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armeenix · 8 months

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Distracting thoughts♡Bakugo x reader

I've been really sad recently so I thought why not write some fluff

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Ever since the very beginning of his freshman year bakugo has always been enthralled with you. There was just something about you that drew him to you as if he was a moth, and you were a beautiful dancing flame. His interest started out small. Sometimes he would glance over at you in class, or catch himself thinking about you instead of focusing on his tasks at hand.

Who are you really?

Why do you cause his thoughts to gravitate towards you?

Is it your stupid fucking quirk?

Maybe it's your stupid fucking face. With your pretty eyes, and your kissable lips, and your cute smile..

Fuck why are you so God damn pretty...?

This was when his thoughts started to get a little to...romantic. He had to snap himself out of this. He barely had time for friends, let alone a pretty little extra like you. He ever so desperately tried to get you off of his mind but nothing would get rid of his distracting thoughts. There was really only one option left and he eagerly took it. The last option he had was to just ignore you all together, and that's exactly what he did. He didn't want to admit it but it was a little harder to avoid you than he expected. Ever since the first day of school you have very persistently tried talking to bakugo. It's not like you did it in an annoying way, like kirishima and denki did. Instead, you were pretty chill about it.

You would casually sit by him and strike up little conversation and when the conversation stopped, it's stopped that was the end of it. You had a tactic of getting closer to him little by little at HIS pace and holy shit it was working. Bakugo started continuing the conversations for longer, and sometimes he would even be the first to start the conversations but, unfortunately for him, he couldn't open up to you anymore

Bakugo would go out of his way to sit far away from you, he would keep the conversations dry and short, and sometimes he just didn't pay any attention to you at all. He really thought this was gonna work but you just didn't know when to fucking give up. Even after how dry and mean he's been you still keep coming back to sit next to him and try to talk to him. Your subtle determination did not help bakugo keep you out of his thoughts, instead it made him think of you even more..you were always in his thoughts everyday of the week, he never could get a break from thinking about you. To be honest, you were the first person to ever be so persistent while keeping a respectful distance and not pushing your friendship onto him, and for some reason that made him feel all hot and bothered around you.

"Fuck..is a respect kink even a thing..?"

"What the hell are you talking about kacchan?"

"ITS NONE OF YOUR DAMN BUISNESS DUNCE FACE"

"Woah, calm down bakugo"

"Whatever..."

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7 YEARS LATER

Its been a few years since you graduated from u.a. Both you and bakugo were successful I'm becoming proheroes. Recently you have been trending all over social media because you reached the huge milestone of finally becoming number three In the hero ranks. Your popularity skyrocketed whenyou stopped a building from crashing down onto hundreds of citizens in Tokyo earlier this month. All over Twitter people have been congratulating you, especially the girls from class 1.A. The posts consist of pictures, fan edits, fan art, and videos from most, if not all of your recent interviews.

Bakugo was scrolling through one of your twitter tags, when his phone buzzed. He swiped the notification bar at the top of his screen down to see that izuku had sent him a message.

"What does he want..?" He clicked on the message to see an image of most of class 1.A sitting at a resturant table with you directly in the middle. You were sitting backwards on a turned around chair with a cake in your hands. The cake was decorated to look like your hero suit and it had a cake topper with a hash tag and a number three on it. Right below the photo was a small paragraph.

"Hey kaachan! I know you've been really busy with everything going on lately, but I couldn't help but noticr how dissapointed y/n seemed when kirishima told her that you couldn't make it to the lunch earlier today. Maybe it's time you finally stopped avoiding her? Don't try to say you havent been, because everyone knows that you have."

"Tch as if. Who does he think he is bossing me around." There was no way in hell he would be able to "pay you a visit". He was way too busy with work just like everyone else. Plus, you probably wouldn't even want to see his face after how he brushed your civil attempts at trying to become his friend off during highschool. Deku probably just read your expressionswrong, thats all.

Right?

Right....??

"Ugh! Stupid fucking deku with his smart-ass ideas. Why does he always have to be fucking right?"

Bakugo continued to mumble as he quickly stood up and grabbed a few of his things. Just as he was about to walk out of his office door, an annoying (as bakugo liked to put it) rhythmic knock was heard from it. "Hey bakugo, you in there? I wanna show you something!"

"Fucking hell"

Bakugo quietly sighed before walking towards the door. "Come on man it's really cool! It's this cat that's wearing a small costume that looks exactly like mine. You've gotta look!" Oh hell no. There was no way he was gonna let kiri in just for that, but how was he gonna get out of his office if kirishima was blocking his only exit? Well, his only reasonable exit. Bakugo never really liked his second option because of how dangerous it was but in this moment he had no choice. It was either open that door and get bombarded with dumb questions from his loud friend, or hop out of his window and use his quirk to stop himself from getting hurt.

"Bakugo if you don't open the door imma pick the lock!"

Once again there was no response from bakugos end of the door. "Alright man, you leave me no choice!" It took a few moments but eventually kirishima finally managed to unlock the door. He turned the knob and walked into the room to see no bakugo, and one of his office windows left wide open, letting the winter night air in. He quickly walked towards the window and looked down to see a figure with explosive hands floating (or more like sloppily falling) down towards the sidewalk.

"COME ON MAN IM NOT THAT BAD"

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AT Y/N'S HERO AGENCY

you had been at your agency building for hours working on an idea for your new merch realise. You were one of the very few heroes who worked on official merchandise themselves. Sure you were able to create what you wanted and people loved it, but this also added so much more work to your already heavy load. To you it was worth it though, because your fans always loved the things that you and your team produced and it made you happy to see that your teams hard work to make the best quality products actually payed off.

You picked up your mug to take a sip of your tea when you realise that all of it is gone. Letting out and exhausted sight you get up from your seat, with your mug in hand, and walk out of your office to go boil some more water. A few minutes later the water was finally hot enough so you quickly made your tea to your liking and walked back into your office. As soon as you walked in you were met with your patio doors wide open and Bakugo leaning against your desk with a greasy brown bag resting right next to him.

"Hey...."

"I....hi?"

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To be continued

Comments, and reblogs always help!<3

#mha bakugou #bakugou x reader #bnha #bakugou katsuki #fluff #mha fluff #bnha x reader

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apteryxparvus · 6 months

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hope you're having a pleasant day, also congratulations on your 100 followers.

i was wondering if i could ask a street musician reader and a passerby scara fic. ik it doesn't have much explanation but i hope i can leave it to you😞

Thank you! I'm a bit late with this request, but I hope you enjoy it. I completely fell in love with the idea of Scaramouche and street musician reader 🥰

Part of my ✨ 100 followers milestone event ✨ that ran from September 2nd to September 9th.

Pairing — Scaramouche / Reader

Word count — 2,922 words

Content warning — mentions of alcohol

Scaramouche strolls along the bustling stalls of Port Ormos, immersing himself in the symphony of sounds. The air buzzes with the echoes of lively merchants and customers trying to haggle over prices. Kids dart around, gleeful shouts adding to the cacophony. The rhythmic clatter of artisans’ tools echo from the nearby workshops.

The fragrant aroma of spices mingles with the smell of freshly baked goods. Nearby, a vendor proudly displays an array of ripe fruits — from plump and succulent Zaytun peaches, to imported Lavender melons and spicy Jueyun chilies.

Scaramouche pauses, and his gaze meets the warm smile of the vendor. He stays silent, feeling the weight of the curious gaze upon him. With a soft humph, he lowers his wide-brimmed hat, casting a shadow over his face. He continues on his way, his steps purposeful and gaze fixed straight ahead — he tells himself he must stay fixated on the mission, that he must not get sidetracked by the vibrant distractions, nor draw any attention to himself.

He remains composed, a ghost in the crowd, blending seamlessly.

Yet when Scaramouche turns the corner, his hearing is enveloped by a soft voice. A familiar melody resounds in the air, and his heart skips a beat as he recognizes it instantly. He cannot help but be drawn towards the source of the enchanting voice.

There, in the midst of the bustling street, you stand, a lone street performer.

His steps falter as he approaches you. He stands between the other onlookers, his presence like a moth drawn to a flame.

You’re unaware of Scaramouche’s inner turmoil, and continue to raise your voice, your own rendition of the Inazuman song filled with burning passion and purity.

“Kare wa yasei no iro ni michita sekai o samayoi masu,

Jishin no seigen wa naku, kokoro wa fukaku.

Kabukimono, kabukimono…”

Time stands still. The lyrics evoke a lost meaning known only to him, memories he had long locked away. His chest constricts as he feels the weight of the past press upon him.

The last notes of the tune float into the air, and the crowd erupts in response. A few individuals drop mora into your hat, expressing their gratitude for the performance. You nod in sincere appreciation, a humble smile making its way to your lips.

Scaramouche waits patiently for the last of the onlookers to disperse. You crouch on the ground, gathering the coins and placing them into a leather pouch. The Inazuman steps closer to you, his hat casting a shadow over your figure. The weight of his presence draws your attention, and you raise your head, eyes wide with curiosity.

There’s an air of mystery cloaking him.

You straighten up and pat down your pants. “You’re Inazuman, right?” you enquire. His eyes widen for a split second, confirming your suspicions.

“The song,” he starts, struggling to find the right words.

“The Ballad of a Kabukimono,” you reply, a knowing smile on the corner of your lips. “A forgotten tale of a wandering Inazuman eccentric. No one really knows its origins.”

“The melody is different,” Scaramouche states.

You let out a sheepish chuckle, scratching the back of your neck. “Yes,” you admit. “The original felt too somber for my taste. I want to make people feel joy, rather than melancholy.”

Scaramouche huffs, muttering something under his breath. A hint of indignation stirs within you — if he has so displeased with the performance, why did he stay until the very end? He had the opportunity to walk away at any moment, yet he didn’t.

A rebuttal stirs within you, but before you can react, the Inazuman reaches into his belongings and takes out a hefty pouch, throwing it at your feet. The coins jiggle, and you watch speechless as he turns his back to you and leaves without uttering another word.

You stand amidst the scattered coins, confusion deepening. Stooping low, you gather the shiny mora, cursing at yourself for being so caught up in the moment, you had not even thought to ask his name.

The same night, Scaramouche strolls through the now-empty streets. Once bustling, the market now stands quiet and deserted, with only a handful of passersby leisurely walking past the closed stalls. Silence permeates the air.

