by like hours before finally the sliding doors reveal the dimly lit hallway. One you’ve walked through dozens of times by now looks more like death row. You let not one tear drop as you walked, you couldn’t–you couldn’t let those doubting thoughts and happy memories pass through your head as you knocked on his door. Hearing a shuffling and the clattering of dishes before you hear them walk to the door. You could tell by the slight difference in gait that Steven was fronting and it hurt. You had hoped silently that it wouldn’t be him, your sweet Steven, with his unkempt curls and goofy grin. One who read you facts about Egyptian mythology and ancient history during stormy nights, who woke you from nightmares and held you gently like you were the most precious thing to ever exist. The sleepy man on the bus who laid his head on your shoulder and slept, who called you not even an hour after giving him your number. Please not him.

He opened the door and sure enough it was Steven.

“There you are love,” He said, a wide smile adorning his face as he ushered you in, “Me and the boys were wondering where you were,” he kissed your cheek and took your coat, “dinners almost ready if you need to wash up.” You stood there motionless, unsure of what to do. This wasn’t the first time you’ve cut ties with someone that you’ve cared for. However this was different, he was different. Steven, Marc, and Jake were probably the first people you’ve ever loved. You would do anything for them, anything, as long as they lived and were content and happy.

Even if it meant hurting them.

Even if it meant you could only watch from afar.

You took in a deep breath, willed your heart to stop beating before speaking.

“Steven.” He stopped immediately, you never called him by his name, only ever called him your sweetheart, or baby, or whatever other nickname came into mind but never his name. He turned away from the little stovetop and looked at you. You willed your voice to not falter as you continued, “we all need to talk.”

“Oh god,” Steven whispered, “how bad?”

“We need to talk,” You said not answering, “please.”

Wordlessly Steven turned the stove off as he made his way to you, you held up your hand when he was only a few steps away.

“Are they present?” You asked.

“They weren’t before but now they are,” He said, eyes furrowing in worry, “we’re starting to get a little worried love what’s going on?”

“I,” you start before swallowing the lump that has suddenly formed in your throat, “I’ve gotten a call from the main office, they’re relocating me in a few months to help on a different classified project.”

“Oh,” Steven said with confusion written all over his face, “where?”

“That’s classified.” You said, nails biting into your palm to stop yourself from getting emotional.

“When will you be back?”

Silence fills the room, you bite back the urge to say anything that would give him hope. After a few seconds you see his eyes widen as he looks at the mirror beside you.

“No,” he said to the mirror, “no, no she’s not,” he turns to you with tears pricking his dark eyes making them shine, “love, tell them that you’re not-”

“I am,” you say, careful to keep a cold tone despite the urge to cry, “I’m not coming back. It’s a permanent relocation.”

“But you can still come to visit,” he says hurriedly, tears still pricking his eyes as he runs a hand through his hair, “we-we, we can um, we can face-call or um, or we can text and call and we can make this work, I know we can make this work love.” you opened your mouth to say something when he cut you off, a few tears leaking through and leaving wet streaks down his cheek, “or you could tell them no, tell them that you refuse the offer!”

“I can’t say no,” you said gently.

“Yes you can,” Steven said, his large hands gripping your shoulders, “you can tell them no.”

“I can’t Steven,” you tell him, “I’ll lose my job if I do and I can’t.”

“Then we can face call,” he says, his hands now cradling your face, leaving small kisses on your face that feel like knives in your heart, “we can make this work.”

“We can’t,” you said as you gently pry his hands from your face, you reach into your pocket and grab the spare key he gave you after a month into your relationship and put it in his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Wait,” Steven says silently, his head hung, his crying seemingly subsided “can you please stay, stay with me, be with me until you go.”

A moment of silence happens, for a moment you reconsider, but then you kiss his lips. Salt and vegan chocolate stain your tongue until you pull back, resting your forehead against his momentarily. You imagine what life you could’ve had with them, one full of good days and bad days. You’d adopt a cat with him, you would laugh as he declared the cat his mortal enemy for looking at Gus for a moment too long. You’d save up together and buy a nice cottage in the countryside, maybe you’d get married, maybe you wouldn’t. But you could imagine what it would be like to grow old with him, when your hair would turn white and gray, when your skin would start to sag and he would still be there to tell you you’re as beautiful as the day he met you on that small bus all those years ago. It’s a nice life, one you know you would be more than content with.

But you know it’s not a life you can have.

“Goodbye.”

With that you left, closing the door behind you and walking to the lift. Walking away from the life you knew you could never live, not without constantly looking over your shoulders. You knew secrets always have ways of coming to the light, so even if you did stay how long would it be until he discovered yours. How long until he has a gun to his head and a target on his back? No, this was the choice, this was the only option. You made the right call, while you may not get to live that life; he still could. He’ll find someone else, someone to love and who will hopefully love him as much.

The doors slid closed and the wires hummed and groaned as they lifted you back down where the cab was waiting. You decided to walk and paid the cab for their time. You knew with the heels you were wearing you would regret it later but you didn’t care, you needed some time to think. You walked through the lit streets, you watched as people laughed and a few occasionally public criers. You stopped and waved at the living statue man that Steven introduced to you before walking on. This was a path that you and the boys would walk sometimes, they didn’t like going out much and neither did you, but the exercise did you good. You checked your phone to see how much time you had left before you had to board your flight. It seemed like you had enough time to go home, grab your duffle and carry on before the cab you called before you left arrived.

“Excuse me miss,” You turned to see a little girl no older than ten addressing you. She was a small thing, with dark curls and even darker eyes, she dressed as a white gown with a flower crown. “Do you care for some flowers?” You remember briefly seeing similarly dressed kids in the plaza not too far away, you gathered that maybe she had wandered away from the group unnoticed.

“You know what,” You kneeled down to her height, “I would love some flowers, but first let’s get you back to your group alright?” the girl looked around as if she’s realizing she’s not where she’s supposed to be, for a moment you’re worried about her crying as you see tears start forming in her eyes. You take the hand not holding onto the small basket of flower seeds gently, “don’t cry little one, we’ll get you back to your group all safe and sound.” You see her nod as she holds your hand in her tiny one as you lead her back to the brightly lit plaza just a few buildings away. She points to two women frantically looking and calling out a name. You let her hand go and watch as she runs towards who you assume are her mothers.

“Oh my stars,” you hear the taller woman breathe out in relief, “where did you run off too?”

“I-I went to go give flowers.” You heard the little girl sniffle before she pointed at you, “she helped me.” You gave a small awkward smile and wave before the smaller woman gave you a hug.

“Thank you so much,” She said before letting you go. “We were talking with the play director for one mo and the next-”

“No need,” you said, “she’s a sweet kid, adventurous too apparently.”

“You have no idea.” the mother sighed as she looked at the now giggling child in her wife's arms, “Angie loves to get into trouble.” you see her smile before returning her gaze back to you, “anyways thank you again.”

“No problem,” you say before turning your eyes towards Angie and her taller mother, “it was nice to meet you, and you too Angie–listen to your mum’s.” you went to walk away before you felt a soft tug on your sleeve. You looked down to see Angie holding up a packet of flower seeds to you.

“Here’s your flower miss,” Angie said sweetly, tears long gone, “thank you for helping me find my mum’s.” you gently take the packet of seeds from her and smile,

“you’re welcome, good luck with your play.” You said as you waved her goodbye as she went to take her place next to the various other children in similar attire. You stood there a moment longer, watching this small family you’ve encountered. All you’ve ever known of family was what the Red Room told you of. Your birth certificate was destroyed along with every other Widow’s, even then you doubt that your parents still walked the earth. Dreykov wasn’t one to leave loose ends.

You walked away from the plaza then, away from the brightly lit place and back onto dimly lit streets making your way past the few passersby and back to your building where a single duffle bag and carry on waited for you.

You had been brave the entire day, you had not let a single tear drop but once the door to your flat closed behind you all the resolve you had crumbled. You slid down the door as tears profusely fell down your cheeks leaving hot traces behind. You couldn’t hold back the sobs that had threatened to come out earlier. Your fingers shakily trace your lips as you hold onto the last kiss you shared with him. Your hand then went to your chest and clutched the material of your shirt as a sharp, throbbing pain in your chest grew. Every part of you was screaming, all for different things. There was physical pain like the ache in your feet and the pain in your chest, but the emotional pain–that was the worst of it. This was the kind of pain that teetered between hell and heaven.

