#grace daniels | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ihatecoconut · 1 year

Text

wip excerpt 2

another part from something i posted a few days ago. still unfinished, but i quite like this section

-

“What is that human game?” Dream asks in the same breath as he materialises behind Hob. “Truth or dare?”

Hob blinks at the coffee he had spilled – thankfully on the desk and not the papers. “Are you… are you asking me truth or dare?”

The dark shape of humanity’s collective unconscious looms over him. “Yes.”

“Fine, uhhh, truth.”

The coffee cup is removed from his hand. “How many hours have you slept this week?”

“What?” he turns away from the latest essay, which was admittedly starting blur into a load of squiggles, rather than words.

Dream stares down at him, unmoving. The coffee cup has vanished.

“Uh,” he offers weakly, “dare?”

“Go to sleep.” There is a pile of sand in one of his palms, being held above Hob’s head.

“Is that a threat?”

“Yes.”

Hob’s laptop snaps itself shut with a noise surprisingly loud in the silence of the flat.

“Ok, ok.” He stands up, groaning slightly as he does, and skirts around Dream and the sand, hands held up in mock surrender.

Dream follows him silently, an undeniable presence at his back, pushing him to keep moving every time he stops, seeing things in the flat that require his attention. He is allowed to pause in Grace’s doorway, peer in and see her, curled up and asleep.

“She has kept a reasonable sleep schedule.” Dream informs him. “As I requested.”

Hob laughs quietly, a little hysterical from the exhaustion. “Ok, I get the message.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

It should be awkward, really, to have Dream hovering as he strips out of his jeans and jumper, replacing them with soft flannel trousers and an old t-shirt, but it isn’t. It feels almost natural to have him stand by the bed pointedly, the cover flipped back while Hob was turned away. It feels normal that Dream should sit down on the bed next to where he lies down, coat and boots vanished away to wherever his things are kept.

“Gonna sand me?” he asks through a yawn.

Dream smiles, a tiny thing, “No. I think you will sleep well enough alone.”

Hob reaches out to squeeze his hand. “G’night, Dream.”

“Goodnight, Hob.”

/

He dreams of Eleanor. She’s on her deathbed and still smiling.

“I love you, my Robert.”

There are – were – tears in his eyes and the memory is slightly hazy through their shine. “I love you too. More than anything.”

She raises a hand to his face, he has to catch it and direct it there because she is weak, weaker than he has ever seen her. Even in childbirth, she had gripped his hand firmly, been more present than he thinks she has ever been.

“You are…” she pauses to cough, and Hob squeezes her hand to his face a little harder, “my love, you are different, from other men, no?”

He laughs, wet through the tears. “I think I always have been, no?”

Eleanor shifts, closer to him, and turns her beautiful face up to him. “Not like that. We have been married so many years and yet you look the same as the day we met.”

Hob tenses. He had known she must have suspected something, but it is the first time she has said anything aloud.

“My love.” She calls him back and he follows, helpless to do anything else.

“I d—”

“I know. You have always been special, touched by… something, help me sit up.”

He does, sitting fully on the bed so she can lean against his chest, so he can cradle her there for what could very well be the last time.

“Once, I wondered if you could be a demon,” she says, and laughs, one that turns into a cough, “but, no. No demon is clumsy like you, no demon would walk into a doorframe because I asked you to come to bed, and no demon would hold our Robyn like you do.”

He laugh-sobs, buries a face in her shoulder and feels a weak hand come up to sit in his hair. “Eleanor.”

“You are the most human man I have ever met and that, more than anything, is why I love you.”

“I love you too,” he whispers back, unable to say anything else.

She brushes a kiss against the shell of his ear. “I know. And I know that you will miss me, when I am gone.”

“Don’t,” he says, breaking into her sentence, “don’t talk like that.”

“Maybe not now,” she reassures him, “maybe not this illness, but one day, I will leave you behind, yes?”

He sighs. “I do try not to think about it.”

“I know.”

They sit in silence, together, and he focuses on the rattling rise and fall of her chest, the proof that she is still there, still with him.

“I want you to be happy.” She says eventually, breaking the silence. “I want you to love again.”

“No, Eleanor…”

She shifts, weak and unable to fight his hold, but he understands what she wants and moves them both so she can look in his face. “Robert, my Robert. I will not tell you not to mourn me because I know that will be pointless,” she smiles, “I could no more ask the sun not to rise than to ask you not to feel.”

He bites back another sob.

“But, when you have mourned, when you are ready, I want you to move on and love again. Will you promise me that?”

“There will never be another like you.”

She tilts forward, pressing her forehead against his cheek. “No, not like me, but different. Another love.”

Hob kisses her forehead, kisses her eyebrows, the top of her head, any part he can reach.

“How long will you live?”

“I don’t know, my love.”