His puppet body carries a deep ache.

His mission was a success — he had effortlessly infiltrated the nearby treasure hoarder camp, quickly retrieving the stolen Ruin Guard cores, along with a plethora of Fontanian and Snezhnayan machinery. The thieves were caught off guard; and he didn’t even need to rely on his Anemo Vision.

But despite the ease of the task and the triumph alongside it, he feels weariness settle upon his mind. A sense of monotony weighs upon him.

And the lingering melody of the song from his past stubbornly clings to his thoughts. It infuriates him, intensifying the restlessness he feels. He finds himself revisiting the memory of your voice — how it soared, building to a powerful crescendo, how you carefully enunciated each syllable of the language long forgotten.

He passes by the spot where he had witnessed your performance — it’s empty. He mentally chides himself for foolishly believing you would remain there throughout the entire day. The generous sum he had given you, along with the contributions from the other onlookers, would undoubtedly provide you a temporary respite from busking.

He feels a slight twinge of disappointment.

His weary gaze catches the flickering lights of a nearby tavern, the warm glow beckoning him. He heads towards the establishment, hoping to find some form of solace in the warmth and anonymity of the tavern; hoping to dull the ache within his soul with a drink or two.

Scaramouche steps inside the tavern, welcomed by the warm glow of the low-hanging lights. The wooden walls are adorned with paintings of the lush green foliage of Dharma Forest, while grainy photographs of Sumeru’s bustling cities add depth to the surroundings. Lively conversations fill the air — cheery and tipsy voices rise and fall; the noise mingles with the clinking of glasses.

His gaze sweeps across the crowded tavern, searching for a secluded place to settle. His eyes lock onto a hidden nook, and there, nestled in that corner, he spots your familiar figure. You’re sitting there, oblivious to the world, engrossed in your own daydreams, with a glass of a milky, effervescent beverage.

As if guided by an invisible force, he takes a few long strides towards the table and takes a seat beside you.

You look up, startled, but your gaze narrows in a split second. “Well, well, well,” you say, a hint of amusement flickering in your eyes. “We meet again, mysterious wanderer.”

“Mind if I join?”

“Of course, please, have a seat.” As he settles, you take a sip from your palm wine, the milky and powerfully sweet flavors dancing on your tongue. “It seems our encounters are becoming more frequent, no?”

Scaramouche scoffs, and you take another leisurely sip from the drink.

The silence around you carries a hint of lingering tension.

“Say,” you break the stillness. “Would a drink or two make you a better conversation partner?” you lightheartedly joke. “I am willing to offer the first round.”

The male smirks, mischief dancing in his indigo eyes. He leans back in his chair. “Since you’re probably using the mora I gave you for the drinks, I’d say the first round is actually on me.”

“I assure you, the drinks I buy are funded by my own pocket money.” You lean in closer, locking eyes with him.

“Regardless, I accept your offer.”

“Two palm wines coming right up,” you exclaim, already on your way to order from the gruff-looking bartender.

Navigating through the crowd back to the table, you carefully balance the newly obtained drinks. You place them before Scaramouche and sit down. A moment later, you lift your glass in a toast. “Kanpai!” you exclaim in old Inazuman.

Scaramouche’s eyes fixate on yours for a brief moment, before he slowly raises his own glass. “You speak old Inazuman,” he comments.

“A few phrases here and there,” you admit, a flustered look spreading across your face. “I lived in Tatarasuna as a child, and I had the opportunity to learn a bit from the locals.”

The mention of Tatarasuna brings forth a wave of melancholic nostalgia; of fleeting memories of joyous faces, caked in soothe, of cooking lessons and exhilarating sword dances. He closes his eyes and sees the noxious black gas, with its haunting tendrils seeping across the surface of the once idyllic island.

Scaramouche raises his glass to his lips, taking a long, deliberate swig. He struggles to push back the rising tide of memories; struggles to push back the bile rising in his throat.

You notice the somber expression that crosses his face. “I’m sorry,” you say softly.

He meets your gaze, and you observe a subtle shift in his indigo eyes, how they darken. His demeanor is guarded, but in that split second, you see a glimmer of vulnerability. “Tell me more,” he inquires. “About the song, about your life in Tatarasuna.”

You nod, and take a moment to collect your thoughts. Leaning back against the chair, you recount the days of your childhood. You tell him about your parents — true adventurers at heart, with an insatiable thirst for exploration.

“They took me on countless journeys across Teyvat,” you start. “From the rolling plains of Mondtstadt, to the stone forests in Liyue. But those places, so easy to reach, were never enough for them.”

You recount the events that led the three of you to wash ashore upon the rocky outcrops of Kannazuka Island in Inazuma — a botched smuggling operation, led by an inexperienced sailor. You were stuck between two warring states — the Inazuma Shogunate and the Watatsumi Army. Amidst the chaos, a few brave locals defied the Electro Archon’s will, and extended a helping hand.

Within the safety of their village, they shared their crafts with you — under their guidance, you were introduced to the art of pottery, their steady hands guiding yours, allowing you to shape pots that held both practicality and an aesthetic appeal; you learned to weave silk, creating vibrant brocades that told stories of your past. They taught your parents the secrets of tending a garden, how to nurture each plant; they taught them the arts of stealth, of resourcefulness — they’d guide them through the thick forests, teaching them how to identify edible berries and how to track elusive prey without drawing the attention of wandering samurais or the warring armies.

“The villagers shared their stories, their own experiences. They told me about the legendary Mikage Furnace, about its role in shaping the community. But they also passed down folk songs… tales of mythical gods and primordial creatures.”

You take a sip of your drink. “The song I played today, it’s the one that I found the most fascinating. Even as a child, something about its haunting composition and the meaning behind the lyrics called out to me. The villagers themselves had no records of the origin of the melody, but they spoke of this restless longing they would feel each time it was performed.”

Scaramouche stays silent, as you take a moment to savor the last of your drink. You set the empty glass down. “I’ve always found myself wondering about the shadowy figure and his history…”

“Sing the original,” he demands, leaning in closer. “And I will tell you the truth behind the kabukimono.” His lilac eyes lock into yours, holding such intensity that it sends shivers down your spine. You almost squirm under the weight of his scrutiny, but you quickly compose yourself when you notice the raw melancholy swimming in his eyes.

You nod, accepting. “Alright then, I’ll sing the original for you,” you reply, taking a deep breath and letting your voice escape your lips.

The melody merges with the clamor of the tavern, but hidden in your little corner, the noise becomes irrelevant. Several patrons steal a few curious glances at you, their expressions a mixture of confusion and indifference, but they quickly divert their attention elsewhere, finding more interesting distractions.

But Scaramouche listens intently, penetrating gaze fixed on your lips, tracing every movement as the foreign syllables flow.

The final note fades upon your lips, and, completely entranced in the heartbreaking story of the eccentric, you don’t notice the lone tear that escapes your eye, leaving a damp trail down your cheek in the melody’s wake.

Silence stretches between you. Surprise flits across your features at the sight of the watery eyes behind Scaramouche’s stoic mask — he, who had at first displayed such aloofness and indifference, now seems stricken by genuine grief.

“Your song… stirs long buried memories,” he begins with a soft voice, answering your quiet, wordless inquiry. “In a past life, I too knew about the ache of aimless wandering, untethered and alone.”

His words linger in the air, a whispered revelation, one that hints at the depths of his own past.

Scaramouche exhales a heavy sigh, his stoic façade returning. “But a promise is a promise,” he says.

You shift uncomfortably. “Look,” you start, voice filled with concern. “If this brings you pain, there’s no need to continue. We can leave it be.”

He shakes his head, a flicker of determination crossing his features. “The kabukimono from the song… he was a puppet sculpted by the hand of the Electro Archon, intended to house the divine Gnosis. Yet, upon his creation, he shed genuine tears, and in his imperfection, he was carelessly cast aside.”

His words hang in the air, painting a tragic picture of a being cast aside by the very same hands that brought him to life.

“His divine powers were sealed, and he was locked away in a deep slumber,” he continues, voice laced with a mix of sorrow and resignation. “Until a samurai found him and took him in, despite his origins. The puppet formed a bond with the samurai and his companions.”

Scaramouche’s gaze turns distant, as if lost in memories. A sigh escapes him. “But then, tragedy struck. The puppet thought himself betrayed for the second time, and so he left, abandoning the only bonds he’d ever truly known.”

“His life was one of great suffering,” you quietly muse. Still, a doubt nags at the edges of your mind. “But how can you be certain this is the true origin of the song? Akademiya records tell a completely different tale of the Tatarasune Incident…” you trail off.

“The Akademiya is not infallible,” Scaramouche states bluntly, crossing his arms.

“But… the Akasha… the scholars have been able to preserve knowledge for generations,” you counter weakly.

“Not every truth stored is truly truthful,” he retorts. “Perhaps the kabukimono wished for his own story to remain unknown.”

You contemplate his words. “How can you be so certain?” you ask.

A subtle smirk ghosts his lips, and in an instant, clarity washes over you.

“You’re… you’re the kabukimono,” you breathe a sigh of disbelief and awe. The implications settle in your mind like the final pieces of an intricate puzzle. It all fits — the haunting melancholy in his eyes, his intricate knowledge of the past, and his willingness to share the painful truth, no matter how dark it may be.

Scaramouche remains silent, his enigmatic smirk still plastered across his face. It speaks volumes, confirming your thoughts.

Still reeling from his revelation, you meet his inscrutable gaze, a question look in your eyes. “Why reveal this to me?” you inquire, voice filled with caution. “How can you be sure that I won’t go and share this with the Akademiya scholars?”

His grin widens, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Ah, my dear street performer, it’s because I saw a kindred spirit within you. And besides, the Akademiya scholars… their pursuit of knowledge often blinds them to the depth of human experience.”

Scaramouche rises from his seat, the scraping sound of his chair against the chair breaking your thoughts. “It’s time for me to go,” he declares. “But if you’re willing, I can divulge more about the history of the kabukimono.”

You feel a flutter of anticipation at his words. “And what do you ask in return?” you inquire cautiously.

“I wish to hear more of your voice,” he admits sincerely, a surprising vulnerability seeping into his words. “If you are willing, meet me at Pharos Lighthouse, a week from now, before the break of dawn.”