So this was it.

This was heartbreak.

You don’t know how long you stayed there–teetering–but you knew you couldn’t be long. Soon you would have to pick yourself up, bite through every step as though it didn’t feel like you were walking on glass, grab that duffle and carry on, and leave. You let out a bitter smile as you remember that fateful day you met your boys, how you were planning on what flowers to plant in that dream home of yours. You reached into your pocket and grabbed that small bag of flower seeds.

Purple Hyacinth.

Sorrow

You laughed at the irony.

How fitting.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“What do you mean my flight is canceled?”

“Just what I mean ma’am, the weather report-”

“It’s bloody London, has there ever been a clear sunny sky in London?”

“No..bu-”

“Alright,” you sigh, pinching the bridge between your brows, “I’m not trying to be difficult, I know you’re just doing your job, are there any flights cleared to take off?” You see the person type a few buttons on their keyboard and a few clicks of the mouse before looking back at you with false sympathy.

“I’m sorry ma’am all the ones cleared already took off.”

Shit, that leaves you with two options: going back to the flat or staying at the airport until morning…with a sigh you grab your bags and get ready to grab a late taxi back to your place. At least there you could shower and cry in private. First thing tomorrow morning you’ll get on the next plane to, you look at your ticket again Cincinnati, Ohio. At least you won’t stay there, your inside guy did you a solid and got you away from people. You’ll be in a small property big enough for one in a small town. It wasn’t ideal but at least you were away from the city stench. You’ll have to drive to places this time instead of hailing a cab, but you didn’t mind. All in all, it was an ok set up, much more preferable than your previous arrangement.

You tried to hail a cab for ten minutes, everyone that passed was either already paid or just didn’t see you. Eventually you thought you were going to have to bite the bullet and sleep on the uncomfortable airport lounges when a cab finally pulled up. You thanked god as you put your luggage in the trunk and got into the backseat.

“Where to miss?” the man asked, you didn’t even look at him as you replied. Instead watching the water drip steadily down the window pane.

“Too bad for the weather eh?” This driver asked in a thick cockney accent.

“Yeah I guess,” you replied, “though I guess it fits.” silence passes before he replies.

“Tough day issit?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” you said, closing your eyes, “it just doesn’t end.”

“Know what that’s like,” he replies, “I had a share of bad days myself.”

“Oh yeah?” You responded.

“Like today,” You hear him respond, “I burned my hand while making dinner for me and my girlfriend, we’ve been going on for a year or so by now. She is the most beautiful creature you’ve ever seen, inside and out. Anyways the day only gets worse from there, she comes about half an hour early to dinner without warning. I knock my poor toe on the way to the door to let her in; hurt like anything. So I open the door, she’s as radiant as ever, only she’s got this sad look in her eyes, something I’ve never seen before. Turns out, she’s been lying to me… she said her job was taking her away and that she wouldn’t be able to be with us anymore.” a sinking feeling settled into your stomach, “we begged, we pleaded but no. She was adamant, and then she left, without another word. Isn’t that cruel?” You open your eyes to look into the rearview mirror, a chill went through your body as your eyes met a familiar dark pair. “Isn’t it mi carissima?” the accent drops into the deep spanish accent. You’re about to open the door when you feel a pinch on the side of your neck, and slowly the world blurred and then faded into nothing.

(Here's Part 2)

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blindrapture · 6 months ago

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OH GOD THE RAPTURE IS BURNING (Table of Contents)

While this book has many names and many people in it, all the events and opinions portrayed are fictitious. Some real names were used, with permission, but only for aesthetics’s sake. People often express confusion over some of the emoticons in the story. Most are self-explanatory, but just bear in mind that every one has eyes and a mouth. .w. has the periods as the eyes and the w is related to the "kittyface" of :3, with the former emoticon intended as an expression of humble happiness (something like "Aw, shucks!"). The < in <:D is intended as eyebrows, not a party hat, no matter who tells you otherwise. This story is long. The first draft was started in 2011 and continued until 2013, the second draft finished the story in 2013, the third and fourth drafts were refinements of the whole and came around 2014. The fifth draft added a lot more content, introducing an element you'll see as the "Attacheds," and this came in 2015. This formed the basis for the sixth draft in 2016, which was published on Amazon as the First Edition. That draft saw refinement and tweaking for several years (the seventh draft). What you are looking at now is the Second Edition, the eighth and final draft. The point of all this is: I have had many opportunities to change this story. I have taken many things out. The content and how it is treated will make you uneasy, somewhere, somewhen. It is best to read this story by yourself, where you can feel your emotions rawly and give them space. Privacy is a theme here. There are many more themes for you to discover. Good luck.

OVERTURE May 20 (Modern Invocation) May 21 (Title Drop From Red Sky)

ACT I May 23 (Donnie) May 24 (The Pillar) May 25 ("world with empty eye sockets") May 26 (Aubade feat. Mistress Dread) May 27 (In Blackpool) May 28 (Cipher for a Million Years) May 29 (Everyone's Benefit) May 30 ("Cakes mean the party funds") May 31 (Tropes) June 1 (Kissing a Corpse) June 2 ("le bouffon blanc") June 3 (Great Dodongo of the Congo) June 4 (SLCEM) June 5 (Womp Womp) June 6 ("Doppelganger") June 7 (The Minotaur of Lloret de Mar) June 8 (Vorke, the Face Stealer) June 9 (Systematic Chaos) June 10 (Clearly Exaggerated) June 11 ("Promise you'll never?") June 12 (Donnie Goes to London) June 13 (missing) June 14 (There Were Strangers at the Birth of the Earth) June 15 ("How are human minds biggest") June 16 ("I'll kneel.") June 17 (Going Brazilian) June 18 (In the Name of Comcast...) June 19 ("ENGLAND'S THEIRS NOW") June 20 (Tally Marks) June 21 (Bad Jokes) June 22 (Classic Jokes) June 23 (Ten Years in Jail) June 24 (Tell Us Yourself) June 25 (Liverpool) June 26 ("Fears. There's the rub.") June 27 (Secret Friend) June 28 (The Fourth Rake of the Apocalypse) June 29 (Rael's Exodus, I: Start with the Pronouns) June 30 (Rael's Exodus, II: Indisen) July 1 (Rael's Exodus, III: Fear the Day) July 2 (Rael's Exodus, IV: EAT) July 3 (Rael's Exodus, V: The Anatomy of Everything) July 4 (Rael's Exodus, VI: Wishful Thinking)

ACT II July 5 (Duck and Cover) July 6 (American Anxiety) July 7 (Ciphers of the Blind Man's Book) July 8 (The God Machine) July 9 (School Bus) July 10 (Family Expression) July 11 (Sempiternity) July 12 (Grimaldi's Mad Language) July 13 ("Operation: Rise Against Fear") July 14 (Guy Fawkes) July 15 ("yes, quite nice") July 16 (Infinite Series) July 17 (The Grand Gtheru) July 18 (A Conversation with Tiresias) July 19 (More Tally Marks) July 20 ("red ochre corridors") July 21 (Who Once Ruled the Streetlights) July 22 (Walking) July 23 (Goodbye, Swamp Queen) July 24 (Sanctuary Francisco) July 25 (Avoidance) July 26 (See, the Thing is...) July 27 (Maybes and Mysteries) July 28 (Synecdoche) July 29 (Crotch Museum) July 30 (King Real) July 31 (Ground and Pound) August 1 (Don't Speak Its True Name, I: Peace) August 2 (Don't Speak Its True Name, II: Mirrors) August 3 (Don't Speak Its True Name, III: Colors) August 4 (Don't Speak Its True Name, IV: Music) August 5 (Don't Speak Its True Name, V: Dominiere) August 6 (Don't Speak Its True Name, VI: The Ghost) August 7 (Don't Speak Its True Name, VII: Friend)

POST WILL BE UPDATED WITH EVERY LOG

SEE THE WEBSITE VERSION FOR THE IDEAL READ

(and for bonus rambles talking about the creation of the story, see here)

#oh god the rapture is burning #ogtrib #ogtrib table of contents #gonna pin this post so i can easily grab it and edit it.

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brightlight-dazzlingeyes · 1 year ago

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between the lines | chapter 05

rúben dias x original female character [+18]

synopsis: isabella is a sports journalist covering the premier league. she has sworn to never get involved with a football player. that is, until she meets a handsome portuguese defender. warnings: incorrect journalism references; timeline of events are not faithful to real life; i have never been to england; mutual pining; romantic comedy; minors dni.

