Came here to deliver 🙂↕️ red string AU with Hobat! I didn't gave much thought to it but maybe Reader is like BAFFLED that their soulmate is a century old vampire bloke. Like wdym this is my soulmate 🤨 but despite that Reader is proven as to why they're soulmates as Hobie shows their past lives together ☺️
I was in a haze while writing this 😌 I hope you like it bleaky!! ❤️
Pairing: Vampire! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader
Word count: 1.6k
Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (except clothing), horror elements, vampire au, red string trope, CW blood, CW suggestive, fluff.
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The sudsy water drips from your hands as cicadas chirp in the night. Your record player hums from the other room, playing a soft jazz song that reminds you of home. The piles upon piles of boxes lay strewn all over the house, brown cardboard sitting in front of newly painted walls that are the same colour as the view you're currently looking at— green. Lush viridescent green that spreads across the marsh while wispy willow trees dance in the breeze.
Hands cold and soapy, you try to ignore the red string around your finger, it's rope slack like always. You gaze upon the window in front of the sink. The view is beyond beautiful with the full moon illuminating across the wetlands, and the glowing eyes of alligators blink slowly in the distance. If you told your past self that you'll be moving to the deepest place in the south, where eerie dilapidated buildings lie, and where ghost stories come alive, you'd have punched yourself and ran away from fright. But with the offer from your job, you couldn't just refuse the relocation with that big of a pay raise. And now you know why none of your co-workers took that offer when the house they provided for you is two hundred years old; and the smell of the swamp in the heat of the afternoon seeps through the ancient wooden walls of the Victorian style home.
Well, at least there's wifi in the place. Looking at cute cat pictures helps when the lights would flicker out of nowhere and whenever there's a low groan echoing throughout the house.
You sigh, limbs tired from all the heavy lifting you had to do. As your lower back aches, you shut the tap and lay the last plate over to the drying rack while you let the water swirl down into the drain. The pipes make a gurgling sound as it goes further down, and you could only hope that it's not clogged, or worse, about to burst.
Taking the dish towel over your shoulder, you can't seem to take your eyes off the scenery in front of you. There's something eerily romantic about the place with its winding hallways, arched doors, elegant carvings, and stained glass windows. Whenever you step outside, you feel like you're in another world, fireflies fly around, twisting and turning above the silvery marsh where opened maws of crocodiles lie in wait. It's as if the house and the view were straight up taken out of a gothic novel.
As you dry your hands, you blink at the slight movement in the corner of your eyes. There, a shadow lies hiding just behind a tall willow tree. Your head tilts curiously, and its head tilts back. Mimicking you.
You jump back, hip hitting the dinner table whilst a vase of roses from your company tumbles down and crashes into the floor.
“Shit!” You look over your shoulder at the mess, glass shards glinting against the fluorescent lights. Your heart thuds loudly, legs wobbly and hands clammy. Clutching your chest, you turn back towards the window, finding the shadow has gone away to god knows where.
Shaking your head, it must've been the wine's doing. You crouch down, picking up the shattered glass with the dish towel. Rose petals lay scattered around the floor, dotting along the wooden floorboards like splashes of rubies. Or blood. You take it out of your thoughts, scaring yourself while in the middle of nowhere will only have you running back to the city without the bonus you were promised.
“Ow!” You hiss, lifting up your hand only to see a deep gash in the pad of your index. Drops of crimson ebbs out of the wound, and you immediately put your finger inside your mouth to quell the pain and the bleeding.
A loud screeching noise reverberates outside, something akin to a bat shrieking into the night. The music comes to a halt, vinyl squeaking and music going backwards. Goosebumps appear on your arms, breath taken right out of your lungs. You feel as if your body has suddenly run cold, a temporary death as your hands turn numb, and eyes widening. As quick as the feeling came, it's gone within a second. Your breathing evens out, warmth returning to your cheeks. And the music starts normally again.
The string around your pinky tugs, an unfamiliar feeling that has your adrenaline coursing through your veins. The rope is taut and leading you towards the window.
You stand up abruptly, eyes glued onto the window by the sink. Fireflies flicker outside, and the marsh is just as the same as before.
Your feet move on their own as the tugging gets wilder. “What the fuck?” You look at the red string, finding that the end of it stretches towards outside the window. Outside into the darkened wetlands. “Is my soulmate a crocodile?” You joke to yourself, chuckling nervously.
You always waited for the moment that the string around your finger would move. It's always still, frozen in time while you wait for an ounce of movement from it. It might sound cliché, but you've always wanted to know who was at the other end of the crimson string, even when you always told everyone that you did not care one bit. Or that you thought that it'll never happen to you. Until now.