And with that hopeful promise, Scaramouche departs, melting into the inky shadows of the tavern.

You remain rooted to your seat long after he takes his leave, mind reeling from the encounter. Your heart still drums erratically, head spinning, his revelations bringing up more questions than answers.

Ordering another glass of palm wine, you sip, hoping its sweet tones may calm your fraying nerves. You turn the conversation over and over, looking for a different, perhaps a deeper, meaning behind his words.

By the time your glass is empty, a weariness has settled into your bones. You offer a quiet nod of gratitude to the tavern keeper, and exit into the night.

Cool air washes over you as you step into the lamplit street, the ethereal glow of the moon overhead. And as you walk the familiar path that leads to your home, finding solace in the rhythm of the journey, the events of the night replay in your mind.

You make your way home, eager for what the future holds and the mysteries waiting to be unraveled.

*Translation of the song:

He wanders the world full of wild colors, A spirit unrestrained, a mind uncontained. Wandering eccentric.

Author's note: I AM BACK! I AM ALIVE!

University sure kicked my ass (and is still kicking it lol). I am still working on one more request, as well as the next chapter of L ♡ V E R ⇌ L ⦻ S E R (I have not forgotten about it, I promise)

#genshin x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #scaramouche x y/n #wanderer x y/n #scaramouche x you #wanderer x you #genshin impact #genshin imagines #request #scaramouche #wanderer

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elronds-meleth-nin · 1 month

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Bruinen's Eastern Shore - Part 2: By Mo(u)rning's Light

I know it took a bit, but here's part 2! If you want to be added to or removed from my taglist, please feel free to let me know!

Cross-posted to AO3 here.

~*~

Elrond x Reader

[A/N: I haven’t seen RoP, and I don’t plan to, so this is Hugo Weaving’s Elrond. All of my knowledge regarding this universe comes from the Jackson movies and the books.]

Warnings: Slow burn, Elf x Human romance, age gap (obviously), mentions of combat, death, blood, undefined magic (I'm winging it so don't think about it too hard), injury/recovery, grieving, death of a parent (mentioned not seen), elvish singing.

~*~

My dreams were erratic at first, then they faded into something calmer. The screams of my dying people transformed into the sounds of a nearby waterfall and the gentle hum of a low, soothing voice. Was he singing or speaking? Perhaps both?

A flash of armor - somewhere between red and purple in hue - coupled with a kind, smiling face and pointed ears swam through my mind.

I knew that face, but my mind was too slow and fuzzy to place it with a name. My father would've berated me for forgetting, surely, but, why was I so sure of that when I didn't know who he was? My thoughts were lethargic, as if they were coated with honey as I tried to remember what I'd forgotten.

After a time, the armor he wore was changed for a tunic and a set of robes that looked softer than anything I'd ever before felt.

He was beautiful.

A light, amused laugh trickled over my ears and I wondered if I'd spoken aloud or if he could read peoples' thoughts.

"Sleep, brave lady," he urged, and his voice was so hypnotically soothing that I felt inclined to obey, "sleep and recover your strength. You are safe now."

And so I did. Oblivion was seductive, drawing me in as easily as a moth to a flame. Eventually, the warmth on my face coaxed me into opening my eyes as I wondered hazily whether I had truly transformed into a moth during my slumber.

But, it was not so. The sunlight streaming into the strangely elegant room confirmed my hopes. This place was like no other I'd seen before. There were no Orcs, no bleeding people, no abrupt, terrifying death. Only light, gentle and joyful, whispering its congratulations to me for surviving.

This was the home of Elves. It had to be!

Turning my head slowly, I noted that I was alone in this large, beautiful room. Adorned as though it belonged to a king rather than an injured mortal woman, this room boasted silk curtains fine enough that they were practically translucent. Bookshelves lined two of the four walls, arching over the doorway. Every bit of fabric in the space, including the blanket which covered me, was of the highest quality - not a stitch was out of place.

Cautiously, I tested my muscles, and, finding that there was no pain beyond the vague, lingering soreness that always followed physical exertion, I sat up in the plush bed. Instinct brought my hand to my sternum, and to my relief, my pendant was still there. I hadn't lost it!

As I moved, a nightgown as light and comfortable as a cloud whispered reassuringly over my skin - my clean skin.

I'd obviously been tended, healed, and bathed in my unconscious state. I felt a rush of gratitude for whomever had drawn the short straw and been subsequently tasked with removing the grime and black Orc blood that had dried on my skin and in my hair. I could feel no trace of any impediment as my fingertips ran through the strands near my shoulder. Patting the top of my head lightly, though, I discovered a pair of small braids running along either side of my scalp and merging at the back.

Tears welled up in my eyes, but I blinked them back. Someone had taken a great deal of time to care for me.

Rising carefully to my feet, I savored the texture of the warm, smooth stone beneath my feet - a simple pleasure that a life on the run had not afforded me for some time. The closest comparison in recent memory was a large stone on a riverbank that had been warmed in the sun, but even those could cut the soles of one's feet if caution wasn't utilized.

A tall pair of doors composed of wood and glass stood open, allowing a breeze inside and revealing a balcony bathed in sunlight. As soon as I reached the doorway, a gasp escaped my lips.

Laid before me was Imladris in all its glory. The sound I'd heard before wasn't just one waterfall as I'd assumed, but many. Cascading and caressing the landscape, spraying water droplets so completely illuminated that they appeared to be crystals flung from a treasure chest, they joined at the valley floor. Leaves grew from centuries' old trees in all shapes and colors, their rustling creating a symphony when the breeze caught them. More flowers than I could ever possibly count or name bloomed and blossomed, filling the air with sweet perfume, and upon the breeze were a few floating musical notes.

Was I entirely certain that I hadn't died? A place as lovely as this was beyond imagination! Surely, this could not all be real...?

"I am pleased to see you awake, but I did not expect to find you out of bed so soon, híril vuin." A familiar voice called from behind me, soft and soothing, not unlike the silence of his entry. I turned to face my visitor, and my breath caught in my throat.

Truly, even my mother's drawings could not do the Elven lord justice. His beauty was incomparable. The sunlight seemed not only to be streaming into the room, but emanating from within him, as well. His long, dark hair cascaded down his back with twin strands pulled in front of his ears, looping into intricate little patterns. His eyes, though gray, sparkled with joy and life. With the focus of such a gorgeous, regal Ellon solely on me, I could scarcely breathe.

I also felt woefully under-dressed in comparison. There I stood in naught but a nightgown when he was in robes of finer quality than I'd ever seen before.

"Lord Elrond," my voice came out embarrassingly rough and shaky from disuse. How long had I been out? "Forgive me, if I'd known you were coming–"

He held up a hand to halt the tidal wave of apologies that was certain to spill from my clumsy mouth.

"You owe me no apologies," the Elf murmured, giving me a warm smile. "Like your parents before you, I welcome you to Imladris with open arms."

Elrond's eyes were soft as he appraised my appearance. More gracefully than my muscles could have allowed, he walked toward me.

"How are you feeling?" Concern creased his brow as he offered me his hand. I took it without thinking, realizing a beat too late how rough my own fingers must feel compared to his own. "Do you have any lingering pain? Does anything feel wrong?"

"No, my lord. Your healers have done their jobs exceedingly well." At my statement, the Ellon smiled and allowed his thumb to skim over the back of my hand. "If I may, I'd like to thank them in person. I was rather a mess when you saved us."

"Caring for you was no trouble, I can assure you, my lady," he said, and before I could protest, he gave me a mock stern look. "I speak for none but myself. I tended you personally."

My eyes widened at that new piece of information. The Lord of Rivendell had healed me?

"My lord, I am incredibly grateful for your efforts, truly I am, but you needn't have wasted so much time on me."

With an indulgent smile, he looked into my eyes and lifted an eyebrow.

"Mellon-nin, you are well enough to stand on your own two feet again. I do not consider anything that I have done for you a waste of time," his assertion was gentle and sincere, sending butterflies swarming in my stomach. I needed to keep a tight leash on my emotions, otherwise I'd end up looking like an idiot. If I embarrassed myself in front of Lord Elrond after everything he'd already done for me, I was certain that I'd be so mortified that I'd have to leave Rivendell never to return. "Now, my lady, if you might have a seat upon the bed, I would like to check you over once more."

"Of course, my lord." He guided me back to the divinely plush bed with a hand over my lower back. With a soft, affectionate smile, Lord Elrond sat by my side and grasped my hands. Warmth flooded through me, and I couldn't help but wonder if that was magic.

"Your actions in the river...may I ask if you have done anything like that before?" The Elven lord asked as he assessed various points - a bruise on my shoulder that had already mostly disappeared, an angry, fading, red line where an Orc sword had found its mark, and various other places where no evidence was left of what injury had previously existed.

My cheeks burned at how closely he focused on both me and his work.

"In a way," I murmured as he pressed the backs of his fingers lightly against my forehead then my cheek. "Only small things, though. Silly, trivial little tricks."

He lifted his eyebrows in an encouraging, almost playful manner.

"Might I ask about the nature of these little tricks?" His fingers skimmed down my jawline, and I struggled to suppress a shiver.

With a mischievous smile, I took a deep breath to steady myself and looked over at the pitcher of water upon the bedside table. A flick of my fingers, and a bird made entirely of water formed standing atop the pitcher. It tilted its head and fluttered its wings as a real bird would, then took flight, swirling around the room. Its sparkling body whizzed past our heads, flapping its wings, and in a moment of impulsivity, I caught Lord Elrond's hand in mine and turned his palm upward. The bird's tiny water-feet landed in his hand, folding its wings down and looking up at him.

Only then did I allow myself to glance at the Elf lord's expression. The smile that played across his much-too-attractive mouth sent a bolt of satisfaction through me. To actively give a person like him a moment of wonderment...that was a heady sensation. It was very little in repayment for all that he had done for me, but it was a beginning.

"Incredible," he breathed as the bird hopped lightly across his palm. "How much of a strain does this place upon you?"

"Almost none at all. I learned to make shapes and objects with water when I was little, and I practiced whenever I was bored. For a child in a group of nomads, you there is a surprising amount of downtime between chores," I explained allowing the bird to changed into a large, watery, rose bloom upon the lord's hand. It wasn't even half as beautiful as someone like him deserved. "When I got older, one of the other children saw me practicing by the river, and these tricks became a way to entertain the little ones."