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

Chapter 05 - Like a last minute own goal

It’s Tuesday and I’m in a bar in Athens watching the penalty shootout between Panathinaikos and Olympique de Marseille. Sitting next to me there’s a man with an AEK jersey and two wearing the Olympiacos uniform.

Across the street, away from this curious scene, standing tall and shiny, there’s a hotel. The hotel I’ll be staying at for the next 30 hours or so. And so is the entirety of the Manchester City squad.

So for the time being, for the sake of my own sanity, I’ll be sitting here at this charming Greek bar sipping one of the few non-alcoholic beverages on the menu.

Eventually the color of the sky warns me it’s my cue to leave, a bright and vibrant orange. I already spent too much time and too much money on this bar. And I wasn’t even supposed to be in this country.

I’m only in Greece to cover for a colleague that allegedly got sick – internally the talk at the office is that he was caught cheating on his wife and had to bail work for a couple days, and somehow I’m the one being punished.

I already know the odds of running into him. They’re high, okay, they always seem to be pretty high.

Still, I cross the street. I take my time doing it, too. Look at both sides multiple times. at the front of the hotel I even took a few pics of the previously mentioned beautiful orange sky.

And yet,

“It’s been a while…” My voice is soft, as I’m trying to be polite. I go as far as nodding when I enter the elevator at the exact time as he does.

Of course the timing would be perfect. If I haven't taken the pictures. Or if I drank less. But I’m starting to believe it wouldn’t have mattered. If not today we were bound to meet again.

“I wonder whose fault is that.” He uses a humorous tone, even raises an eyebrow, smirking, but I can see right through him, he’s not joking. It is my fault. He’s wearing Manchester City’s travel hoodie and joggers, looking so out of place since he’s by himself. I decided against making a joke about that. Maybe another time. Something about asking him if he’s lost from the herd. Or something. Instead, I’m even funnier:

“I miss you too!” I answer with the same tone, maybe a notch higher, trying to actually tell a joke. I consider nudging him with my elbow, to get the bit going, but as soon as I say that the smirk fades off his face and he looks serious at me.

And then his face turns to the elevator door. I watch as he sighs. When our eyes meet again the soft smile is back on his face.

It’s my floor and as I walk out he says:

“Have a good night, Isa.”

I nod. There’s words stuck on my throat and it’s only when the elevator’s door closes again that I manage to say back:

“You too, Rúben.”

A week later, back in Manchester, laying in my own bed, I can’t sleep. I’m still thinking about that encounter, having been thinking about it everyday for the past week. I have to fix this, clear the air. We’re going to meet again and again.

So, against my better judgment, (and to be fair, so long after what I thought I could hold) I text him.

Me: you too

That's good, right? He’ll get it…

Do not text him, girl!!: que?

He texts back immediately. Wasn't expecting that but okay.

Me: hae a good night! have i forgot to say it last time we met

Do not text him, girl!!: isa are you drunk?

I hesitate. Man, that only happened one time! Is it better or worse if I tell him I’m drunk? I mean, I’m kind of sleepy. Maybe I should say yes and go all out ‘I miss kissing you, Rúben’ and shit like that.

No. No, that’s not what I texted him. I only look like I’m drunk texting because he makes me nervous, and the idea is to stop being nervous around him.

Me: what? no! i really just wanted to say have a good night so you know that we’re cool

Rúben: right

Me: we’ll be seeing a lot of each other, and i feel like we didn’t discuss this part the part that you know we’re cool

He takes a while to answer, I’m biting my nails staring directly at the bright white light of the phone. The memory of my brother telling me I’ll be single forever rings in my mind, to be fair he was 14 at the time I had just gotten my first bra. But it is true, and that’s why. I ruin it every time I try.

More minutes pass and he still doesn't answer. My mind goes somewhere else. The actual last conversations we had.

With me saying “I don’t think we can be friends.”, and he saying “Well, that’s not what I’m trying to be.”

“Okay, well, that's worse, Rúben. You get that, right?” I had my hands covering my face as I tried to find the right words. “I just got here, I can't be the reporter that sleeps with the football players.”

“But you…” He held himself back, but I heard it in my mind, ‘but you are’. “Don’t you think is too late for that? You’re really having second thoughts now?!” His hands replaced mine, holding my cheeks. He looked deep into my eyes, like he was trying to read my mind.

I cried more that day than I’m proud to admit. I’m crying right now, still looking at the phone. I don’t expect us to go back to how we were, but I can’t deal with panicking every week just at the idea of seeing him. I can’t avoid him, I can't be with him. So I just want us to be cool, you know? I don’t know how to write a text saying that, though.

Rúben: right we’re cool

join the taglist

@91vhs @kathb59

#football fanfic #between the lines #ruben dias fic #ruben dias fanfic #rúben dias #ruben dias #football fic

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royalwilmon · 7 months ago

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Get to Know Me Tag :)

thank you so so much for tagging me @skibasyndrome <3333333

do you make your bed?

almost never. like, when i wash my sheets, and then never again. cant be bothered!!!

what's your favourite number?

i dont really have one but ive been saying 36 for yearssss. from the glee days. iykyk

what is your job?

im a software tester!!

if you could go back to school, would you?

you couldn't pay me to

can you parallel park?

i mean. technically. i avoid it at all costs and if there is someone behind me witnessing me parallel park i will Fully Panic. but i can do it. mostly.

a job you had that would surprise people?

i worked at dunkin' donuts for three years. which isn't surprising, i live in new england. what does surprise people is when i talk about how much i genuinely loved that job and miss it Every Day

do you think aliens are real?

i guess i definitely think there are other life forms out there. hard to say what they'd be like, though

can you drive a manual car?

nah, i've never tried. don't have much of a reason to!

what's your guilty pleasure?

lmaooooo gut instinct is to say jimmy buffett. my spotify wrapped this year is going to be WILD

tattoos?

not yet! once i find an artist i trust, I'm going to get the comet chandelier

favorite color?

blue! i describe the shade as the darkest shade of blue the sky gets

favorite type of music?

my taste of music is absolutely all over the place, this is nearly an impossible question for me to answer. i have a lot of specific pockets of interest. i love anything that came out of laurel canyon -- really, a lot of 70s music i picked up from my dad. obviously i fuck with showtunes big time. and then lately i have a handful of artists im obsessed with that float somewhere in the indie/pop/jazz/folk world. like, so vague, i just cant say any sorta word that would sum it up. oh, also, omar?? seriously, i'm all over the place

do you like puzzles?

yeah! my sister loves them more than i do so i mostly only do them when I'm hanging out with her

any phobias?

birds!!!!!!!!!!!! i hate them!!!!!!!! im so afraid!!!!!!!!!!! so so so scared!!!!!

favorite childhood sport?

i played softball and basketball as a kid, but like. ehhhhhhhh.

do you talk to yourself?

oh, always. look, i work from home most of the time, and my roommates have very different schedules from mine so im home alone a LOT. i like to keep myself company. i am alwayssss chattering to myself. 100% of the time, just nonsense babble

what movies do you adore?

ohhhhh tricky question. i'll pretend im doing one of those letterboxd interviews and I'll give you my top four. fried green tomatoes (1991), camelot (1967), dirty dancing (1987), and everything everywhere all at once (2022)

coffee or tea?

coffee! like i said, i worked at dunks for three years. I'm one of those maniacs that drinks black coffee. i wish i liked tea, i really do, i just. dont

first thing you wanted to be growing up?

HAHA i don't know if it was the first but the story my mom always tells is how i wanted to be a cake decorator at Walmart. specifically walmart. she would encourage me to aim higher, like. 'why don't you be a cake decorator at the white house or something', but no. walmart. i was probably, like. five.

Onward tagging: idk!!!!!!!! im always late to these!!!!!! @goldenwilmon if you haven't done it yet??

#tag game

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twilit-creature · 1 year ago

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-sees the hashtag "I won't elaborate unless asked-

....I ask :D

What humans ? In what story ? Is it part of the OG Moon lore ? Or is it in the TES lore ? 👀

I have had these furry guys for quite a while. I could not really decide for a name and nothing stuck. I started to develope a world with them and at least 2 other intelligent species, how they interact with one another and so on...