The music playing in the living room fades away as you walk outside. The sickly cold stings your flesh, breeze kissing your cheeks and fluttering your lashes as you slowly walk closer to the dock.
Grass crunches underfoot as the smooth jazz continues to play inside the house, muffled and sounding macabre when you come face to face with the full moon.
Grass turns to wood, and you find yourself at the end of the creaking dock.
The small fishing boat is still floating beside it, rope twisted around the wooden pillar. Water laps at the bloated wood, splashing onto your shoes.
“Come to me.”
A voice says as it's carried by the wind.
Pinpricks of gooseflesh rise up on the back of your neck, mouth turning dry and pulse quickening.
And yet, you step into the marsh without a care.
Water splashes as the cold envelopes around you. Green algae parts before you while you tread waist deep water. Your sundress floats around you, alabaster white with red roses stitched around the hem. You wade through the marsh, mud sticking to the soles of your feet.
You're entranced by the quick tugging at your string, heart beating in tandem with the pulling.
“Come to me.”
Breath stuck in your throat, you watch as a bat swoops from above. Wide wings flapping against the light of the full moon, shadow looming over your form.
You swallow thickly at the string tied around its clawed feet.
Blinking, as if struck by lightning, you wake up.
“What the fuck!” You gasp at the huge bat, turning immediately away and trying to run in the water. “Shit, my fucking soul mate is a goddamn bat!”
The string pulls at you again, this time you ignore it.
Your chest is drenched, hair sticking to your cheeks as water splashes around you.
Then a cold hand wraps around your arm, pulling and twisting you around to face him.
You're met with brilliant red eyes, face chiseled like the finest marble, silver piercings shining brighter than the moonlight.
You freeze like a deer in the headlights, gasping at the sight in front of you. He's dressed in leather, chains and spikes adorning his jacket. His eyes stay on your face, as if he's memorizing your face, as if he has done it a hundred times before.
The hand wrapped around your arm runs down over to your wrist, then to your palm. Lithe fingers hold your hand gingerly, like he's afraid of breaking a bird's wing.
You look down at his hand and your own, the string is finally at its shortest, crimson rope glowing and shimmering to the beat of your hearts.
He pulls you gently, hand still wrapped around your own as he places them on his chest. You don't feel a heartbeat, nothing but silence, not even a breath escaping from his lips.
“What are you?”
He smiles, a soft one that isn't cold at all unlike his touch.
“Your other half.” He answers, voice deep, tone reverberating through you. “My name's Hobie, Hobie Brown.”
“I don't think—” you shiver at the lapping cold water around you both. He doesn't seem bothered by it at all. “Are you real?”
Hobie, you've come to know by name and by his icy touch, brings your index, the same one with the cut over to his lips. You watch with bated breath and searing cheeks as he puts it in his mouth, crimson eyes gazing at you fondly. You feel the cold against your finger, sharp teeth grazing at your warm flesh.
He pops it out of his lips, wound completely gone.
“Did that feel real?” Hobie asks, placing your hand atop his cheek. “Does this feel real?”
“Y–Yes.”
“It's nice to finally meet you,” he utters your name with the same gentleness a lover would. And you don't even remember if you've given him your name. “I've longed to see you.” His words are laced with devotion.
Your breath trembles in your throat, stepping closer to him as you brush your thumb against his cheek. Hobie closes his eyes as he leans towards your touch.
“And I, you.”
Everything falls back in place, where it always has been.
Olga Grishenkova Ольга Гришенкова as “Esmeralda”, “Notre Dame de Paris“, music by Maurice Jarre, libretto and choreo by Roland Petit, based on the novel “The Hunchback of Notre Dame” (1831) by Victor Hugo, costumes by Yves Saint Laurent and Aurélie Lyon (revival design), Novosibirsk State Academic Opera and Ballet Theatre (Novat) Новосибирский Государственный Академический Театр Оперы и Балета, Bolshoi Theatre Большой театр, Moscow, Russia (July 30, 2024).
Source and more info at:
Novosibirsk State Academic Opera and Ballet Theatre Website
Novosibirsk State Academic Opera and Ballet Theatre on Twitter
Novosibirsk State Academic Opera and Ballet Theatre on You Tube
Novosibirsk State Academic Opera and Ballet Theatre on Facebook
Novosibirsk State Academic Opera and Ballet Theatre on Instagram
Novosibirsk State Academic Opera and Ballet Theatre on VKontakte
Photographer Batya Annadurdyev on Facebook
Photographer Batya Annadurdyev on Instagram
Note I: This blog is open to receiving and considering any suggestions, contributions, and/or criticisms that may help correct mistakes or improve its content. Comments are available to any visitor.