The laughter had lifted the entire camp's morale during those long, slow treks through the mountains or across barren stretches of land when setting up tents became monotonous. My father had been afraid of allowing me to use my abilities for quite some time, but even he had to admit that sometimes that bit of levity was just what was needed to lift his peoples' spirits.

My father. My people. So many had died, yet there I sat in a plush bed, creating silly little shapes in water. Had any lived besides myself?

As if he could sense my mood fading, Lord Elrond's eyes met mine just in time to see my own smile droop. With a flick of my fingers, I lifted the water from his hand and allowed it to dampen the soil in a few of the plants on the balcony.

Unable to meet my host's gaze for fear of what I might see, I lifted my chin and asked the question to which I dreaded finally having an answer.

"How many of my people survived?"

"Including yourself, my lady, three still live." Elrond's voice was full of sympathy and comfort, despite the horrible reality of what had transpired. "Five were brought here, but two had sustained wounds too severe for us to treat in time. I am so sorry."

Three. Assuming the other half of our people went unnoticed by the Orc hoard when we split up - and that was a big assumption - that meant there were only fifteen left. We'd been down to twenty four after the initial attack that killed my father. With nine more gone, I didn't know what to do exactly.

I nodded my head slowly, blinking away my tears and forcing myself to look at my host once more.

"The others who lived...may I see them?" He agreed easily.

"Of course, my lady. I shall take you to them," Elrond murmured. Practically gliding across the room, he plucked a soft, light blue robe and a pair of matching slippers from a small alcove.

With my arm looped through his, we walked down a long hallway lit only by the sun. The rest of his home was just as gorgeous as the single room I'd been in, but I did not absorb much of my surroundings that day. My emotions and obligations to my people occupied too much space in my mind for anything else to make an impression.

I heard him before I saw him - the angry, stubborn, gruff man who'd tried to call me away from the water the day we'd gotten into such trouble.

Surprise must have been etched across my features, because Lord Elrond released a quiet huff of laughter as we neared a pair of double doors.

"Ah, yes. Mekor has been asking after you in...his own way," my host stated, and I knew immediately what he meant. Mekor had likely been demanding to see me in a rather less-than-polite way. "Unfortunately, I have not been able to allow him out of bed. His leg will take some time to fully heal. That has not stopped him from embarking upon several unplanned excursions to attempt to find you, however."

I couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of me. That sounded like him, alright.

When we pushed the doors open, his rather loud promise to one of the healers that he would 'gallivant as much it damn well took' ceased.

"There is no need for such drastic measures. Your lady is awake and quite capable of seeing you now," Elrond called as we walked toward the grumpy man's bedside. His leg was bound and heavily bandaged, laying atop the bedding presumably to keep him from sweating through his dressings.

"Lass, do you know how badly you scared us? What in the name of everything were you thinkin' runnin' back into the water like that? You could've been killed!" He spluttered angrily for a moment, but I was too used to his behavior to be bothered by it.

"I'm glad you're alive too," I said reaching out and grasping his rough, weathered hand in mine. Sitting gingerly beside him on the bed, I nearly fainted when I saw tears gathering in his eyes. He gripped my fingers with a fierce vengeance.

"Foolish bloody girl. What would your father have said if I let you run off and get killed?" Lord Elrond pulled the healer aside, and the pair spoke in hushed whispers on the other side of the room. He was trying to give us a moment's privacy while also ensuring his most stubborn patient didn't try to put weight on his obviously broken leg again.

"There was something different about that last group of Orcs, wasn't there?" I asked quietly, and my friend's gaze turned somber and angry.

"Aye, lass. Those weren't your garden variety filth. I've already spoken to Elrond about them. Those were soldiers. For so many of them to have Warg mounts..." The grizzled man shook his head slowly. "Something is stirring in the dark corners of the world. Something that doesn't want people like you, me, and your father to keep fighting."

I looked at him curiously, and he blinked as if remembering something.

"But, there will be plenty of time to discuss that later," he murmured changing the topic. I tucked that statement away for a day when we were both recovered.

Mekor and I spoke quietly for a few moments, in which I was told that the woman he'd taken a fancy to, Tannen, was the other survivor. The two who had reached Rivendell but died from their injuries were an old soldier called Algun, and a younger one around my age called Garatan. I knew them both in a peripheral manner. I was acquainted with all of my father's fighters and had trained with each at some point, but some I knew better than others.

After several long moments, a few more affectionate scoldings, and a promise that I'd help keep him from going out of his mind since he wasn't allowed to walk around yet, the doors opened once more. A young Ellon walked straight over to Lord Elrond, and after delivering a whispered message, both the lord and his messenger approached our sides.

"Forgive our interruption, but I think you both might like to know that your companion, Tannen has awakened," Lord Elrond said, and I knew precisely what Mekor would do. Pushing him back down on the bed when he tried to get to his feet, I gave him a stern look which paired surprisingly well with our host's continuation. "I realize you wish to see her, and you will be able to on the morrow. I wish to have her rest abed for one more night to be sure of her recovery, but I swear to you that if her health permits, you will see her tomorrow, Master Mekor."

He looked fit to be tied at Lord Elrond's statement, but with a glance at me, he let out a resigned sigh.

"Fine. Fine, but I shall hold you to that, laddie." To his credit, Elrond took his irritation in stride, an easy, amused smile finding its seemingly customary place upon his lips.

"I would be disappointed if you did not. For now, however, I believe your lady is in need of nourishment. Spending nearly four days asleep can take quite a toll on the appetite." I couldn't argue with his logic, and neither did my friend.

I did, however, have a bone to pick with the little somersault that my heart performed when Lord Elrond offered me his hand and a warm smile.

When he went to check on his guest that morning, Elrond had expected to find her awake, yet too weak or tired to get out of bed. She was strong, of course, but since she was mortal, her recovery time would be longer than that of his own people. He'd frozen in the doorway, however, with confusion knitting his brow at the sight of the empty bed before him.

A quick glance around the room nearly made his heart stop. The Elven lord's lips parted in surprise. Standing in the doorway that led to the balcony was not a frail, injured woman as he'd expected to see, but a goddess bathed in sunlight.

And, when he'd broken his silence and she turned to face him, her eyes met his, freezing his breath where it lay in his chest. She'd gazed at him with awe, but he doubted that she recognized that the feeling was very mutual. Elrond had noticed her beauty when he was tending to her, of course, but he'd been so focused on healing her that he'd not allowed his thoughts to linger. To do so would have been highly inappropriate, and was, as such, not the time to allow himself to become distracted.

Nor was it the time when he checked her over, asked about her powers, or took her to see her irritable friend. Elrond had heard of Mekor by reputation, of course, and he was secretly pleased that the ill-tempered Man had survived. Despite the barbs that were tossed his way when he'd put the old soldier on strict bedrest, he was glad that someone who was so determined to get back to his lady - who had fought so fiercely to protect her - still drew breath. Such loyalty could not be feigned.

She'd been more subdued than before when he brought her back to her chambers. Upon their return, the table near one of the windows held a tray of food and a pot of herbal tea which would help her regain her strength. It was a special blend that Elrond had perfected over the years in his capacity as a healer.

As the pair sat and ate together, the Elven Lord could not help but notice the dark mood that settled over her. Although she tried to hide it, she was being tormented by her thoughts.

He had seen that look before - minute flashes of grief that she attempted to keep out of his sight, her shoulders tensing as if she was carrying the weight of all Middle Earth on her own. Many of his warriors had been plagued by the same darkness when they returned from battle, wondering why they had survived when so many others had not. Some recovered. Some sailed for Valinor when they could not find the strength to move forward.

No. He could not allow this to go on. She was descended of both Elves and Men. She had the ability to process her grief and allow her pain to transform into that which would strengthen her. His lady might need some assistance to begin the process, but there was a sort of quiet power in her eyes. Elrond saw it every time he looked at her. By the Valar, he would do whatever it took to ensure that she would not fall. Not to this. Not to grief. That emotion had consumed too many of his people...had sent too many of them sailing to the Undying Lands before their time.

He would not allow this pain to take her. She'd seen so many horrors in her brief time on Middle Earth. If he could take even an ounce of her pain and use it to heal her, the Lord of Imladris was resolved to do it.

But, it had to be soon. It had to be that night, before the pain took root in an irreversible manner. They'd both experienced losses many times, but this was different. This was close to her heart.

When she attempted to hold back a yawn and failed rather spectacularly, Elrond was tugged from his thoughts as a smile played across his lips. She gave a sheepish laugh, and he suggested that she get some rest. They'd been talking for several hours at that point. If he truly planned to help her tonight, she needed to conserve her energy.

Taking the empty tray with him to deposit in the kitchens, the Ellon excused himself and strode down the corridor. He'd made it halfway back to his study when Lindir caught up to him.

"I have done as you asked," the younger Ellon said to his lord.

"Then the preparations have been made?" Elrond asked as the pair continued down the hall.

"Yes, hir-nin, but are you certain that tonight is truly the right time?" Lindir had a point, and if it was anyone else he would risk waiting, but for her he was not willing to place her future in the hands of chance, especially if what he suspected was true.

"I saw her pain...it already hangs over her like a cloud. If she is to move forward, then we must do this." He was accustomed to his own grief - he had, after all, lived for so very long...had known so many people.

"But, is she not still exhausted?"

Pausing before the door to his study, Lord Elrond turned to face Lindir.

"She is tired, yes, but she is more resilient than even I could have predicted. She is ready. She needs this release." Her Númenorian blood was potent, that was for certain. It did not matter that she was descended from the race of Men. She also had Elvish blood in her veins. She was Dúnedain, even if she did not yet know it - perhaps one of the most unique that had ever been born, if he was interpreting the signs correctly. She could handle this.

Soft notes floating upon the night air drew me from the realm of sleep. A strange yet familiar prickling sensation curled across my skin, caressing my face, my neck, and my arms where the sleeves of my borrowed nightgown ended.

As light as a whisper, my mind supplied an answer: magic.

Magic was in the air. The realization was somehow both comforting and intriguing. When I finally mustered the energy to open my eyelids, a voice joined with the faint strains of music, and I looked toward the balcony.