While I was still into the old fandom(which I really dont want to talk about lol), before TES, I had developed another story and added my own ideas to it and lore all came naturally. But then I left that fandom and sat there with a concept that was not even really recognizeable for that fandoms source? So I was like "But how about I merge that?"

So I did.

Fast foward and we have the three gods that watch over the world. Thanks to the gods in the depths of the ocean, high in the sky and on the land 3 species evolve. The other two don't matter for this so we only focus on what happened on the land.

Humans evolved kind of similar to what happened here on earth. They came from apes and had their little civilization. They did however evolve very differently when it came to their civilization. They were actively forbidden and suppressed from evolving said civilization by the nature/forest goddess who had created them. They could only dream of the things they could achieve while stuck in mud houses with simple farms and a few domesticated animals.

Like they were mentally progressing but were unable to express it because of the nature/forest goddess keeping them from doing so, telling them these dreams would lead to the rot of nature and even herself. That it would destroy them all eventually.

Humans being humans, however, do what they think is right because no one tells humans what to do. They create a profane ritual, a sort of hunt to destroy the nature/forest goddess so they could be the judge of whether its a good idea or not to invent paper and other neat things. Doing this ritual however had it's price - an eternal curse which would turn all humans into animals. By extension even turn apes into something else. That way the goddess ensured humans could not even find a scientific way to turn to what they were before.

Now here we have our average Burnard. He did not even know some people decided to do this profane ritual and kill a god for their own liberation. He may have just been standing in the field, being glad all the potatoes have been planted - then suddenly - fluffy. However I can't really decide wether this change was gradual or instant.

The new humans are closer related to felines and bunnies. Their fur colors are a wide variety of purples and violets. The backside of their ears is the part that is used hear, being like eardrum. The fur pattern and color on the guy above are generic and very common. The purple can range from really greyed and dark purple to bright pastel lavender colors. It can also have white, grey or black pattern. Hair colors are more reduced because now hair only works on a grey scale. You either got white, grey or black hair. No more blondes, no more red hair or brown - its all gone. Claw colors are in the same kind of range as hair.

The present day for these new human is somewhat akin to the clockwork city or industrial revolution england. Lots of steamy and brassy machines. Lots of cogs, flying airships, you get it.

Their history has been very well documented from that point foward. There is a small splinter group of humans that turned into a sort of bug people and those people also have stopped calling themselves humans at all. They have accepted the judgement that has been passed and live in ways the nature/forest goddess would approve. They are also not welcome in the society of the others and get generally treated as outcasts. They are the ones suffering the consequences of the profane ritual the most.

I think I should also mention, when the civiliation intially came to be, it was not like on earth with many different ones. It was just one made of many different kinds of humans, all with their unique ways of thinking.

All this lore is really recent because - someone will stab me for this but - I don't like humans? And I don't want them in my works? You will never see me choose human when I have any other option. This is a thing with me since forever. I can't even really tell you a real reason for my dislike bc there is none- So I was very reluctant about this choice.

But then again, humans existed for a much, much shorter time. Maybe like 500 years at best and since 200 years no ape human has been seen. So they got to enjoy 300 years of being hairless apes before being turned into Felinoids with fur they can't ever get rid of.

Some stuff needs some ironing out but this is like- the basics.

As for story...

I have a story for all this in the works but its - its basic and I am not sure what to do with it. But I'm working on it. I have generally a lot of original characters for this still unnamed world and I think about making stories for them too. Bc I can't involve Nestor for example in the story I am planning- He is a fry cook in the middle of the city with 4 children, he ain't gonna go on adventures. Man's got responsibilities.

#moon doodles #asks #messed up ocs #there u go #youre like the only person ever that asks for lore #and you dont know how much that touches me #like wow #someone is interested!!#i dont understand why but wow!!!

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marcignotis · 2 years ago

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Virtual Sketchbook section 3

Virtual Sketchbook 3

Moonlight Landscape

By Joseph Wright of Derby

For my art piece, I chose Joseph Wright of Derby’s Moonlight Landscape. This piece was done in 1785 with oil on a canvas. It was painted at the time of the industrial revolution and is the painting of a landscape. . Joseph Wright was born in 1734 in England and was born into a prominent family. He was educated and studied for two years under Thomas Hudson in London in order to become a painter. Wright often paints portraits as well as landscapes and often works with natural and artificial light. This piece of Wright primarily focuses on the lighting of the scene and how the light illuminates the surrounding landscape. The moon is obscured by a stone bridge that is raised above a waterway. The rays from the moon form circles around the moon as the shade of color slowly begins to fade and blend in with the dark blue night-time sky the farther the circles of light go on. The moon also illuminates a traveler and his donkey walking along the bridge as well as what appears to be a fisherman attempting to catch fish on the river. The beams of moonlight radiate across the river and go far into the distance. As your eyes follow the water up you see a small castle in the distance that is surrounded by hills. There is also a light post at the beginning of the bridge which contrasts the natural light with manmade light. Wright does a good job at slowly blending the light into the background. It really does seem as if it is getting darker and darker as the moonlight gets farther and farther away from the surrounding objects. The vegetation along the side of the piece can barely be made out, certain limbs of a tree hang out into the moonlight while the rest hides in the shadows of the painting. The color scheme is much darker than most paintings and including the white and yellow rays of the moon feels like the light shining down is real. The lighting especially sets the mood for a seemingly quiet night that is filled with mystery. These figures are lurking about at night even if the activities they are performing are not spooky or eerie in themselves, the fact that it is happening in the dead of night adds to a mystic feeling. This would be a quiet night since you can’t see anything, but the moon is able to reveal the secrets going on in this world. I think this art piece tells that Wright pays attention to more simple concepts such as the way a moonbeam would pounce off a small ripple in the water. You can tell the artist is trying to show the importance of light and its illuminating factor. It reveals a whole world that was previously unknown. If the moon was not portrayed like this you could never see the shadowy outlined tree or man down by the side of the water, or even a mysterious castle off in the distance. Darby is trying to show that it doesn’t take much to see the world around us. I picked this piece because it made me think that just a little light can illuminate the world around us. It doesn’t take much, just a few moonbeams to show this majestic and wonderful world we live in. For me, this even goes beyond paintings, in my life I often get very narrow-minded and tunnel-visioned, but I think sometimes it just takes someone else to go out of their way and bring me out of that to enjoy the life that I live. Looking at this painting it makes me want to start becoming that person who goes out of their way and tries to help others to also realize the majestic beauties that may lay just beyond their view.

Proof of attendance ( the top picture I took of the art piece but I did forget to take a picture right next to it. These are photos of me at Ringling on that day though. I haven't been to Ringling since around 1st grade so I really enjoyed going back there and even got to bring my brother along with me :).

P.S. sorry for the last awkward photo there were like a bunch of people trying to leave and I was sorta blocking them trying to take that picture.

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rajasthantaxiservicesblogs · 2 months ago

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See the Famous Clock Tower in Jodhpur

Jodhpur, often called the "Blue City," is a stunning destination in Rajasthan, India. One of the most famous landmarks in Jodhpur is the Clock Tower, a historic structure that attracts tourists from all over the world. This article will explore the history, significance, and experiences related to the Clock Tower, making it an essential stop on your visit to Jodhpur.

A Brief History of the Clock Tower

The Clock Tower, known as "Ghanta Ghar," was built during the reign of Maharaja Ajit Singh in the early 20th century. The tower was designed by the renowned architect Sir Swinton Jacob, who also designed many other buildings in Jodhpur. The Clock Tower stands tall at 30 meters and is a beautiful example of Indo-Saracenic architecture. It is adorned with intricate carvings and vibrant blue tiles, reflecting the city's famous blue color.

The clock itself was imported from England and has been keeping time for over a century. The Clock Tower is located in the heart of the city, surrounded by bustling markets and lively streets, making it an ideal spot to experience the local culture. If you want to explore this landmark comfortably, consider booking a Jodhpur sightseeing taxi from Rajasthan Taxi Services, which makes your visit hassle-free.

Significance of the Clock Tower

The Clock Tower is not just a beautiful structure; it holds significant cultural and historical value for the people of Jodhpur. It serves as a symbol of the city’s rich heritage and craftsmanship. The tower has witnessed the passage of time and many historical events, making it a vital part of Jodhpur's identity.

Moreover, the Clock Tower acts as a landmark for both locals and tourists. When people say they are meeting near the Clock Tower, everyone knows where to go. This central location makes it easy for visitors to explore nearby attractions and markets. For a convenient way to get around and experience Jodhpur's beauty, consider choosing Rajasthan Tour Packages that include transportation to and from the Clock Tower.

