— 𝑨𝒍𝒍 𝑺𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝑪𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒄𝒉𝒚𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝑶𝒕𝒍𝒆𝒚, 𝑾𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒀𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒓𝒆.
𝓟𝓱: 𝓖𝓪𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓽 𝓦𝓲𝓵𝓭𝓮

Andulka
One Nice Bug Per Day
Cosmic Funnies
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open


roma★
todays bird
sheepfilms
trying on a metaphor
NASA
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Janaina Medeiros

PR's Tumblrdome
DEAR READER
hello vonnie

Product Placement
styofa doing anything

blake kathryn

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@teamreeves
— 𝑨𝒍𝒍 𝑺𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝑪𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒄𝒉𝒚𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝑶𝒕𝒍𝒆𝒚, 𝑾𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒀𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒓𝒆.
𝓟𝓱: 𝓖𝓪𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓽 𝓦𝓲𝓵𝓭𝓮

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Jesse....how good it is to see you again
"Oh!" She laughed. "You startled me there!" She recovered herself quickly, stepping forward with a broad smile. "Wow, it's good to see you, too. It's been so long!" Even with all the physical power Maharet gave her, she still felt a little intimidated by Gabrielle whenever they met, the sheer strength of her personality somehow giving her an aura as palpable as that of the ancients. That didn't prevent Jesse from embracing her, though she kept it light and brief, so as not to infringe too far on Gabrielle's personal space. "What corner of the world did you come from?"
He did manage to remember to be careful and though his lips remained pressed together, his smile was broad and his laugh was warm as he hugged her in return, enthusiastically, though not quite as tightly. "I'm pleased to hear that." He replied happily, stepping out of the main, chaotic flow of foot-traffic and holding her gently by the shoulders, just at arms length to carefully look her over. "I'm very well. And I am here for what I suppose you could call shopping." He laughed softly. "What brings you here?"
"It's not that far as the crow flies," she says brightly, "I live up north. Mael's choice, if I'm honest; you know how he is. I pop down sometimes for the bookshops and the museums. The Whistler exhibit at the Tate was wonderful. Did you see that one of Rembrandt's self portraits is touring? It's at some big place in the country, I'll get you the details if you want to see it! Kind of a unique concept; it's only the one painting, they want people to spend time with it.
"Anyway--" She ducked her head, grinning, realising she was going on. "I've got what I came for." So saying, she hefted her old carpet bag into better view; it was evidently already full of books. "How about you? May I join you?"
"Jesse, it's been far too long. How are you?" He'd felt her familiar presence and, with a smile that couldn't be interpreted as anything other than excited, he'd quickly made his way to her.
"Oh my God! David!" It was only after a second that she remembered to moderate her beaming smile enough that passers-by wouldn't get an eyeful of her fang teeth. There was no moderation in the way she pulled him closer and hugged him, though, brief but tight enough that even his strong ribs probably felt the strain. "I'm fine, just fine. How are you! Are you here for the shopping?" she joked.
Are you fond of David's immortal form or do you miss the old gentleman appearance?
The question caught her out a little, and her expression was almost embarrassed as she met Maharet's entirely too all-seeing gaze. "All right, yes, I miss it a little, sometimes." In some small way, it felt like a failing for a psychic and a trained Talamasca field agent, to not instantly accept and acclimate to one of her nearest and dearest transferring his spirit to a different body. Especially when David himself had taken it so in stride.
"The body shouldn't matter as long as the spirit is the same, I know that. He's clearly happy. And he ought to be, he's gorgeous," she added with a little flash of a grin. "But I always thought he was handsome before. And..." Well. It was a little too Freudian to admit that David and Aaron had, in their own way, become almost paternal figures to her while she lived with the Order, but it was true. "I guess it's silly, I should know by now that looks and age don't correlate, shouldn't I? But he comforted me and looked after me so much. In some strange way, I miss him. Even though he's right there." Her voice had gone soft and quiet. With a visible effort she straightened and shook the wistfulness away. "Don't tell him I said that, though. He might be upset."