There, with the silver circlet upon his brow gleaming in the moonlight and a set of robes as deep as the night sky adorning his figure, Lord Elrond stood singing. My breath caught in my throat even as his voice danced through the night, filling the Hidden Valley with an aria both gentle and mournful. When we spoke earlier, his voice had sounded lovely and soothing, but this stirred something deep within my soul.

It was ridiculous, because he was on my balcony in the first place, but I felt as though I was intruding upon something incredibly personal.

One-by-one, several other voices joined with the lord's, harmonizing and adding several haunting layers of melancholy dimension, turning his aria into a duet, then a trio, a quartet, continuing on until there was a full-fledged choir of ten. He stood facing not into the valley, but with his left side toward me.

As silently as I could, I slipped out of bed and took a slow step toward him. Cupped gently in Elrond's hands was a smooth, round, stone lantern glowing white. It was obviously fueled by something other than fire. The light caressed his features as affectionately as a lover's fingertips, and before I could even think of moving, his eyes met mine.

The glow of a thousand stars, the wisdom of all the ages of the world, and the grief of a painful loss danced through his irises as I stood paralyzed. Extending a hand in my direction, the Lord of Imladris offered me a silent invitation.

As I approached his place on the balcony, I glanced quietly around, noting that other ethereal lanterns and their bearers dotted various spots around the valley. How many others were involved in this? And what was this, exactly? I didn't dare ask aloud, lest I interrupt the haunting choir of voices in their mission.

When I reached him, Lord Elrond's hand guided both of mine to the lantern in his grasp. Looking between the seemingly living radiance in our hands and his eyes, I watched as the light grew between us, seemingly fed by the addition of my touch.

I knew without asking that this wasn't just a sad melody. This was a lamentation for the nine lost in our flight across land and river.

But, there were ten lanterns...

A single tear spilled down his cheek, and all at once it hit me. The tenth lantern was for my father. Twin tears of my own escaped my eyes as the music swelled, as the voices grew louder.

He saw my grief just as I saw his.

Neither of us looked away from the vulnerability we were both displaying so openly. Neither of us released the lantern between us. The song began rattling around in my ribcage, jostling my heart and shaking free every ounce of pain that I hadn't realized I'd started bottling up. Though I didn't know the lyrics, I caught a few Sindarin words that I recognized, and one that puzzled me.

The light in our hands pulsed brightly as at least a dozen more voices joined in. Smaller lights bloomed to life in their hands all through Imladris, and I must not have been able to keep the wonder off of my face, because a flicker of a sad smile crossed Elrond's lips as he began lifting our hands higher.

His arms were longer than mine, and I had to take a step closer to remain in contact with the strange, magical lantern. As I watched, the light floated up and away from its thin, nearly transparent stone rim and into the sky. The other bearers of the original ten lights were experiencing the same phenomenon, and after a few moments, the fleet of smaller bright dots followed in their wake.

The Hidden Valley was filled with stars, rising ever upwards toward the heavens. As far as I'd heard, very few mortals had ever been honored by the Elves upon their deaths, and never like this.

As the music diminished, voices fell slowly away, taking with them pieces of the heavy ache that had settled in the hollow spot in my heart. First, the many who had joined last, then one-by-one, each of the other nine singers went silent.

Then, it was only Elrond singing the last few mournful notes. But, there was something different about the words, now. They were lighter...more hopeful. Setting the darkened, empty lantern aside, he took both of my hands in his large, warm ones as the last notes flowed effortlessly, beautifully off his tongue and into the night.

The physical contact felt like an anchor point keeping me tethered to the ground when I felt like I could float away in the wake of such an outpouring of emotion. The air still hummed with magic when I found myself reaching up and gently wiping the tears from Lord Elrond's cheeks. I hadn't even meant to do it, but I couldn't help myself. An Ellon as kind as he did not deserve to have tear tracks dry on his handsome face.

It hit me, then, that I had taken an enormous liberty, but instead of batting my hands away, the Elven lord returned the gesture with a soft smile.

His touch lingered for several long moments even after my own face was dry, and something passed between us, then, that made my heartbeat stutter in my chest.

No, I was obviously imagining things. A trick of the light, that's all it was. When he wrapped his arms around me, however, I couldn't ignore how wonderful it felt to be safe, to be cared for...to be seen.

~*~*~

Elvish Translations:

híril vuin = beloved lady

mellon-nin = my friend

~*~

Taglist:

@asksizworld

#elronds-meleth-nin fic #Elrond x Reader

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gallusrostromegalus · 2 years

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So I was wondering, could you help me identify this moth? I'm really curious cause they're everywhere on my campus and you seem like the kind of person who could help.

Congratulations on seeing the Polyphemus Moth, the second largest moth in North America and Friend! They're totally harmless, important to your local ecology and fucking adorable, so if you see one, either admire it politely from a distance, or if its indoors or an area where it's likely to get smooshed, CAREFULLY move it to a safer location outside without touching the wings. They're namaed after Polyphemus, the cyclops that Odysseus was a Rat Bastard to, on account of the moth's lovely eye spots. Which feels like a bit of a dick move because the moth has 2 eye spots and the cyclops now has none :/

Tagging @mothman-etd

#insects #moth #Polyphemus Moth

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embyrinthegarden · 1 year

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Native Plants and You

I know what you're thinking. "Gardening is for old ladies! All these plants look the same! The sun wreaks havoc on my delicate skin! I have hay fever!" and so on. Listen. This'll only take five minutes and your brain will be HUGE and everyone will be super impressed by your Plant Knowledge at cocktail parties.*

You probably already know that suburban sprawl and the introduction of invasive species is destroying habitats and threatening species, big deal. But! Did you know that you can massively impact food, shelter, and nesting availability for local wildlife with just a few landscaping choices? Too good to be true you say? ONWARD!

Choose Beneficial Natives

Not all plants are created equal. Not only do native plants provide superior nutrition and shelter for your native wildlife species but they are also Host Plants for their delicate lifecycles (even more delicate than your sun-starved skin!).

FOR EXAMPLE. Did you know that the Monarch Butterfly lays its eggs exclusively on Milkweed plants? And they're not just being divas about it. Lots of butterflies and moths have specialized host plants necessary for their lifecycle.

Can you guess how many types of butterfly the famed Butterfly Bush hosts? Go ahead and guess. I'll wait.

ZERO. BECAUSE IT'S INTRODUCED FROM ASIA AND IS USELESS.

So! You can support your favorite species by providing their particular host plants, or go with the heaviest hitters for your ecoregion. But if that sounds like too much work, or if you prefer rampant destruction to carefully nurturing life, the next heading is for you!

Remove Invasive Species

Invasive species are the worst! Non-native plants don't contribute to the lifecycle of our native species and are less nutritionally suited to them (essentially pollinator potato chips). But beyond being generally useless, invasive species actively overtake and out-compete the native plants, destroying habitats right under your nose!

Fortunately, Mother Nature is a Total Beast, and when invasives are removed you will often find struggling, overtaken natives beneath, which will thrive and reclaim the space once their sunlight-sucking neighbors are dealt with.

So grab your trusty Plant ID app and some Implements of Destruction and GO FORTH MY MINIONS!

(But please don't use chemicals. They kill pollinators and poison their food. T_T)

And if you think you're exempt from all of this because all you have is a tidy patch of well-kept grass YOU WOULD BE WRONG.

Your Lawn is a Capitalist Fallacy

Lawns are pollinator deserts. There's no food, no shelter, and I guarantee whatever variety of grass you have is non-native. (And if you're sitting over there all smug like "Hey I have Kentucky Bluegrass, that sounds native to Kentucky, and I am in Kentucky," YOU'RE WRONG AGAIN because it's native range is Europe and north Asia and you've been BAMBOOZLED by the Evil Lawn Industry!)

Now I do not begrudge anyone a smol patch of turf for hosting their posh Victorian Garden Parties, but depending on the size of your croquet tournaments most of that space could probably be put to better use.

And imagine not having to mow it! And having butterflies fluttering about! And birds feasting on the seeds and bugs! And the buzz of adorable native bees!

(I don't mean honeybees, btw. They're European livestock and your native bees are WAY cuter. But that's another post).

The End

CONGRATULATIONS. YOUR BRAIN IS BIGGER. YOUR COCKTAIL PARTY GAME HAS BEEN UPPED. And the next time someone says they want to put up a lovely Norway Spruce hedge, you can say "Well ACKshually..." and expose them for the frauds they are!

Er, unless you're in Norway.

*ymmv

#Gardening #Native plants #Native flowers #Pollinators #Permaculture #long post

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stiffyck · 1 year

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Scar's vex features (white hair, wings, etc.) only come out when he's under extreme distress, whether that be physical or emotional. Most of the time it's emotional.

After 3rd and Last Life, he's always seen wandering around in this state. It usually lasts a few days, the longest its gone on for was maybe a week, till he's back to his usual self.

After Double Life, it doesn't go away. For months Scar is seen wandering Hermitcraft, awkwardly shoving his wings under a cloak or trying to shrug off the random flinches of pain he has with a joke about his now constantly snowy hair.

Pearl finally has enough. She confronts Scar about it, which leads to her cursing Grian out because angry moth go brr.

This definitely isn't a wip I started working on after listening to Congratulations last night heehoo

yyyyyEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSS THIS IS SO GOOD AJSHF BASJH FVBAS

GIVE ME PEARL CHEWING GRIAN OUT. OH MAN I LOVE THIS SO MUCH-

#asks #stiff talk #gtws #pearl #grian

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maya-custodios-dionach · 1 year

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Congratulations to @gothicwoes for their post on steddie having a gomez/morticia dynamic that I IMMEDIATELY shared in our horny-on-main 18+ steddie server, and sent me going on a tangent going INSANE over Vampire Steve Harrington. I hope the excerpts I put in here are coherent, aaaahhh. Hope you enjoy my rambling, yall. Beware, LONG POST AHEAD!!

