light wash mom jeans, chipped red nails, tall black socks bunched down, white sneakers with the laces dirty, freckles on your wrists and nose, a long cream trench coat where the belt hangs down and is never tied, a soft pink beret, wisps of hair poking out and tangling into a messy braid, nipples poking through a thin shirt, a bottle of rosé covered in raindrops in one hand and a baguette under your arm
The last wordpress update completely messed up the ways I had edited the comicpress theme, resulting in the comic becoming unreadable for a while.
So you can read BERET again!
There’s no new pages yet, but there will be soon, as I have finally finished my year long director gig, and have a more regular work/home life for a while. I’ve had the rest of the chapter sitting around in a semi finished state for months, and that’s a monkey I need off my back, as it were.
hey are you still taking prompts? if so how about quakerider +39? :)
Daisy doesn’t call
him after they leave LA. She could, theoretically, if she was
willing to mask her phone number and do some discreet hacking to find
his number. She could do a lot of things. But calling is—calling
is something. Calling means closing the inch of space between them
the day that she said goodbye. They’d been so close, standing on the
ramp of the quinjet. (Too close.) She could have kissed him. (But
the last boy she kissed is floating somewhere above the stars.)
So instead she
sends him postcards. Bright and loud and so cheesy that he probably
rolls his eyes whenever he gets them. She sends him neon signs from
Las Vegas, people wearing berets and carrying baguettes from Paris,
walls spattered with graffiti from Berlin, sandy beaches from the
Seychelles, kangaroos from Australia. And she writes a sentence or
two on the back of each one—jokes and random details and things she
thinks he’d like. She never signs her name but she’s pretty sure he
knows it’s her. (Sometimes she sends postcards to Gabe too, asking
him how Robbie’s doing, with his endless list of scores to settle.)
They’re in Hawaii
when she writes that she misses him. A week later, a postcard
appears at the hotel where they’re staying on Kauai. Life’s a lot
less interesting without you around.
She shows up at
the garage in the middle of the workday, when she really shouldn’t be
there. He drops what he’s doing anyway. “I thought I wouldn’t send
a postcard this time,” she calls and takes a step towards him.
“I like the
postcards,” he says. “But I like you in person better.”
“We’ve gotten a
tip about some strange things out of San Francisco,” she offers.
“It’s not too far from LA when you’ve got a jet.”
“I’ve never seen
the Golden Gate Bridge, you know. Damn shame. You should do
something about that.”
A mini drabble of how I want their final scene to play out…This is dedicated to the beautiful @elleinaustin who is such a wonderful person and is always there to offer me support, love or travel suggestions! Watch out, I’m kind of in love with your hometown so may just decide to take up residence there ; ) Or at least get married eventually at the Driskill!
Machu Picchu - Andes Mountains, Peru - 2029
Give me love like her...
“Finally,” Caroline muttered, joining him atop the mountain and taking in the scenic view over the ancient Inca ruins of Machu Picchu. “You’re a difficult Original Hybrid to find.” Klaus wasn’t sure whether he was imagining her voice given he did it most days or whether she was actually real this time.
He turned to face her taking in those familiar blonde locks peeking out from her woollen beret, those expressive, blue eyes and that porcelain skin he’d dreamt about kissing repeatedly. She certainly seemed real enough but Klaus knew enough of his dreams that she was just probably another enigma.
“Um, hello?” She baulked. “I didn’t climb those bloody mountains for you to just ignore me.” Klaus had to laugh aloud, it was just so Caroline. “It’s not funny.”
“On the contrary, it’s hilarious,” he replied, thinking it was all still a dream. When Klaus told her he’d wait however long it took he meant it but patience wasn’t his best virtue and not having her in his life day after day was draining. Klaus wanted Caroline and he wanted her now. Happily ever after like all those fairytales he’d once mocked.
“Is this my punishment?” She huffed, throwing her bag on the ground unceremoniously. “You know, I took too long to get my act together and you’re just playing with me now.”
“Well…” he began before she interrupted in true fashion.
“You did say however long it takes,” she muttered. “It’s not my fault you don’t believe in deadlines, Mikaelson.” The more she rambled the more Klaus was starting to believe she was really here for him and not just a figment of his imagination. Finally. He turned towards her, drinking in her appearance and every familiar curve that he’d sketched daily and were now emblazoned on his brain.
“But how did you…”
“Surely you know enough of my curiosity and persistence to believe I found you.” Klaus didn’t doubt those attributes, in fact he knew and admired them immensely.
“Well you should be,” she growled, throwing off her beret and shaking her head in frustration causing a rippling effect through those golden waves. Her cheeks were tinged pink but Klaus wasn’t sure whether it was due to her mood or the cool temperature. “You’re difficult to find.”
“I went to New Orleans first but apparently the all mighty king wasn’t in residence,” she mumbled. “All I can say is at least i managed to sample some beignets.”
“Glad to see you were able to embrace the local culture during such a tough time.”
“Well, that’s nothing on Rome,” she recounted. “Between the pasta, gelato and canoli I think I gained at least five pounds. I mean why couldn’t you have picked less calorie laden locations?” Trust Caroline to be blaming him for that although he knew she was just rambling nervously to avoid revealing her true feelings.
“Speaking of which,” she continued. “Don’t get me started on Paris, I mean pain au chocolat, croissants, croque monsieur. Are you trying to make me fat?” Klaus wasn’t sure whether to respond or let her keep rambling. Her intensive stare in his direction was telling Klaus it was most definitely his turn to speak.
“They are all amazing cities,” he shared. “But if I was in Florence at the Uffizi or in Paris at the Louvre and standing in a room full of beautiful art, I know that all I could stare at was you,” She didn’t respond immediately, obviously trying to take in what he’d said.
“Another vindication of my little trip through these steep mountains,” she replied, slyly. “But just so you know I wasn’t happy to be in Tokyo all alone without a karaoke duet partner.”
“It’s probably a good thing given my voice doesn’t hold a candle to yours, love.”
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, surprising Klaus slightly.
“Taking so long to know what i wanted,” she added, regretfully. “Maybe if I’d decided a long time ago it wouldn’t have taken me three continents to find you.” Klaus turned around fully so that he could look in her eyes and place his hands gently over her shoulders.
“I’ve always loved you, Caroline, but I wanted you to work that out for yourself in your own time,” he murmured.
“I love you Klaus, I think I already knew it but I was being…”
“Stubborn?” Klaus suggested.
“Don’t push it, mister,” she growled before capturing his mouth with hers. He lost himself in her caress, her lips were just as supple as he remembered. Klaus closed his eyes revelling in the resurgent feelings her kisses were creating. It was only after they’d feverishly attacked each others’ lips excitedly that they eventually broke apart.
“Those other places I can understand but how did you know to come here?”
“You told me at the Miss Mystic Falls pageant that the only place you ever wanted to be alive was during a trek through the Andes.” Klaus was shocked at first. He remembered everything about her but never expected Caroline to feel the same way. “It’s obviously a special place for you.”
“And the only place I ever wanted to be alive twice,” he murmured, running his hand through her silky hair. “You brought me back, love. Again.”
ok well there’s 2 versions of this story & idk which one’s true but there was this jazz musician in cambridge who was named sid ‘the beat’ barrett & syd took the name, except with a ‘y’ instead of an ‘i’. the other story was that during camp, he showed up wearing a flat cap instead of his scout beret & they made fun of him & started calling him ‘syd’ bc the name was working-class, supposedly.