“A long life then. Long enough to love many people.”

“You will always be my first love. My first true and real love.” He kisses the skin next to his lips again, drawn to her time and again like a moth to a flame.

“I know.” There is a smile in her voice. “And it makes the selfish part of me happy to know that no one else can have that from you, but I would not have you be alone, so promise me, you will let yourself love again.”

He swallows back against the wave of grief that threatens to overwhelm him. She is still there, in his arms. “I will try. I can promise you that much.”

“That is enough. Lie with me?”

He lies them both back down, draws the blankets up around them and looks into her tired face. Even now, she is beautiful, more lovely than any woman he has ever seen.

“Tell me about the man you met, in 1589.” She requests, sleepily.

Hob laughs, quiet, “I could not wish for a more attentive wife.”

She opens her eyes, to smile at him, “You spent hours preparing yourself for that meeting.”

“Well—”

“You did.”

He rolls his eyes, good naturedly and gives in. “I do not know his name, or what he is, but he is like me, long lived, and all he asks from me is that I meet him, once every a hundred years and share my lived experiences with him.”

“A fairy?”

“Perhaps. I have not yet been brave enough to ask.”

Eleanor laughs, “That surprises me.” Her words devolve into further coughing and Hob abandons his story is favour of supporting her through the attack. Soon, the doctors will return, and they will remove him from the room, scolding him for exposing himself to the disease, and replace him with one of the maids. Soon, he will be pulled away from her again.

“You will look after our Robyn?” she asks, almost desperate. “Watch him grow if I cannot, and make sure he marries for love, like we did and not money.”

“I promise.” Hob tells her, because this he can promise, this he will do regardless.

She smiles again, coughing quietly. In the background, a servant knocks thrice on the door, letting them know that the doctors have arrived.

“My love?”

“Yes?”

She raises both hands to his face. “If this man will make you happy…”

He gapes at her, shocked and then amused. “My wife…”

“I see through you so easily,” she whispers, and then a hand is on his arm and the maids are scurrying in with the requested water and herbs, and her attention is turned to the doctor and the midwife he has brought with him.

“I love you,” he whispers, backing slowly out of the room, “I’ll always love you.”

/

He wakes with a start to a dawn-washed room and Dream still lounging beside him. It’s odd, in reality, that conversation had taken no more than an hour in total, and yet it must have been several while he had slept.

“She was a woman ahead of her time.” Dream says.

“She was.” He agrees, wistfully. “She died not long after that.”

Dream doesn’t say anything in response, but he does lay a hand over Hob’s.

It occurs to Hob almost suddenly that if Dream saw everything that had just happened, he had also seen Eleanor implying that Hob was sort of in love with him, which should maybe freak him out a little more, but Dream was still there, lying in his bed and holding his hand.

Maybe he doesn’t need to say anything.

#sandman #sandman fanfiction #the sandman #hob gadling #hob gadling sandman #tw death #sandman fandom #dream of the endless #dream sandman #eleanor gadling #grace daniels #<- tag for this series

21 notes · View notes

diligenthowlter · 6 months

Text

2014 | 2023

Don’t you love how seasons change?

#dnp #dan and phil #dapg #gamingmas #dan vs phil #daniel howell #phil lester #phan #grace posts

2K notes · View notes

second-best-sibling · 5 months

Text

Hatchetfield as text posts part 5

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

#hatchetfield #hatchetverse #starkid #black friday #tgwdlm #black friday starkid #nerdy prudes must die #emma perkins #jon matteson #richie lipschitz #ted spankoffski #paul matthews #wilbur cross #grace chasity #daniel yellowjacket #gerald monroe #henry hidgens #professor hidgens #daniel stopwatch

812 notes · View notes

brotherconstant · 3 months

Text

INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE | S1 It is time for me to leave home, yet again, as I have so many times before. To walk away from the table still hungry.

#iwtvedit #iwtv #interview with the vampire #beegifs #long post #body horror #louis de pointe du lac #grace de pointe du lac #paul de pointe du lac #florence de pointe du lac #daniel molloy #miss lily #claudia #claudia iwtv #charlie iwtv #lestat de lioncourt #jonah macon #armand

449 notes · View notes

mydairpercabeth · 8 days

Text

And if I said this was Luke and Thalia THEN WHAT

#PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE #HEAR ME OUT #THALIALUKE MY BELOVEDS #SHES SO THALIA GRACE #ALREADY BESTIES WITH LEAH #LET HER IN PJOTV #thalia grace #luke castellan #percy jackson #pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson the lightning thief #percy jackson sea of monsters #pjo tv #percy series #annabeth chase #pjo tv show #charlie bushnell #danielle jade

297 notes · View notes

cloudyfacewithjam · 3 months

Text

First Look at the #HadestownUK company in action. (x)

#hadestown #hadestown west end #donal finn #grace hodgett young #melanie la barrie #gloria onitiri #zachary james #madeline charlemagne #allie daniel #bella brown #this production looks amazing so far #my stuff

450 notes · View notes

piastri · 7 months

Text

and she's right!