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// rereading qotd piecemeal and going a little crazy thinking about david and aaron in the jesse chapter
they were just so sweet and loving and they were so worried about her that they went to a metal concert full of vampires in their fancy coats and stood outside in the lobby looking so out of place and getting the bejesus scared out of them by khayman but refusing to leave because they were worried about her
also how they possibly argued so much with the ambulance guy that he threatened to call the police on them
// this is also obviously to say, all Davids heartily welcome on here if anyone wants to hit up their former mentee 👀🩷
// rereading qotd piecemeal and going a little crazy thinking about david and aaron in the jesse chapter
they were just so sweet and loving and they were so worried about her that they went to a metal concert full of vampires in their fancy coats and stood outside in the lobby looking so out of place and getting the bejesus scared out of them by khayman but refusing to leave because they were worried about her
also how they possibly argued so much with the ambulance guy that he threatened to call the police on them
Whitby Abbey
Whitby Abbey was a 7th-century Christian monastery that later became a Benedictine abbey. The abbey church was situated overlooking the North Sea on the East Cliff above Whitby in North Yorkshire, England, a centre of the medieval Northumbrian kingdom.
How long had it been since their paths last crossed? A year, perhaps? Surely not. It felt as though they had just been together on that cold night in the quaint little coffee house back in New York. She had been showing him some old photographs that she had just digitized from somewhere in Maharet’s archives. Daguerreotypes, albumen prints, some black and whites from more recent times. She’d sorted them all out neatly into separate folders on her iphone. No doubt this had taken her quite some time. And he’d joyfully listened to her explain each one, as they lost track and forgot the world around them, and their untouched beverages grew ever colder on the table before them. They would routinely sit and talk for hours like this, just catching up and reminiscing about the past. Now she was here in front of him again, looking up at his eyes, copper red hair falling all around her like a curtain, that same young face that used to grace his office doorway clutching a large stack of books and an even larger smile. “Old habits die hard, don’t they?” he added with a faint smirk, returning her embrace with a snug one of his own. He was so used to her polite hesitations in his Original Body, that it was only natural that it sometimes slipped her mind how very different things were these days. He forgot himself occasionally, strolling past a mirror in a shop and half expecting to see the worn old, wrinkled skin, and walking back to check the glass only to see the handsome bronzed youth staring at him. The brain was truly a fascinating thing. “So, how’ve you been getting on? I can’t help but wonder where you’ve been hiding.”
"Hiding," she scoffed, grinning at him wide enough to show off her fangs. "I've been on your home turf for years! I live in the Lake District. I guess it is kind of hiding, though. We're practically based inside the nature preserve up there. Me and Mael, that is," she added. "When he's around. I haven't been into the city that much, I have to admit." She gave a quick habitual toss of the head, shaking her long hair back behind her shoulder and letting her eyes simply rove slowly over David's face and form.
Seeing him again was always both a surprise and a hit of deep nostalgia. She forgot, sometimes, that he no longer inhabited the same body; pictured him as still the same man she had known when she herself was in her twenties, then was forcefully reminded on seeing him in the proverbial flesh. And yet it was so unmistakably still him: he held himself the way he always had; he walked and gestured the same way. Though his voice was different, he somehow manipulated his new vocal cords the same way he had his old ones. His mind, what she could feel of it, felt the same. It was strange and wonderfully reassuring, all at once.
"I've actually been working on some of the medieval material. There's such a frightful lot of it. But what about you? Have you been living with anyone...? Travelling?"
Any of our kind, she couldn't quite bring herself to say, despite hearing that vocabulary from the old ones for decades now. There was a slight hesitation in her voice as she asked. The circumstances of David's turning were so fraught, so unlike her own, for all that hers had been precipitated by violence. He always seemed so assured, yet she couldn't quite help wondering about his relationship to his maker, and to Lestat's other immortal family. Wondering if he ever felt lonely.