Exploring the Surrounding Markets

One of the best experiences near the Clock Tower is visiting the vibrant markets that surround it. The Sardar Market, located just a stone's throw away, is famous for its colorful stalls selling spices, textiles, handicrafts, and jewelry. As you stroll through the market, you can immerse yourself in the local culture and enjoy the lively atmosphere.

Don’t forget to bargain! Haggling is a common practice in Indian markets, and you can often get great deals on souvenirs and traditional Rajasthani items. The scents of spices and the sounds of vendors calling out their wares create a unique shopping experience that you won’t want to miss. A Jodhpur sightseeing taxi can take you to the market and help you carry your purchases back easily.

Architectural Features of the Clock Tower

The architecture of the Clock Tower is a blend of Indian and Islamic styles, which is a hallmark of Indo-Saracenic architecture. The tower features beautiful arches, intricate jali work (lattice screens), and ornate balconies that showcase the skill of the craftsmen of that era. The clock itself is encased in a large dome, making it a prominent feature of the skyline.

Visitors often find themselves admiring the details of the carvings on the tower, which tell stories of the region’s history and culture. The combination of light and shadows cast by the tower adds to its charm, especially during sunrise and sunset when the colors of the sky enhance its beauty.

Best Time to Visit

The ideal time to visit the Clock Tower is during the cooler months, from October to March. The weather is pleasant, allowing you to explore without the discomfort of extreme heat. Early mornings or late afternoons are particularly enjoyable, as the soft light creates stunning photographs.

If you visit during the day, be sure to take a moment to sit and relax in the nearby plaza. Enjoy a cup of chai (tea) from a local vendor and watch the world go by. The Clock Tower serves as a gathering point for locals, so you can experience everyday life in Jodhpur. For a more organized experience, look for Rajasthan Tour Packages that include guided visits to the Clock Tower and other attractions.

How to Reach the Clock Tower

Reaching the Clock Tower is quite simple, as it is located in the city center. If you are staying in Jodhpur, you can easily hire a taxi or use local transportation. Rickshaws are also a popular and affordable way to get around the city.

For those who enjoy walking, the area around the Clock Tower is pedestrian-friendly, making it easy to explore nearby attractions like the Mehrangarh Fort and Jaswant Thada. Many tourists find that wandering through the streets gives them a deeper understanding of Jodhpur's charm. However, for added convenience, consider using a Jodhpur sightseeing taxi from Rajasthan Taxi Services to navigate the city comfortably.

Nearby Attractions

While visiting the Clock Tower, there are several other attractions you should consider. Just a short walk away is the Mehrangarh Fort, one of the largest forts in India. The fort is perched on a hilltop and offers breathtaking views of the city. Inside the fort, you can explore museums and see beautiful palaces.

Another nearby attraction is Jaswant Thada, a stunning marble cenotaph built in memory of Maharaja Jaswant Singh II. The architecture and peaceful gardens make it a perfect spot for relaxation and reflection. If you're planning to visit these sites, check out the Rajasthan Tour Packages that include these popular attractions along with transportation options.

Photography Opportunities

The Clock Tower is a favorite spot for photographers due to its unique architecture and vibrant surroundings. The best time for photography is during the golden hours—early morning or late afternoon—when the light creates beautiful shadows and highlights.

Don’t forget to capture the bustling market scenes and the friendly locals. Taking photos at different angles will help you capture the essence of this historical landmark and the lively culture of Jodhpur. A Jodhpur sightseeing taxi can take you to various vantage points for the best shots, ensuring you don’t miss any beautiful moments.

Conclusion

Visiting the Clock Tower in Jodhpur is a must for anyone exploring this beautiful city. Its rich history, architectural beauty, and vibrant surroundings make it a central part of the Jodhpur experience. Whether you are shopping in the nearby markets, admiring the architecture, or simply enjoying a cup of chai, the Clock Tower will leave a lasting impression on your journey. So, make sure to add it to your itinerary and immerse yourself in the charm of Jodhpur! For the best experience, consider using Rajasthan Taxi Services to make your sightseeing easier and more enjoyable.

#clock tower #jodhpur #rajasthan

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masterofd1saster · 4 months ago

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Chucklehead in England

London's Metropolitan Police chief warned that officials will not only be cracking down on British citizens for commentary on the riots in the U.K., but on American citizens as well. "We will throw the full force of the law at people. And whether you’re in this country committing crimes on the streets or committing crimes from further afield online, we will come after you," Metropolitan Police Commissioner Sir Mark Rowley told Sky News. Riots have broken out across the United Kingdom in recent days over false rumors spread online that an asylum seeker was responsible for a mass stabbing at a Taylor Swift-themed dance event that left three girls dead and others wounded. ***

The riots are bad and the rioters are wrong, but Rowley & co are reaping what they sewed. England has imported problems and positively refused to incorporate its immigrants in British culture. Multiculturalism has a strong hand on England's throat.

Native Brits can see what's going on, and they have every right to protest the British elites and what they have done to England.

We in America should invite Rowley & co to EABOD.

***

we need to go back two weeks. The story begins in Southport, a small town in the northwest of the country, when, on July 29, a 17-year-old named Axel Rudakubana allegedly murdered three girls—ages 6, 7, and 9—in a Taylor Swift–themed dance class. Many others were critically injured. The alleged perpetrator was neither Muslim nor an immigrant; his parents immigrated from Rwanda. But none of that mattered to the thugs who attacked the local mosque based on the rumor that he was both. In Belfast and Bristol and in towns across the UK, mobs gathered to variously harass migrant centers, attack mosques, and burn police vehicles. These working-class rioters catalyzed others. The counter mobs were composed of Muslim men, some wielding hammers and knives, who were spoiling for a fight. It’s very clear who started this: the brutes who went hunting for migrants and Muslims. But the violent breakdown is not a two-week-old story, but a tragedy years in the making and one with many authors. Namely, it is the story of a governing class that offered few answers as immigration took off and ignored a population that, at every turn, voted against it. Almost everyone ignored that powder keg primed to explode because the price of noticing it was to be called a racist and a xenophobe. Don’t take our word for it. Listen to what Nadhim Zahawi—who fled Saddam’s death squads as a boy only to become Britain’s Chancellor of the Exchequer—wrote last week in our pages. The warning signs have been present for years, but for every person who tried to tip-toe through the minefield of topics pertinent to this disorder—society, culture, religion, disenfranchisement, racism, the speed of change, feelings of powerlessness—there were ten more who wanted to bury their heads in the sand. Even I, a brown man born in a Muslim country, feel the need to caveat what I say, and hide behind facets of my identity such as the color of my skin (facets that I largely consider unimportant) just to pass comment on things of importance to my country. Almost everyone buried their heads in the sand. Almost everyone, that is, except Douglas Murray. For years now, Murray has been one of the voices warning of what might happen in Britain with poorly controlled, exploding immigration; an obvious lack of assimilation; and a police force that appears more worried about violating multicultural pieties than enforcing the law. He has also warned about the cost of suppressing, rather than debating, difficult subjects. ***

Sadly, now flaming dirtbags like Rowley want to investigate honest people like Murray.

#tell Rowley EABOD #tell Rowley to come & get us #British riots #English riots #Rowley is a limp-dick white boy #Rowley is a stupid white boy

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gd260-ewaldt · 7 months ago

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1) the two colors chosen are chosen specifically to be evocative of Christmas. The red on the owl in the shirt and hat are representative of Santa’s outfit, the red and green show up on the branch the owl is perched on to make it a holly branch, the line of green diamonds helps balance out the amount of red in the stripe at the top, and the green in that stripe is used to make wreath shapes

2) the colors chosen are pink and yellow, and they’re used to make connections to the flavor of the drink. The flavor is strawberry lemonade, but because the pink color is the majority of the can the yellow is used to break it up. The yellow makes the shape of a strawberry, with negative space revealing more of the background pink as the seeds. The strawberry ties to the strawberry and the yellow chosen ties it to the lemon part of the flavor

3) three is predominantly cool colors because the designer is going for both a magical feeling and also the purple of the night sky and the way everything gets kind of kind of purple in faint moonlight The object is in the style of an old travel flyer, and the thing it’s advertising is a supernatural rite that takes place after dark

4) this is predominately red because it’s a tomato product, but there’s a subtle use of saturation on the front of that work with the light shining on the image of the paste to help draw the eye there first. It’s hard to tell in the picture but the red darkens as you move further away from the front of the can. It’s easier to see on the yellow band that goes around the can, because the effect is there too.