Note II: Original quality of photographs might be affected by compression algorithm of the website where they are hosted.
Anzhelina Vorontsova Анжелина Воронцовa as “Esmeralda” and Roman Polkovnikov Роман Полковников as “Quasimodo”, “Notre Dame of Paris Собор Парижской Богоматери”, music by Maurice Jarre, libretto and choreo by Roland Petit, based on the novel “The Hunchback of Notre Dame” (1831) by Victor Hugo, costume by Yves Saint Laurent, Mikhailovsky Ballet Михайловский театр, Saint Petersburg, Russia (November 22, 2024).
Anzhelina Vorontsova is principal dancer in the Mikhailovsky Ballet and Roman Polkovnikov is principal dancer in the Novosibirsk State Academic Opera and Ballet Theatre (Novat/Hobat).
Source and more info at:
Mikhailovsky Ballet Website
Mikhailovsky Ballet on Twitter (russian)
Mikhailovsky Ballet on Twitter (english)
Mikhailovsky Ballet on Telegram
Mikhailovsky Ballet on You Tube
Mikhailovsky Ballet on Facebook
Mikhailovsky Ballet on Instagram
Mikhailovsky Ballet on VKontakte (official community)
Photographer Dmitry Rogozhkin Website
Photographer Dmitry Rogozhkin on 500px
Photographer Dmitry Rogozhkin on 35Photo
Photographer Dmitry Rogozhkin on My Wed
Photographer Dmitry Rogozhkin on Behance
Photographer Dmitry Rogozhkin on Pinterest
Photographer Dmitry Rogozhkin on You Tube
Photographer Dmitry Rogozhkin on Facebook (page)
Photographer Dmitry Rogozhkin on Facebook (personal)
Photographer Dmitry Rogozhkin on Instagram
Photographer Dmitry Rogozhkin on VKontakte
Photographer Dmitry Rogozhkin on VKontakte (training blog)
Photographer Dmitry Rogozhkin on Deviant Art
Note I: This blog is open to receiving and considering any suggestions, contributions, and/or criticisms that may help correct mistakes or improve its content. Comments are available to any visitor.
Note II: Original quality of photographs might be affected by compression algorithm of the website where they are hosted.
Elizaveta Leushina Елизавета Леушина, “La Bayadère Баядерка”, libretto by Marius Petipa and Sergey Khudekov Сергея Худеков, choreo by Nacho Duato after Marius Petipa, music by Ludwig Minkus, stage and costume design by Angelina Atlagić Ангелина Атлагич, Novosibirsk State Academic Opera and Ballet Theatre (Novat) Новосибирский Государственный Академический Театр Оперы и Балета (Hobat), Novosibirsk, Novosibirskaya Oblast, Russia.
Note: Original quality of photographs might be affected by compression algorithm of the website where they are hosted.
Source and more info at:
Backstage Photography on Instagram (by Aleksey Tsiler)
Photographer Aleksey Tsiler on Instagram
Olga Grishenkova Ольга Гришенкова as “Esmeralda”, “Notre Dame de Paris“, music by Maurice Jarre, libretto and choreo by Roland Petit, based on the novel “The Hunchback of Notre Dame” (1831) by Victor Hugo, costumes by Yves Saint Laurent and Aurélie Lyon (revival design), Novosibirsk State Academic Opera and Ballet Theatre (Novat) Новосибирский Государственный Академический Театр Оперы и Балета (Hobat), Bolshoi Theatre Большой театр, Moscow, Russia (July 30, 2024).
Source and more info at:
Novosibirsk State Academic Opera and Ballet Theatre Website
Novosibirsk State Academic Opera and Ballet Theatre on Twitter
Novosibirsk State Academic Opera and Ballet Theatre on You Tube
Novosibirsk State Academic Opera and Ballet Theatre on Facebook
Novosibirsk State Academic Opera and Ballet Theatre on Instagram
Novosibirsk State Academic Opera and Ballet Theatre on VKontakte
Photographer Batya Annadurdyev on Facebook
Photographer Batya Annadurdyev on Instagram
Note I: This blog is open to receiving and considering any suggestions, contributions, and/or criticisms that may help correct mistakes or improve its content. Comments are available to any visitor.
Note II: Original quality of photographs might be affected by compression algorithm of the website where they are hosted.