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Roasting Mael's ass, I see.
@thy-fearful-symmetry (x) My dear girl! You’ve no idea how glad I am to see you, what joy you’ve brought this old heart. We have much to catch up on.
"Oh now, don't go calling yourself old; I'm trying not to think about how old I am!" David is probably too much of a gentleman to initiate, but Jesse has no compunctions about barrelling straight ahead for a hug, though she's careful not to squeeze too tightly. He could probably take it, but it's a matter of decorum somehow.
"God, it's so good to see you," she sighs. "I don't think I fully realised how much I've actually missed you."
We step back in time 51 years to 1974 for this selection of London images. Yes that's 51 years, who would have thought.....
Six years was nothing.
Six years was an eternity.
Mael had known spans of time that swallowed empires whole, had watched centuries crumble into dust without so much as a tremor in his being and yet this absence, this small, human measure of years, had carved itself into him with a persistence he had not anticipated.
He felt her before he saw her.
Not in the crude way of proximity, but in that quieter sense, like the echo of something once held close, something the world had not quite managed to erase. It drew his attention with a certainty that allowed no mistake.
“Jesse.”
Her name left him softly, almost as though he were testing its shape after too long without it.
He didn’t move. For a moment, he simply looked at her, as if confirming that time had not distorted her into something unrecognizable. And it hadn’t, though it had touched her.
There was something more settled in the way she held herself, something sharpened behind her eyes. Not lost. Never lost. But changed.
A faint, almost rueful smile ghosted across his expression.
“Seven years,” he said, quieter now, the words carrying more weight than he intended and leaving a heavy ache deep within his chest. “And still, you are precisely where my thoughts insisted you would be...”
Only then did he step closer, unhurried, though something in the movement betrayed a restraint carefully chosen rather than instinctive.
“I had wondered,” he continued, his gaze steady on hers, “if time would make strangers of us.”
A pause. Brief, but filled.
“It seems it has not been entirely successful.”
His head inclined slightly, not quite a bow, not quite anything so formal. Something more uncertain. Something more honest.
“Will you permit me to stand here as though those years were not quite so long? Or must I earn that place again?”
{ @teamreeves }
Jesse froze on the footpath. Had she really--? She'd heard too many stories about vampires who lived on their own for too long, probably spent too much time lately in the company of the very old, but for a moment she wondered if her ears could be trusted. But... no. It was there when she listened for it: the heartbeat, slower than a human's by far, ponderous, too deep for real sound.
She took a deep breath and turned only when she heard her name. She was half afraid of what she'd see, for some reason -- scars, perhaps; some remnant of a terrible injury -- but oh, he looked the same. Exactly the same, and his voice was the same deep, unhurried voice that had always drawn her so, the way he sounded always as though he were choosing his words carefully in a strange language, no matter that he was fluent in more languages than she could easily remember. And behind the voice, and the beloved face, there was his mind again.
Not for the first time, she could have fallen on her knees and kissed Maharet, that she had been the one to turn Jesse, that she hadn't been cut off from hearing Mael's mind, the deep hum of personality that he could never quite conceal even when he was trying.
Somewhere, across the silent fields, an owl was calling softly. Long grass and leaves rustled. Clouds flowed in front of the moon. Only the two immortals on the narrow road made no sound, and no movement, for several long seconds.
"I tried to call you," she said mildly. She had. His phone had beeped insistently from inside a jacket in the entrance hall. That had been nearly two weeks after his departure, so she'd certainly gotten her money's worth on battery life. She'd tried finding him the old-fashioned way, too: spreading her awareness as far as it would reach, casting her mind out until she feared she wouldn't be able to find her way back -- but ultimately, this particular psychic skill had never been her strong point.
If she was honest with herself, she knew that being lost, being gone, was part of the point, part of what made the exercise worthwhile at all. She knew, also, that many immortals lived like this, separating for years, decades at a time, reuniting with all the more enthusiasm for it. It had been less than a decade. Even she could admit, with the perspective of a woman in her theoretical seventies, that that wasn't very long.
She held her hand out, palm up. He still wasn't close enough. "Are you going to come over here?"
don't neglect your female blorbos. put HER in the torment nexus. give HER some old lady yuri. ship HER with everyone under the sun

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Fountains Cottage, North Yorkshire, England
by Graham Lloyd