5) the contrast here is used to indicate that the sun can shine and brighten up any place, because the golden foiled lettering stands out across every other color on the cover. The other colors chosen are classically colors associated with sunrise but also with sadness and depression, to make the sun shining have a double meaning of chasing away the literal darkness but also the mental darkness

6) when I got this it was originally all one piece but my cats broke it, that’s why it looks weird by the N. The message “just do one thing” connected all together by one line underneath, the words still separated enough to be distinct but all part of the larger whole. It supports the message by having “just do one thing” be all one piece

7) the figure ground relationship here all work to reveal elements of the story without spoiling anything. The foreground is the person, the protagonist of the story, the midground is floating cities, and in the background of everything (on the cover and in the story) the very large sun is depicted

8) this is the board of a game set in Victorian England times, and the style and naming on the map reflects that. It’s a map of the world, but placed such that England is as central as possible, which is in line with how England saw itself back then. Putting England in the middle also helps highlight the distance that must be traveled as you get to the further spots away, which drives home the expeditionary feeling the game creates using the other pieces

#module3

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kc-the-writer · 8 months ago

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14 October 1776

October swept the winds of change across the abandoned city, into the garden, and through Constance's unruly auburn curls. The squirrels and mice who scampered the garden had grown fat on nuts that fell to the ground. Her father had grown, too, now all the more determined to see a new battle during the winter ahead. With everything around her expanding beyond her comprehension, Constance wondered if there was room for her to grow at all.

She felt more like the ever-changing leaves at the top of the garden trees, as though she would lose her color and fall to the ground at the slightest agitation. Between the snips of her silver sheers, she studied her dearest maid's expression, watching her work steadily without taking note of the transformation that charged the autumn air. Cutting the silence and the stem of a wilted rose, she asked the question she had rehearsed since the pair had begun tending the garden in July, "How long have you worked for my family, Verity?"

Without a glance up from her herbs, the old maid shrugged. "My mother worked for your mother's mother as a seamstress. My grandfather was your grandfather's attorney. Our families have been in business for as long as anyone on either side can recall," she shrugged, eyes fixed on the sunflower from which she plucked seeds for roasting.

"I quite like the idea of doing business with you. You know, my tea sells quite well at the market on the City Commons. The soldiers can't get enough of the peppermint. They say they find it soothing. I find their willingness to pay handsomely for it rather soothing as well," she confessed. "In fact, I'd been meaning to ask you something about my little venture. We have such fun growing the herbs and tea together, don't you think? What would you say to the notion that we expand our enterprise? Once we return to England, we could build a grand greenhouse fit for everything we need to create the most complex of our brews. Picture its high glass windows and rows of exotic herbs and magnificent flowers. We would make room for great vats and shining kettles for distilling batches of the finest salves and teas the world has ever seen. Of course, we will need stacks and shelves lined with delicate bottles. Oh, what do you say?" Constance's eyes lit up, silvery as the October sky, as she laid out her plan for her first prospective investor.

Verity's dark brows knitted together as she plucked the last seed from the flower. Swiping her apron across her freckled face, she met Constance's gaze with concern. "Is your father not trying to harden these men? What would he say if he knew you were providing the comforts of home to the yet unwounded?"

"My father and his men find plenty of comfort at the tavern. If he finds no qualms partaking in the pleasures those women are selling; he shall have no moral objection to my plans to sell a sachet of herbs," Constance reasoned as though her opinion on the matter had been well rehearsed.

"Are you well? Challenging your father so," Verity's lips parted, stunned by the brash speculation falling upon her ears.

Ignoring her maid's distaste, Constance wiped her hands on the borrowed apron and rested her hands on her sturdy hips. If my father can face General Washington, he can face me. I invite him to tell me, in his own words, that it is appropriate to transact with a woman when only when she sells her-"

"Enough," Verity made the sign of the cross over her ample chest at the mention of the tavern girls, perhaps more for the sake of the young women than her modesty. "Where have you learned of such things, child?"

A sly grin tugged at Constance's lips as she plucked a sprig of basil from the dirt. "You were neither my mother nor my nurse, and the role doesn't suit you. You're my friend. After all, I learned such things from the book I borrowed from under your bed."

Upon raising her head, Verity saw, perhaps for the first time, that the child she had raised was no longer playing about her skirts. Constance was a young woman living on a military base as she had once been. If the girl needed to learn so soon the rules of nature, Verity decided it would be best understood with decorum and a good book. "You quiet yourself. Your father would have you and me both sent off to the nunnery if he heard us speaking of tavern girls or selling tea. You damn well know the difference."

"He is attempting much worse than to send me to the nunnery as it is," Constance huffed, turning her attention to the chrysanthemums in need of her careful pruning. "Do you recall Captain Anders?"

Verity had heard all of New York's gossip and shuddered at the memory. "Not as well as the tavern girls, I hear."

"Exactly. My father thinks I might be a good bride for him. No, my father says that I am a good match for him. He couldn't possibly be of sound mind if he truly thought it or believed in it. However, he sees the strategy in his motivations and the Captain's desires. It's brilliant, really. Father can send us both packing off to England, ridding himself of the liability of having us around."

Frowning but resigned, having known since the girl's birth that Constance would eventually be wed to a fine officer, she began removing the silk from the remaining corn stalks in the garden. "At least you'll be home, my dear. Now, you only need the greenhouse. Though, tell me, why are you so eager to leave? New York is lovely, despite the noise, the rats, the cost of nearly everything..." She paused to consider why she loved life in the city. "The cannon fire has stopped for now, the rats will eventually be driven to the cellars for the winter, and trade is always going to rise and fall."

"Not in New York. Everyone's left. After the fire, there was nothing remaining to fight for," even for those who fight everything. I read that even the stark raving young man we saw speaking a storm of revolution down on Broadway has abandoned New York," she explained, having stolen her father's newspaper to read each night before burning it discreetly in her fireplace. " I thought it might be nice to see America, but it looks an awful lot like England now. Everyone is milling about, dressed in English clothes, thinking English thoughts, while English words fall from their little pink English faces. The jack flies over every tavern. Only it isn't home. It's too much like home to be an adventure and too much unlike it to feel at home."

"Your mother's estate in England was taken over by your uncle years ago. You have no claim to any part of the old country, Constance. Your father won't return to anything more than captain's quarters, at best, an apartment on your uncle's estate," she reminded the young woman. "Perhaps this is why he's keen to marry you off. Imagine the doors taking the Anders name would open to you."

"I won't need it, Verity. What is in a name, anyway? I shall be neither Anders nor Forsythe. If the name Constance fails open doors, I'll become who I need to be to break them down."

#the pendleton tradition

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casspurrjoybell-32 · 9 months ago

Text

A First Chance At Love - Chapter 6b

*Warning Adult Content*

Avery Chandler

"Can you please tell us your name, at least,” Luna Aiden begged the kid.

I was posted by the door as Aiden tried to get something out of the kid.

But it was a lost cause.

He just sat there looking at his feet never giving any indication that he understood.

Sighing Aiden hung his head.

“Why wont you talk to me?” he muttered a bit exasperated.

Just by looking at the kid I knew he never would... not to Aiden anyway or his mate but I did know that he would eventually talk to Caleb.

“Luna,” I interjected.

Aiden turned to me with curious blue eyes.

I shook my head at him.

“He won't speak a word to anyone, unless he’s the right person,” I told him.

Frowning Aiden got out of his kneeling position from the kid.

“Why do you say that?” he asked.

I peered at the kid again his big light green eyes peaking up at me from his peripheral.

“I just have a feeling.”

His brows scrunched up as he turned his head back to the kid.

“Well... that’s all well and good but Liam is going to want answers soon, so how are we going to find this one person out of seven billion people in this world?”

A ghost of a smile played on my face.

“You're going to have to narrow that down to hundreds. That person is here but it will still take time for him to talk.”

“Who?”

I look back at the kid but kept my mouth shut.

Sighing Aiden threw his hands up in frustration and left the room.

I stood there watching the boy as the door shut.

He wasn’t looking at me anymore instead he had a blank stare as he gazed in to the blackened fire place in the room.