THOUSAND YEAR OLD VAMPIRE STEVE AND HIS 28YO BOYFRIEND EDDIE, WHO KEEPS CAMPAIGNING TO BE TURNED

steves all angsty about it while eddie is busy about fantasizing the shit he'd do once he's turned

he loved being a bloodbag, dont get him wrong, being drained of blood is hot, BUT ITS TIME TO PUT A RING ON IT

EDDIE'S CLINGING TO THAT VAMPIRE ASS UNTIL THE HEAT DEATH OF THE UNIVERSE

eddie's vampire moodboard is just morticia, which fits bc vamp!steve already treats him like gomez treats morticia

i love love LOVE couples where one is goth and the other is prep/pastel but the soft bright one is the vampire, that shit's so good

also its bc i think people who love and/or dress like a vampire would be turned on by being turned into a bloodbag tbh

all this to say, when steve finally caves and turns eddie, 100 or so years later, they have the same comfy domestic yet still obsessed with each other dynamic that gomez and morticia have

eddie tries to act like some old wisened vamp but steve over here humbling him like-

Eddie, putting on a morticia air and scaring dustin and the Party, who broke into their indiana vacation home to investigate shit: 😈

Steve, too old for this crap and just wants to blend in so that he can keep working as a social worker or some other mundane job: Eddie, la mia vita, you're only 150

Eddie, pouting: I'm an ancient creature of DARKNESS, love!!! * unconsciously stomps foot *

Steve, amused and distantly reminded of his daddy kink at his lover acting childish: You're very scary, amore mio, but let's wait for 100-500 years before that happens 💕

[Some response of another person in the discord talking about how Steve would hate Eddie talking about being an ancient being bc Steve HATES being reminded how old he is.] Wait, oh no, oh that's so much worse for him. I dread the day my sister becomes an adult and we only have a 7 year diff, holy SHIT, Steve just wants to be a normal boring job haver dammit

Ooohhhh, WHAT IF STEVE'S OLD AGE FURTHUR FEEDS INTO HIS LONELINESS AND ABANDOMENT ISSUES?!

SEE, THIS IS WHY VAMPIRE STEVE IS SO GOOD

He's too noble for him NOT to greatly consider him, all the while Eddie is constantly flinging his willing adult body towards him

Bc yk, he cares about Eddie's well-being and personal growt-

Eddie: BUT BABY, I WANT TO STAY WITH YOU FOREVER

steve, flustered but worried:

UGH

Dndkzms I just have SO MANY FUCKING FEELINGS about vampire Steve saying Fuck It to his lonely vampire life and blending in with human society and falling so deeply in love with humanity and passion and LIFE

Sure his other vampire peers shun him bc of it, but he doesn't care about those stagnant sleazebags who only think of themselves

Steve sees humans give birth, give life, give passion, give kindness, give HOPE, enact change and its so fucking BEAUTIFUL

It's why he's so fucking angry at the injustices of the world, but damn, those humans' PERSEVERANCE in face of those injustices is so AWE-INSPIRING

ESP THE CHILDREN!!!

Steve is so FASCINATED by watching these little creatures GROW and CHANGE constantly, he delights in their energy, their creativity, their curiosity, their camaraderie with other another

So much so that Steve created an entire fake history in order to pass for human and gets a Masters in Psychology and Anthropology or something

That's why he's so drawn to Eddie, like a moth to flame

Eddie had been through so much in his life but with the care of his Uncle, his band and his best friend chrissy, Eddie manages to exude so much fucking LIFE, it's INSANE

He's unpredictable, he's spontaneous, he's theatrical and he's always making sure that the people around him who like him really comfortable and entertained. And seeing him around people younger than him??? How could Steve do anything but fall?

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autumnalwalker · 5 months

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Last Line Tag

Thank you for the tag, @ceph-the-ghost-writer.

I actually received several such tags this past week, so I've decided that rather than leave them totally unrelated or combining them all into one long post I'll split up one moderate-length passage I wrote recently and post it over the course of the day in chunks. I'll go back and edit these posts to link them together as they go up.

Part 4/4 (1) (2) (3) (4)

Passing the (optional) tag to @kaiusvnoir, @sam-glade, @saintedseraph, @ahordeofwasps, @nettleandthorne, @sarandipitywrites, @kaiafosterwrites, and an open tag to anyone else who wants it.

From the next Empty Names chapter (20):

He wants to ask her what she sees through the filter of the camera atop his ear. To verify the chimeric nature of his environs that shifts with every turn of his head and blink of his eyes. To tell her that her charm of mental protection does not work to shield his senses.

But he is playing the part of Tam Lin right now and Tam would have no reason to ask such questions of the empty air.

He nods and hopes she takes the cue to be silent when the hunting beast pads past him toward the hanging moss (beaded curtain).

For all that Ashan prides himself on stepping as lightly as any thief or dancer, he cannot help but stir up puffs of dust from the carpet (pulverize dry leaves into blooming clouds) with every step. The hunting beast’s guiding passage leaves no such trace. It is its master’s creature within its master’s demesne. Unlike Ashan, it is not showered with gray powder when passing through the moss (curtain) and into the throne room (parched glade) beyond.

The hunting beast crosses the space and seats itself on its haunches in front of a tangle of roots (a bas relieved throne), from atop which presides the fae liege with whom Ashan has come to bargain. It/He/She/They/Fae wear(s) wears robes of gray that are in the active process of becoming moth-eaten before Ashan’s eyes. Fingers and forehead alike are adorned with bechained jewelry; metals tarnished and patinaed, gemstones dull. Its/His/Her/Their/Faer face is an overlaid multitude that blurs expressions into an indistinct haze of imperfectly aligned features.

Ashan nods his head and sweeps an arm in a gesture of respect. It is not something Tam would do, but while Ashan has not dealt directly with the fair folk before he has been trained well enough to know the danger of losing oneself to a role in a place such as this and a true wizard bows to no higher authority. Fortunately, this lukewarm obeisance does not seem to perturb the figure on the throne.

“The Seventeen-Named Count of Curses and Dust bids you a welcome homecoming and congratulations on joining the ranks of the Named, Carter, my little changeling.”

With that proclamation one of those seventeen unspoken Names is chosen for temporary prominence and a conceptual waveform collapses. Ashan’s surroundings solidify into a single hybrid of a forest grown woven together into the shape of a castle. Tight-packed trees interlace branches to merge into solid walls. Leaves fallen from the canopy above have been carefully arranged into patterns on the forest floor. The fae liege now sits upon roots that have been expertly coaxed into the shape of a throne and wears only a single face.

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #my writing #tag game #empty names

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starlitangels · 1 year

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hi Star!! i wanted to ask how to listen to the good boy asmr. i heard about it a lot and i don't know where to start. Help please!!!

Hello!

So, I've answered this once before but I'll go ahead and reiterate what I said before here

Good Boy Audios is great and I'm glad you're coming to me for this!

I'd highly recommend starting with "The Fourseen" series. It's short (couple hours), it's completed, it has Redacted's very own Erik in it, and you don't need to know a whole lot about GBA's lore to enjoy it. Also it's getting its own direct-sequel series that seems like it's going to be awesome so The Fourseen is a great place to start.

Something to know about GB's lore is that it's mostly sci-fi—and it pretty much all takes place in the same universe (although there are occasionally rifts to alternate realities)

So, once you're done with The Fourseen, I personally loved the Space Pirates Saga—and it is also completed. It's two "seasons," so it might be a little bit more overwhelming, but honestly? The story sucks you right in and it is not a chore to listen to the whole gatdang thing. It's actually a lot of fun (for the most part it's also gender neutral listener but at the very end there's a bit of a random switch to she/her pronouns that kinda never gets explained or even mentioned but it only really matters if you're going to engage with the bonus sequel one-offs involving the main character and listener character)

Or you can go with MotH (Magic of the Heart). Season 1 just got finished and it's a blast, and I'm on the edge of my seat for S2!

If you're sensitive to Mature Themes™, I don't recommend the Bastard Warrior series (as much as I adore it and the characters in it, I recommend taking care of mental health first and foremost). If mature themes don't bother you, then yes Bastard Warrior is a fun story too. (Bearing in mind the listener character uses she/her pronouns)

Beyond those main sort of series (I haven't actually listened to the Querian Saga but I know it's on indefinite hiatus so I can't really speak to it), I don't have any specific order recommendations. Do whatever suits you. If you wanna go back to the very first video and work your way up from there, congratulations, you'll be a step ahead of me! If you wanna cherry pick random videos because the title looks interesting, you'll be doing what got me into the channel in the first place lol

So yeah, TL;DR, start with The Fourseen, then maybe pick between Space Pirates and Magic of the Heart (MotH), and then go on and explore the rest of his universe! It's a lot of fun, I promise

And when you're done, come back to Tumblr and check out @palilious @gwenifred and @itsdaifuku 's incredible fanart for his stuff. It's worth it

Yes, I am that person that will rave about my friends' fanworks at any opportunity I get and no I will not apologize for it

#Good Boy Audios #answered #listen #I will drag everyone into watching this channel #who expresses even the Slightest interest #GB is So Good #he deserves so much more love!#I feel like Pali and I are GB's official Tumblr ambassadors #we tell everyone to go listen to him whenever we can XD

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zahroreadsthings · 1 year

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Night trip...

Check notes for previous instalments

You throw your notes on the nearest table and cover Pumpkin Bread's basket with his blanket. You'll need to drop him off before you can make a start.

'C'mon, little fella,' you whisper. He's drifted off to sleep again; hopefully he won't wake up on the way back.

You pull the cloak on again and quietly let yourself out of the house. The door swings closed behind you and you sag against it. You don't remember the way to the coast witch's house - you'll need to take the long way around.

You pick your way to to the town's main street and walk until you reach the viewing platform by the museum. Then you retrace the steps you took the day before the best you can, looking out for the blue house.

You take a deep breath and knock on the door, hoping the coast witch won't be too annoyed.

It's Lex who opens the door. You breathe a sigh of relief.

'Do you have any idea what time it is?' they whisper furiously.

'Yeah, sorry. I just went through my ritual and started a new project. Got list on the way here, too. Won't happen again.' You hold he basket out. 'I think he's still sleeping.'

They take the basket and peek inside. 'Alright. Congratulations on your ritual and all. Just... don't keep him too long; we were both worried sick.'

'I really am sorry.'

'Hey. Maybe make yourself a map. Night.' They close the door.

The sun's already set and the stars are starting to come out. You take some time to wander the empty streets in the vague direction of the cottage, listening to the sound of the waves. The aches in your joints are long gone.

It's well into night by the time you reach the cottage. You rummage through Deema's stash of yarn and needles she left out for you, wrinkling your nose at the smell of the moth repellents she uses, and pick out your colours. You can cast on tonight; it'll be the same for whichever design you choose and you know yourself well enough to know if you don't do it now you won't do it for another month.