#daniel ricciardo #f1 #*#brazillian gp 2023 #*Dan #we love you grace <3 #his eyes are fucking twinkling broo

687 notes · View notes

slutforpringles · 3 days

Text

Daniel and Grace 🫶🏼

Saturday | Monaco | Diogo Cardoso

#daniel ricciardo #dr3 #grace ricciardo #monaco gp 2024 #f1 #formula 1

261 notes · View notes

rockrosethistle · 4 months

Text

save me, Gen Z Hatchetfield characters...Gen Z Hatchetfield characters save me....

385 notes · View notes

notaplaceofhonour · 3 months

Text

I was raised in the People of Destiny cult (later renamed, and more well-known as, Sovereign Grace Ministries, now Sovereign Grace Churches).

The valorization of martyrdom and The End Times was so ubiquitous it was ambient noise. We stood in the church lobby theorizing about who the antichrist would be, we argued about whether Jesus would rapture us all before, after, or during the Tribulation Period where Satan would be given free reign over the earth. There was a strong Christian Zionist fixation on Israel as the final battleground and capital of the coming Messianic Age. But the one thing we were all certain of was is that we were in the End Times, that we were not of this world and couldn’t get too attached to our lives here.

We were raised to believe our sin nature made us undeserving of life, that we deserved death and eternal conscious torture.

My parents read us the Jesus Freaks books (a series by Christian Rap group DC Talk about martyrs). I spent “devotional time” reading Fox’s Book of Martyrs. We had guest speakers from Voice of the Martyrs, their pamphlets were often stocked in our church’s information center. We grew up with our dad listening to right wing talk radio and making us listen to songs about how the Godless atheists were outlawing Christianity in America, that we could all become martyrs soon.

The group’s theology was damaging & traumatic in a lot of other ways that contributed to the suicidality I have continued to struggle with for the rest of my life. For a long time I did not believe I would live past 20. There are times when the idea of giving my death meaning by using public suicide to make a political statement has appealed to me.

So now, seeing so many social media posts glorifying the suicide of a US Airman this week, I have been furious. Reading his social media posts, I recognize so much about the way I was raised in his all-or-nothing, black-or-white mindset, the valorization of death-seeking & martyrdom, and the apocalyptic fire-and-brimstone imagery of self-immolation. The moment I saw people I followed celebrating his self-immolation, I said to myself “this feels like a cult”

So when I learned he was raised in a cult too, nothing could have made more sense to me. His political orientation may have changed, but his mindset did not—it was no less extreme or cult-like.

I’ve talked about so many of the reasons this response from the broader left scares me, including how it’s laundering that airman’s antisemitic beliefs, but I cannot think of anything that would hit me in a more personal place than this specific response to this specific situation has.

When I see the images, I think: that could have been me. That scares me, and what scares me more is that so many prominent people are overwhelmingly sending the message to people like me that there is nothing else we can do that would have a more meaningful impact than killing ourselves for the cause.

I do not believe that. I will not even entertain it. And having to see his death over and over and over again, to argue against people who are treating this like an intellectual/moral exercise or a valid debate we all have to consider has been immensely triggering and fills me with a rage I rarely feel. It’s unconscionable that we are even putting self-harm on the table, and that pushing back against that is somehow controversial.

There is hope. Our lives do have meaning. There are far more effective means of fighting injustice. And the world is a better place for having you in it. Don’t fall into believing this is a way to give life purpose.

390 notes · View notes

blamemma · 7 hours

Text

daniel ricciardo with his family and friends dancing at a beach club in cannes | 27.5.24

#daniel ricciardo #dr #monaco24 #look at grace go !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#daniel could take some tips from her !!!!!!!!!!

169 notes · View notes

ihatecoconut · 1 year

Text

wip exercpt

uuh so this is like a weird part in the middle of a much longer thing that I’m writing, but i really like it and want validation now so here. hob talking to immortal child.

-

“How do you do it?” she asks quietly, “how do you keep wanting to live when everything is so awful?”

Hob gestures for her to shift over on the bed and slides in next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She goes willingly, resting her head on his chest and leaving it at the perfect height for him to run his fingers through her hair.

She relaxes slightly at the motion, further into his chest and Hob hums as he contemplates where to start.

“I was born in the 14th century. You’d think I should know which year, but nobody really paid attention to that back then, you only really mattered if you survived to be able to crawl and move alone. Everyone back then was told not to get attached to their babies because they might not survive too long—”

“This is not very happy.” Grace mumbles into his chest.

Hob laughs, “I’m getting there. Shh.”