I wasn’t going to lie and say I wasn’t curious as to what was on his mind at the moment.

I was getting a weird feeling from him... not in a bad way though.

I was ordered to stay and watch the kid till someone came to take over.

******

So of course my mind began to wander a bit, to a place filled with bright green grass huge mountains... a cold breeze against my skin and the joyful giggles of my little sister on the wind.

The sky was a grayish blue color as I lay in the grass staring up at it.

We lived in the country side of England where we were able to run free in our wolf forms but I was too young for that anyways so were my siblings.

James came rushing towards me... I was fourteen at the time one year from hitting my maturity while James was twelve.

He had the brightest blonde hair and a pair of bright blue eyes to match that he inherited from our mom... my six year old sister Delilah but we called her Dee.

She was a dirty blonde with brown eye like me... her hair to her back and had a cute peach colored dress.

“Avery,” she exclaimed as she dived into me causing me to grunt in pain.

“Why are you over here, all by yourself?”

I couldn’t help but smile as her words were mashed together by her baby voice and clipped with our accent it was completely adorable.

“I don’t know, Dee,” I said.

I felt James seating himself next to me.

“You are always like that, bro,” he told me and I turned to look at him.

“What do you mean?” I frowned.

I watched his start to pick at the grass keeping his gaze down.

“Well... You're always so distant from us.”

“No I’m not.” I argued defensively.

Delilah settled down on my lap reaching out to play with a strand of my over grown dirty blonde hair.

“Yes, you are,” she agreed.

“I always find you alone somewhere, whether it is in house or outside, you like to be by yourself, big brother.”

Her attention was still focused on my hair as she spoke.

Was I really like that?

I won’t lie... I did like my space... I felt like I needed to learn to be on my own for the future it was like a huge forewarning in my subconscious.

I guess I was distant but I wasn’t the best person to hang out with to begin with so I just thought that I was better off solo.

“Well... I’m sorry, Dee. I'm sorry, James.”

James just shrugged while Dee jumped in my lap.

“It’s alright, Avery. We understand that’s just how you are.”

This caused me to smile and I pinched her flushed cheeks.

“Well... thank you for your understanding, Dee,” I laughed.

She threw her arms around my neck.

“You're so very welcome. big brother,” she exclaimed rather loudly in my ear.

Looking over to James I saw him staring out in to the mountains.

“I heard it's going to rain, tomorrow,” he said randomly and I chuckled.

“It always rains here, James. That’s far from something new.”

He smirked.

“What do you want to do for your birthday, this week?” he asked.

I grimaced.

I don’t know but I was dreading my birthday. “

I really don’t want to do anything.”

“What? We have to celebrate dummy,” Dee exclaimed grabbing my face between my small hands.

“Mama has this big surprise party for you...”

“Dee,” James scolded cutting her off.

Delilah’s eyes widened into saucers as she slapped her little hands over her hands over her mouth.

“Oops,” she whispered and James huffed a loud sigh.

“Oops is right, you little brat.”

I was trying my hardest not to laugh.

“A birthday party, huh?” I teased.

“Please be surprised. I was told to keep it a secret but I let it slip to Dee and then she up and spills the beans the little twerp,” he pleaded ruffling up her hair.

Again she had my face in her hands.

“Please, big brother, keep it a secret. Mama's working really hard on this and so is Papa.”

She gave me her signature puppy dog face and I chuckled but nodded.

“Ok... I’ll act completely shocked... just for you,” I said taping her nose playfully.

She giggled while James looked relieved.

I all but begged the spirits to help me with this birthday... not only was it the day we turn but it was also the day that would set me on my life’s path.

How was mine going to be like?

******

“Hey Avery,” I was brought out of my flashback by Dominic who was poking his head in the door.

“Yeah?” I asked.

“I’m here to take over,” he said.

“Oh. Okay,” I said looking back at the kid who was fast asleep on his bed.

Nodding I walked passed Dom and down the hall with a frown.

Why did that specific memory have to come.

It was more the happier times of my life with my family.

A few day after leaving.

“Avery.”

Turning I saw Aiden coming out of his room.

"Yes Luna?"

“I’m going to visit my parents tomorrow.”

I nodded once.

“I’ll be ready to leave Luna. What time?”

He sighed and I knew he hated it when I was so formal but it was a force of habit, that was beyond breaking now.

“Three o'clock. We're having and early dinner.”

“Is Alpha Jacobs coming?”

He shook his head.

“No. He’s going to be busy tomorrow,” he frowned and I nodded my head again.

“Okay”

He walked back in his room.

Great.

Now I have to put up with Luna Aiden’s crazy mother but luckily I love her craziness.

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countessofravenclaw · 11 months ago

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The 2023 writing Advent calendar: Day 19

19. Snow

This is a direct continuation from yesterday

“I mean, I am just so excited,” Luna reiterated as they sat down on the table and Matteo pulled the casserole out of the oven, “I stayed up all night last night doing research.”

“You did research?” Nina questioned.

“Yeah,” Luna nodded, “Santa really lives there. I mean I don’t know how close it is to that Saarisalky place, but he has a whole resort. We need to go visit that.”

“Well, I think that can be arranged,” Gastón nodded, “As long I make through the university thing in one piece.”

“What on earth are they making you do?” Matteo questioned as he brough the food onto the table, “Walk the plank?”

“Talk to freshman,” Gastón responded cringing, “Gonna be fun, because I have to work on my vacation.”

“The cost of a fancy corporate job and fancy promotion,” Matteo laughed.

“Promotion that dropped literally from the sky, it has been two years and half of the team still doesn’t believe it.” Gastón shook his head, “And suddenly they all want me to represent the whole company.”

“Pretty sure the college kids listen better somebody who is only five year older than them and good looking than those fifty something people. So you shouldn’t listen to them either.” Matteo remarked, “Plus you know what you’re talking about.”

“I keep telling him that,” Nina nodded.

“Did you know that snowflakes have six sides?” Luna asked after the topic got changed.

“I have read about that too,” Nina responded, “It’s about the mylekylar shape or something. One of those high school chemistry fun facts. There also are no two alike snowflakes.”

“That is so cool,” Luna continued, “I mean looked up buch of pictures and they were so pretty. I have never seen it in real life, so I am looking forward to just rolling in it.”

“How much rolling are you planning on doing?” Matteo raised his eyebrow, “Cause you need prope gear for that. We don’t want you to freeze into a incikle.”

“Uu, I haven shwed you yet the jacket I got,” Luna jumped up from the table and ran to a closet and pulled out a puffy multicolore coat. “This is heavy.”

“Heavier it is, the warmer it is,” Gastón remarked, “At least it should be that way.”

“It took hours of shopping to find everything,” Matteo leaned back on his chair, “I will never go shopping again.”

“But now you have them for the eternity,” Gastón noted, “If we wanna take more vacations…”

“Lets pick something warmer next,” Matteo suggested.

“We’ll have to go back to England next year, for James and Isabel’s wedding so that’s not warm exactly,” Nina started saying, “But one trip at the time.”

“Yep,” Luna came back to the tabel with a pile of different woollen hats, “We went to buy this stuff with Simon and look how cute these are.”

She held up a red hat with two black tassels. The other hats on the table were mix of pink, bright blue and yellow. She also had buch of different colored gloves. “Simon bought this one that was blue and yellow. Ambar’s gonna love that whenshe sees it.”

“Definitely… especially since she asked to burn all of his beanies before their wedding,” Matteo mumbled.

“I looked up that place where we’re gonna have the cars rented from and it kind of seemed like they’ll be manual. Those have been more common in Europe so there still might be ones.” Gastón started before looking at Nina, “You’ll get to practrise.”

“In a different country with snow and slippery streets?” Nina looked at him questiongly. “I’ve barely worked a manual.”

“We have time to pratice. I can go grab the manul from Mom and Dad’s.”

“Maybe I should learn to drive.” Luna wonderd outloud.

“Uhm, you sure?” Matteo looked alarme for a moment. “Bacause, I’m more than happy to drive.”

“I don’t know,” Luna shrugged.