After packing up and putting out the fire you go to bed and look at your sketches and notes by candlelight. You've narrowed it down to one with heat sigils and one without. Heat sigils would make a warmer cowl, but they'd require more work and the chances of making a mistake and reducing its effectiveness would be higher.

#polls #cyoa #remember you gotta pick the option that looks best with your swishy black coat

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vegvisirsofthegalaxy · 2 months

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[Holorecording] - The Ash of Love (IF route with Malavai Quinn- BE)

[This recording captures a tryst between Darth Merphis and Malavai Quinn, unfolding during the first night following Quinn's report for duty on the planet Iokath in service to the Empire. [Caution: Spoiler Alert - Do not proceed if you wish to avoid spoilers.]

[The door raps twice, a sharp interruption in the quietude that has enveloped Malavai Quinn for hours as he scrutinizes today's battlefield assessment. Before he can muster a response, the door swings open, its hinges protesting softly against the intrusion. A subtle frown etches across Quinn's features, persisting until his eyes meet the unexpected visitor— Merphis.]

"M-my lord…" Quinn's voice quivers uncontrollably, his fingers inadvertently crumpling the papers on his desk.

Their eyes lock, and in that charged moment, the world outside ceases to exist. "Captain Quinn... No, it should be, Major Quinn now. Congratulations on your long overdue promotion." Merphis murmurs, her voice a seductive whisper that stirs the very essence of Quinn's being.

"T-thank you my lord... I..." Quinn's heart pounds within his chest, its rhythm almost drowning out all other sounds, as he beholds Merphis slowly approaching him— the woman who has haunted him in his dreams relentlessly for the past six years. Every step she takes feels like a weight upon his soul, pulling him deeper into the abyss he once knew so intimately. "No... I mean... i-if it's the assessment report you require, it'll be shortly delivered to Commander Arn-nuan's office... in less than thirty minutes."

"Your diligence is noted, as expected. However, my purpose here extends beyond such matters..." Within seconds, Merphis has already reached Quinn's side, her fingers tracing the texture of the top of his chair before dropping down to trace the contours of his face, her touch a blend of possessiveness and longing that sends shivers down his spine. "Let's say... you've served the Alliance well today. Loyalty merits its reward." "Reward? My lord, you're... too kind." Quinn recoils as the sting of her touch ignites a blaze of conflicting emotions within him. "I... I don't deserve that..."

Suddenly, Merphis grabs Quinn's jaw, forcefully pulling him closer. Her eyes, pools of endless darkness, bear into his soul, searching for traces of the man she once loved. "Of course you don't. But do I appear to care about your opinion?" Merphis scoffs, her eyes ablaze with contempt as she leans in, their lips tantalizingly close but not yet touching. [Memories of their shared past flood Quinn's mind— whispers in the dark, promises of eternal devotion— now twist into shards of broken dreams.]

Quinn's breath catches in his throat, his voice a ragged whisper against her lips. "I'm sorry my lord... I... failed you... failed the Wrath... please... forgive me..." Quinn finds himself irresistibly drawn closer by Merphis' suffocating yet intoxicating presence, like a moth to the flame. His hands hesitate in the air before tentatively settling on her waist, caught between surrender and resistance. His voice trembles. "There hasn't gone a single day in the past six years... that I haven't regretted my folly. I've rehearsed thousands of apologies that I intended to say when we met again someday, but… once I truly saw you, my head simply became... empty..."

"Aw, look at how you revel in your sins, Quinn..." Merphis' lips curl into a chilling smile, her eyes gleaming with a fervor that borders on madness. "But forgiveness? No, my dear..." She purrs, her voice laced with honeyed poison. Her fingers teasingly trace a delicate path down his chest. "Why not show me how your sins consume you all, tearing down the walls of your reason and sanity?"

[With a desperate hunger, Quinn surges forward, deftly pulling Merphis onto his lap and pressing her between himself and the desk. Papers swirl through the air in a chaotic dance as his lips meet hers in a collision of passion and despair.]

"Ugh...!" Quinn's gasp mingles with a guttural moan as Merphis sinks her teeth into his quivering lips. The metallic taste of blood fills their mouths.

As their kiss deepens, Merphis' grip tightens, her nails digging into Quinn's neck. He winces, a mixture of pain and longing flickering in his eyes. With a trembling hand, he reaches out to caress Merphis' cheek, the contact a bittersweet reminder of the love they once shared. "Please... please... come back to me... Mav—"

[However, Quinn's plea halts midway as an invisible hand, cold and ruthless, seizes his throat with an unyielding grip, constricting his airways and freezing his words in his throat.]

"Don't you dare... call me by that name again...!" Merphis forcefully shoves him back into the chair, her movement harsh and commanding, her eyes ablaze with fury. "You are mine, Quinn. Not the other way around." She declares with a smile that defies both love and hatred, her whisper a haunting refrain that echoes through the depths of his soul. "No matter where you go, no matter what you do, you will always belong to me..." The room seems to darken further as Merphis leans in, her lips brushing against Quinn's ear...

"Embrace your destiny, as I have embraced mine."

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melis-writes · 2 years

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Moth to a Flame prompt. During Victoria and Michael's break, and Michael's trial. After the trial and Rita Duvall brings Michael flowers in front of Victoria. This gives Victoria the impression that Michael has been cheating on her during the break with Rita. Victoria leaves the room and says to Tom "send Michael divorce papers please." Poor tom has to deliver that news to Michael 💀

Oh no… 💀💀 Poor Tom caught in the midst of all of this drama. 😂 At the same time I can’t exactly blame Victoria’s response for being the way it is because excuse me, who are you to give MY husband flowers like that?! 😶

“Mr. Corleone? You have a visitor, sir.” Having Rocco interrupt at the worst possible time you can think of in the midst of a tear-filled argument with Michael only boils your blood further with anger.

Before you can even ask “who” to yourself or shout back to Rocco to tell them to wait, Michael’s already spoken: “let them in.”

Having been apart from Michael for over a week, still heartbroken, distraught and confused above all as to what’s happening to your family and your marriage and now with Michael simply brushing you aside mid-conversation over a visitor, your patience has entirely worn out.

The door pushes open to reveal the last person you’d have ever expected to see here at the hotel, let alone ever again in your life: Rita Duvall.

Strawberry-blonde hair curled and bouncing over her shoulders, cherry red lipstick over her lips and dressed in a ravishing, red lace dress now stands between one of the most important conversations you’ll ever have with Michael about your marriage.

Right behind Rita, Rocco carries a large and expensive curated bouquet; fragrant and colorful flowers already filling the hotel room in with their sweet scent.

“Mr. Corleone,” Rita smiles warmly at Michael with such familiarity, if you didn’t know the two you would assume to yourself they’ve been acquainted with one another for their entire lives. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

Now making it more than apparent Rita’s outright ignoring you as if you’re not in the room and hoping to attract Michael’s attention and conversation towards her instead, you surprise yourself by continuing to remain quiet just to observe what’s going on.

“No, you aren’t.” Michael answers as your eyes burn back into the flower arrangement with sheer disgust. “What’s this for?”

‘What? No ‘hello’? No ‘welcome?’ No, ‘oh its you, Miss Rita’? Why the casualness between these two?’ The nape of your neck and the tips of your ears prickle with heat.

“Congratulations are now in order, aren’t they, Mr. Corleone?” Rita chuckles, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger. “I thought I’d come celebrate it myself with you before the media catches wind of you. These of course—” Rita steps aside to showcase the arrangement Rocco holds. “Are just for you.”

‘Flowers… This isn’t casual conversation. This is casual intimacy.’ Only Rocco is aware the color has drained entirely out of your face and that your hands have begun to twitch from jealousy, bitterness and pure frustration.

“Set them aside,” Michael gestures to an empty corner in the hotel room to Rocco who begins to move the flowers.

“Senator Geary sends his regards as well, Mr. Corleone,” continuing to speak in an irritating, light and flirty tone, Rita approaches Michael and clasps a hand over his, raising Michael’s hand up to her.

You refuse to react, knowing such petty shows of screaming and thrashing around are much beneath you, nor do you find the energy or pity for yourself inside of you to care.

The swarm of emotions eating you alive inside are enough, and nobody can deny you the affair you’re witnessing between Michael and Rita that has obviously been blooming since you were away in New York, pushing off his horny brother from you and remaining faithful.

‘I would have never done that to you, Michael. I never dreamed I’d ever be apart from you just to be with someone else but… You’ve made your choice and my eyes aren’t lying to me either.’

Rita’s hands touching Michael’s alone sends anger shaking through you with enough jealousy to tear you apart, and the look of hatred and death in your expression towards Rita as she ignores you would have burned right through her skin if that was ever a possibility.

“I never doubted you for a moment. I’m so proud of you.” Rita beams at Michael.

“Thank you, Miss Duvall. Please give Senator Geary my thanks for his continued support as well.” Michael shakes Rita’s hand, but the only reason why he lets his touch linger a moment longer over her fingertips is because Michael’s aware you’re watching.

“Take care, Mr. Corleone.” Rita giggles, walking back towards the door. “I wish you well and certainly hope you enjoy my flowers. Till next time!” Escorted out by Rocco, Rita waves at Michael before she exits the hotel room.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind the two, you’re at it already. “Congratulations, Mr. Corleone.” You mimic in the most annoying, high-pitched tone you can possibly imitate.

Michael glances back at you, seeing the distraught expression on your face as you’re barely holding yourself together.

“You don’t have any shame in letting whores buy you presents, Michael? Or is that a taste you’ve acquired after I left you?” You scowl.

“I can always count on you to say the most inappropriate and ridiculous things during times like this, can’t I?” Michael stares at you, unamused. “Stop it. This conversation isn’t over—”

“Oh, it’s over.” You scoff, throwing your hands up in the air. “It’s done, it’s long gone. It ended the moment you decided to interrupt by letting your favourite little slut bring you presents—because that was clearly so much more important.” You make your way directly over to the door. “Mr. Corleone doesn’t like having ‘important’ conversations with his wife in hotel rooms, he likes to wait until he gets home!” You slam the door behind you as you exit, staring right up at Tom who leans against the wall across from you.