“mm.”

“But, telling humans not to get attached to things? You might as well tell the Earth itself not to spin, we can’t help it, we’ve never been able to help it and we would love those children, no matter how fleetingly they remained with us, we would mourn their short lives and we would name them regardless.” He sighs, runs a hand through her hair. “Part of the human condition, I suppose, to love, to bond,”

“’S that why you kept me?”

“Partially, I guess, because we bonded. Someone told me once that I was the pinnacle of the human condition – although I don’t think those are the exact words that were used – and I guess I kind of am.” He glances down at her. “I’ve always remembered the things the midwives would say, that you shouldn’t get attached until you know they’re going to survive and I think I’ve always ignored them. You and me? Everyone is going to die, so based on their advice we shouldn’t get attached to anyone.”

“Except each other.”

“Maybe. But it would be so easy to fall into that trap of not caring, of seeing other people like ants, you know? Fleeting and so small in comparison. But what’s the point in living if you don’t love? Right? That’s not living, that’s just surviving, yeah?”

She wriggles slightly, shifting so she can tilt her head back and look up at him as he speaks.

“And, you know, some people say that you die twice, once when you stop breathing and again when someone speaks your name for the last time. Maybe everyone we love can’t stay alive in the first sense, but we can keep them alive in the second.”

He pauses to let Grace take that in.

“My wife was called Eleanor. My son was called Robyn. I had a second child who didn’t make it, we never named them, but I remember none the less.”

“I had a brother called Charlie.” Grace whispers. “He died when he was just a baby. No one talks about him, no one ever talked about him.”

“But you haven’t forgotten him, and through that you can keep him alive.”

“Yeah.”

He presses a kiss to her forehead. “Does that help?”

“A little.”

“Do you want to hear about chimneys?”

She frowns up at him, confused, and he laughs.

“When I was a boy, we just lit fires inside. Sometimes people would have a hole in the ceiling to let the smoke out, but mostly that would just let the rain and cold in, so we tended not to, and then in… oh, I don’t know, the 1400s some time, people started adding chimneys to houses, a place to let the smoke out that was designed to not let the rain back in.”

Grace is watching him, a slight line between her eyebrows, but otherwise unfathomable. If he’d met her only once, he isn’t sure he would have walked away thinking that she was fully human, there was something almost other about her.

“And then we could light fires indoors, and we didn’t have to worry about choking on the smoke. It was revolutionary.” He grins. “I mean, they’re pretty commonplace now, but back then? Woo. It was something else.”

“What else?” She asks, and the way she watches him, interested in his experiences, in what he has to say, reminds him of those once-a-century meetings with his stranger.

“Hmm, handkerchiefs, those were a big one – fabric specifically for wiping your nose, didn’t have to use a sleeve anymore.”

She screws her nose up in disgust and he bites back a laugh.

“Different foods, different clothes, oh, I loved 19th century clothes, shame we don’t wear those anymore.”

“You could.”

“I think that would be playing a little too much into the eccentric history professor stereotype.”

Grace doesn’t laugh, but she does grace him with a tiny smile, the first he’s gotten out of her since he came home.

“Ok, your turn.”

She stops smiling abruptly. “What?”

“If you had died, what things would you have missed out on that you love?”

They’re silent for a moment as she thinks. “You.”

Hob is painfully touched. “Me?”

“I would never have met you, or Jay, or Joanna, or any of the staff at the New Inn.”

“That’s true.”

She frowns again, thinking. “Sugar waffles.”

“Ooh, good one. I think ice cream as well, that got real big during the Edwardian period.”

“Painting my room.” She pauses again. “I think… painting, generally. And playing the violin.”

Hob double takes. “You play the violin?”

She shrugs. “My social worker made me take up a hobby and that was the one I liked the most. The violin belonged to the school, so I… I could not take it with me.”

“Ok, well when we’re released from here, the first thing we’re gonna do is go to that music shop at the back of the high street and you can pick a violin, how’s that?”

She smiles again, a little bigger. “I would like that.”

#sandman #hob gadling #sandman fanfiction #sandman fandom #fanfiction #grace daniels #<- tag for this series #i wasn't kidding about the validation by the way

11 notes · View notes

diligenthowlter · 6 months

Text

dan and phil are neither divorced, nor married, but a secret third thing that is beyond human comprehension

#dan and phil #dnp #dapg #gamingmas #amazingphil #daniel howell #phan #grace posts

2K notes · View notes

vilnmelling · 16 days

Text

Chart memes as promised

I promised chart memes, and NOW I'VE DELIVERED CHART MEMES AS PROMISED!

These are just four out of my collection so far, so prepare for more in the near future

Somehow I couldn't think of anyone for the "tired gay" position, but then my idiot brain remembered General John MacNamara exists, so we'll all pretend he's actually there