Never let Luna behind the wheel

#2023 Writing DCLA+ advent calendar

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thatbtssong · 1 year ago

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meant to be

summary: Namjoon and Jimin went to a museum date (but they don't know it is), turns to be the most romantic thing they do togheter.

or where Namjoon doesnt know how to tell Jimin that he loves him. like a lot.

tags: friends to lovers, nam is over heels for jm, also jm, shortau minimoni idontknowhowtousetags, thisismyfirsttimewrittinghere

hello! before u start reading i have to tell u that i speak spanish so,,,, english isnt my first language but i have a pretty good level i gues. i have this story runing on my mind since nam upload that pic with jm in the art gallery! and i cant sleep so im just writing, my first time writing about a ship!!! omg im so excited, hope u enjoy it! and pleaseeeee (please!!!!!) let me know what do u think pls :)

this was inspired from a tweet I SWEAR TO MY MOM THAT I SAW!!! AND I PUT THAT FCKN HEART ICON!!111!1!!!! but i dont find it anymore so now, the history behind the art work its fake ok peace out

Namjoon don't have any hope when he ask Jimin to come with him to this new art gallery that just open in town.

He knows Jimin also enjoys art, so, why not?

And why he was so douboting to ask his friend to come with him?

It's whats friends do, right? hang out and stuff like that. He has no reason to be so nerveous about hanging out with his long time friend Park Jimin.

But when he saw Jimin coming to the main entrance of the museum, he feels his hands shaking because how it's possible for a person to be this beautiful?

He can't see his smile while he's walking to his way but he swears he's doing that shy and shiny smile that tempts Namjoon to be ready to kneel down. He gulp, trying to disappear the nervousness.

It was just another friends outing, so why he feels like his heart it's going to explode when Jimin take of his mask just to show his beautiful smile.

"Hyung! Sorry for make you wait. I didn´t know the bus station was so far from here, I have to walk like fourteen minutes." says breathless, he is so ashamed to make him wait. But Namjoon don't mind.

Namjoon smile tendersly and put his big hand on the shoulder of the tiny man in front of him. Namjoon can feel the results of those sessions in the gym where they go together.

"Don't worry, Jimin, next time you should call me and I come for you on my bike."

The exibitions are beautiful, Jimin loves hearing Namjoon chat about his perspective about the scultures and art paintings, he loves how serious and passionate he sound about it.

Jimin also wonders if he is that way when he loves someone.

In the past ten years, since they met, Namjoon has only a boyfriend, but most of the relationship he was abroad. He was an art curator, the one who introduce Namjoon to the art and make him fall in love with it. Jimin barely hears about this guy, Namjoon barely spoke about him. He knows he was in England and that in the three years of relationship Nam travels four time to see him and the other guy just two.

One day, the pictures on instagram disappeared. And that was how Jimin knew Namjoon was already single.

In that moment, Jimin didn´t have any loving feelings for his friend, seriously, he was enjoying life.

But this man become brawny and spoke more (because he is a little shy, don't let his muscles distract you) and tell smart things that Jimin can´t help but developed a crush for him.

He was aware he is handsome, but when he was taken he didn´t see it.

Jimin is open about his loving feelings for his friend (only with his other friends), but he didn't want to make the first move. Not since that incident on Taehyung's birthday, when he was -not that- drunk and try to kiss Namjoon and he just move his face away and then, he just disappear.

The next day, he just want to hit his head against the wall.

Namjoon abrouptuly stops in front of a painting. This has different shades of color blue, like a mix between the ocean and the sky, a lot of squares that have inside white dots. He is complety absorved by this painting.

In someone else eyes, maybe this is too simple, too boring; but not in his. He knows what this painting means, he hear the painter interview. He read about it. He, also, was reading the description on the left side of the painting.

"In every ocean, In every sky, I´ll can find you. In every universe, I can find you. We are meant to meet, meant to be. No matter how long the road gets or how violent the storm become, we are wainting for eachother somewhere near."

There's a work of art in front of Jimin, actually there's a room full of works of art but he can't help. He can't help himself but fall in love with Namjoon everytime he's near him.

Namjoon doesn't know about his feeling, but maybe, he's aware. And if not, Jimin think he would have to be oh so naive.

"What do you think about this paint, Jimin-ah?" Namjoon ask, so offish.

Jimin clears his throat before he can says something. Yes, he enjoys art gallerys but he doesn´t know anything compared to Namjoon; he just like the colors from this painting, and he can say that the lightning it´s awesome.

"It's so cool hyung, I like the colors and those little dots," he says so sure of himself, even is this was just a vague reply.

Namjoon laughs a little under his breath, he finds Jimin so cute because he would never let him see insecure. He find that cute and wants to just kiss him until his lips burn.

"Yeah, it is. The painter made this in honor of his lover, he was searching to express his feeling about how he think he would find her in every life, no matter how many oceans or skies he has to cross," Namjoon sound so passionate about it that Jimin can´t help but get lost -again- into him, "I mean, I know you could maybe only see different shades of blue and white, but trust me, there's more behind it. I find it beautiful how subjective and interpretative art can be."

Namjoon sigh and Jimin can't help but feel jealous about some paintings. He want that Namjoon sigh for him.

If only he knows.

"Would you like to take a picture here? I think we contrast with this one." Namjoon ask after a few minutes in silence. He get more nerveous, thinking that maybe Jimin get bored.

"Oh, of course hyung, I would love it."

Namjoon reach a girl who was pasing by to ask her if can take a picture of them, and after a few shots, she returned his phone to him.

The tall boy is trying really hard to hide his smile, but why Jimin has to be the cutest boy in the whole world?

"We look good together, even if we are backwars" Jimin say softly while leaning his head on Namjoon's shoulder. To have a better view of the picture, of course.

"Yes, I think the same" Namjoon say without thinking. Jimin can feel him get tense.

"Nam, what would you think if here was painting of me?" Jimin ask, shamesless.

Namjoon is thinking in silence his next words. He is aware of what would he think, because he is afraid of the consecuences of his words could cause.

"That the painter is in love with you, because there's no way someone paints you witout loving you so much and make you a work of art."

Jimin knows he said it seriously, but it was too cute and fuuny at the same time.

"Hyung, you make me laugh"

Namjoon laughs too, but not in a funny way.

"I'm glad to make you laugh but im serious; I believe painters paint pretty skies and fancy gardens because they see the beauty in them, and they make those paints something beautiful and alluring to watch. You're a living work of art, Park Jimin."

Namjoon's eyes feels like they're seeing his soul, unlike Jimin's, that are lost in every inch of his face. He get lost inside his words and everything that adorns his handsome face.

"I've been waiting more than a year to hear from your lips that this feeling, that burns inside my chest, it's mutual. And it was more better than I'd ever imagine, hearing you said in your particular way to be."

They close the space between their faces joining their foreheads. Laughing but, this time, because they know there's no going back.

"Can I kiss you now?" Namjoon ask only for Jimin to hear. The younger boy laugh and it sound heavenly to the oldest.

"Only if you don't run away this time," Jimin jokes and Namjoon just shakes his heads laughing softly.

"You were drunk, what if I let you kiss me and the next day you said me it was a mistake? At that time, I already was deep down with you."

"Or maybe we could have saved all this wasted of time. Be brave, Kim Namjoon."

And after that life advice, Jimin kiss Namjoon. It feels like fireworks, like if they are the only ones in the art gallery.

If you think, this is romantic. Like a classic romcom. Jimin can't help but laugh inside his mind, now he is bussy kissing (finally) the man of his dreams. And the dirties too.

When the kiss is over, Namjoon look into Jimin's eyes again, his hands still in Jimin's puffy cheeks, but this time, he took a few seconds to look at Jimin's face; he can't believe he is actually this close to him.

"I really, really, really like you and I would love to be more than a friend to you," Namjoon confessed.

"More, like... a brother? Should I'd call you dude or something?" Jimin loves to joke and Namjoon maybe loves to roll his eyes for his antics.

"Whatever you want to be with me, as long you let me kiss you." He didn't lose the opportunity to left a quickly peck on his full lips.

Namjoon loves Jimin lips and he can't believe he has now the opportunity to kiss them whenever he likes.

"I want to be whatever with you, as long you let me hear all your bad jokes and smart chats that turns me on," Jimin says happily, unlike Namjoon who has to hide in the space of Jimin's neck to hide his blush.

He was so nervous at first, but now, he is happy.

Because no matter how much time they waste, they are meant to be.

And they will always going to find a way to them.

I start writing like aftermidnight and now its 4:30 AM omgggg my eyes hurt.

This is something short and cheesy but hope you like it! also is the raw version, i dont edit anything T.T but id surelly would do it.

PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT DO YOU THINK!!1!!!11!!!

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