“Victoria.” Tom blinks, surprised to see you so suddenly.

Your expression softens at the sight of your brother-in-law as you form a fake smile at him. “Tom, serve Michael the divorce papers please.”

You neither bother to listen to Tom’s protests or see the shocked look on his face. Instead, you turn on your heel and make your way off towards the elevators to return to the lobby.

Stunned and standing aloof in the hallway, Tom swallows hard and knows he can’t just chase after you to argue; Tom’s never seen such a decisive look on your face before and it’s not one he’s going to question either.

“You can come in.” Rocco murmurs, having witnessed the entire thing but this time outright ignored by you.

“Thank you.” Tom mutters back, entering Michael’s hotel room.

Michael looks up from lighting his cigarette against the palm of his hand expecting to see you again, but Tom surprises him almost instantly. “Tom?”

“Um, Mikey.” Tom pats his suitcase, knowing he’s handled all of the legal paperwork and documents for Michael since the beginning of this preliminary hearing ordeal but can’t exactly think of a way to excuse himself from serving divorce papers.

“What is it, Tom?” Michael takes a drag out of his cigarette; his body language visibly stressed. “More paperwork?”

“Um, yes, although I don’t have it in hand at the moment so it needs to wait until we return to Tahoe from the state difference.” Tom replies glumly, “Victoria is filing for divorce, Mikey. She wants me to serve you the papers.”

Michael stares up at Tom, calmly smoking his cigarette and refusing to react for a moment. “If you think I’m going to be signing any divorce papers to end my marriage with the woman I love, you’re wrong, Tom. I love her, I’m not signing anything.”

#godfather au #prompts #Michael corleone #Michael corleone x reader #Michael corleone fanfic #moth to flame fic #moth to flame fanfic #michael corleone x oc #godfather x reader #not canon

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dad-dumpster · 2 years

Note

SWEAT BIRTH POM BECAUSE POM IS BABY BUT IT JUST SWEAT RING PFP MOTH OPENING AND POM POCTURE COMING OUT

@sweatandwoe congratulations!!! its a beautiful baby @pomegranatebat

#shame that he doesnt pass the bechdel test #shetpost #my art #ask★彡

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bigassnocash · 1 year

Text

Notice Me (Jake Seresin x Robert Floyd)

Hello Hello my loves! Now while yes, in the past few months i have been very active on this beautiful hellsite, i have not written anything in ages. I wrote this because i wanted something angsty yet giddy in my life and its the first time in ages I've had the spare time to write something. Anyway, i hope you guys enjoy and as always... be kind <3

Warnings: brief parental homophobia, parental death, some angst

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It started on the carrier after they returned from the mission. Bob was celebrating with Payback and Fanboy when Jake walked over to him. Hangman was the last person Bob had expected a congratulations from, yet here he was.

“Well, Bob, I suppose I owe you a job well done,” Jake approached shyly to say. Jake Seresin had never been this nervous. Hell, he barely ever felt nervous. He knew he was the best at everything he did, so why was Bob of all people getting him this flustered?

“I suppose you do, Hangman. Seeing as I did do a well-done job,” Bob groaned at himself internally and immediately looked down to his feet to avoid the other mans eyes. It sucked that his type was cocky, arrogant pilots. He also had tendency to go for blondes. “I just mean that-”

“I know what you mean,” Jake was smirking at Bob now. “You did a good job, and you know you did a good job. Its okay Baby, you can toot your own horn occasionally.”

“Bagman, I think you do enough tooting for all of us.” God, could he embarrass himself anymore?! To Bobs surprise Jake didn’t start poking fun at him but started laughing. A genuine laugh because he thought Bob had purposely made the joke.

“Yeah Baby, I suppose you’re right. I do toot enough for all of us,” the taller man gazed lovingly upon Bob. How could someone this shy do such a confidence driven job like this? Before he had a chance to ask, he was pulled away by other people offering their congratulations to him.

The two men didn’t get another chance until late that night. Bob had stepped outside for a cigarette, a habit he was trying to kick. On his way out he saw Jake standing by the edge of the ship looking out onto the water.

“Well Hangman, I never thought the day would come when you aren’t talking someone's ear off,” Bob walked up to stand beside him and saw that he was crying. “Oh, I'm sorry Jake, I can leave and come back later if you want.” He felt bad for walking in on something private.

“No Bob it's okay, stay. I could use the company right now.” Jake stood up straighter and turned around so his body was no longer facing the water, but now facing the ship. “What are you doing out here anyway Baby, isn’t it past your curfew?”

Bob walked closer to stand beside Jake and pulled out the pack of cigarettes and lighter. “Yeah Bagman, don’t tell my nana or she’ll never let us have a sleepover again.” He pulled out a smoke and then offered the pack, “Want one?”

“My god Baby, out past curfew and smoking?! You better not let Cyclone catch you, he might tell your mommy on you!” Hangman jibed as he took one from the carton Bob offered. He had never really been a fan of the things but for some reason being next to Bob, he wanted a reason to stay out here and talk with him.

“I don’t know how much luck he’ll have getting ‘hold of her,” Bob started as he lit the smoke and inhaled, “her and my dad died when I was little. So, my nana raised me in North Carolina. I enlisted as soon as I could because I knew I always wanted to follow in their footsteps.” Bob had never been this open with anyone on any of his teams. The closest he’s ever gotten to someone would be Phoenix, whom he’d just met but he felt drawn to her to her like a moth to light.

“Oh, shit Bob, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to pry,” Hangman felt awful. Bob of all people deserved to have nice parents. He was like the first signs of stars on a dark night, he made even the most bleak situations seem better.

“Ah it’s okay Hangman, shit happens. We can’t always get what we want sometimes.” He repeated the mantra his nana told him when he was younger and cried on Mothers Day and Fathers Day. As much as he loved her, she was a tough old bird who had no time for tears.

Jake turned to look at Bob. He felt so bad for his friend right now. In a moment of vulnerability, Jake decided to share too. “Jacob. My given name is Jacob. My parents were big into the Bible and we went to church every Sunday, that's part of the deal in Texas. You live here, and you go to church. So, when my dad caught me holding hands with one of the boys in the marching band, they did not like it one bit. Even after I tried to explain to them that I like girls and boys, the only thing they could focus on was the boys.” Only a few people knew about Jake being bi. Javy knew because they were best friends, Phoenix knew because he came out to her after she came out to him, and Rooster knew because of their special arrangement a few years prior.

Bob turned to look at Jake now. He felt bad that Jake had to go though that from his family. No one should ever be made to feel lesser by the people who are supposed to love you. “Gosh Jake, that must have been so hard.” Without thinking Bob closed the gap between them and wrapped his arms around Jake’s middle. Slowly Jake returned the hug and buried his face in Bobs hair. He hadn’t felt this vulnerable or comforted in years. He missed the feeling of being protected instead of always having to be the protector.

They stood in that embrace for a long while before Hangman finally took a step back to release himself from the hug. He gave his shoulders a little shake as if to get back into the emotional armour he had briefly removed to talk to Bob. “What about you Bobby? Any hard talk like that you had to have with your nana?”

“Nah. When I told her I was gay she looked at me and said, “Robert you would have surprised me more if you came home with a pregnant girlfriend.” Safe to say, she was okay with it from the start. Until I joined the Navy. She was really worried about me getting bullied out here. Turns out I get picked on for being quiet, ain’t that right Bagman?” The space between them had immediately gotten lighter as they both laugh.

“Yeah, I guess I was a bit of a dick to you, wasn’t I?”

“A bit?” Bob asked with raised eyebrows.

“Okay okay, I was a major dick to you Bobby. I’m sorry.” His apology was genuine, he actually felt bad. The more he learned about Bob, the cooler he seemed. Also the new knowledge that he was gay sparked something in Jake. A new sort of interest in Bob. An interest for someone hes never had before and he couldn’t quite place the feeling.

“Wow, look at the time. We really should be getting back inside now,” Bob remarked as he looked at his watch. In truth, he didn’t want to go back inside, but he knew the longer he stood here talking with Hangman the less he would be able to hold back from launching himself at the other man, with consent of course.

The two men slowly started walking back to their sleeping quarters while talking about miniscule things until they reached their doors. They both idle by the handles, not wanting to separate and have their night end.

“Well Bobby, I suppose I should let the hero of the day get some rest. He worked hard today,” Jake said as he shifted from foot to foot.

“I don’t know that I’m the hero,” Bob responded shyly as a blush crept from his cheeks to his neck.

“Wow Bob, I mean I knew you had a big ego but wow, I was talking about myself. Since I saved Maverick and Rooster, you know actual hero work, but no, no, you’re the hero.” Hangman joked as he took half a step towards Bob.

“Well, I was told today that I can toot my own horn once in a while, so until tomorrow I will toot away,” Bob replied as he shifted to look at Jake. Before he could stop himself, he leaned over and give him a kiss on the cheek before saying “goodnight, Jacob,” and entering his bunk.

Hangman stood in the hallway, shocked at Bobs brazen action. Never in a million years would he have thought Bob would do something like that. He also didn’t expect to like it that much. Jake was pulled from his thoughts as Rooster stuck his head out from his room.

“Hey, what are you doing right now? Are you busy?” Rooster asked

“No I was just about to go to bed. Why, what’s up?”

“Oh nothing I was just wondering if you, maybe, wanted to bunk with me tonight?”

Jake understood the context in which Bradley was asking. He was asking if Jake wanted to hook up quietly and then leave before anyone else woke up. Any other time, he probably would have said yes and been content to go back to the arrangement they typically kept whenever they were stationed together. But this time something felt off. He didn’t want to be with someone who didn’t want to wake up next to him, someone who would be embarrassed to be seen with him.

“Jake? You okay over there?” Bradley asked. He looked at Jake almost expectantly from his doorway.

“Sorry man, not tonight. I’m tired. You know, big day and all,” he told him. Jake entered his room and locked the door before Bradley had a chance to say anything else. He stripped off his clothes and climbed into bed, as the weight and commotion of the day finally settled on him. As he drifted off, Jake subconsciously started rubbing his cheek, the very one that Bob kissed him goodnight on. That was the most peaceful sleep Jacob Seresin had in weeks.

#jake seresin #hangman #robert floyd #bob #hangbob #floydsin #theyre so precious #my babygirls

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