#HMS Eurydice
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H.M.S. Eurydice off the coast, with her crew making sail, by Mark Myers (1945-)
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"be more careful next time. i don't want to bandage you up again" buttercup taking care of bubbles (or blossom) after a monster fight? just butters showing her love for her sisters through acts of service. thanks ily ‹3
haha, hey anon, we both agree "time" is just a concept, right? sorry it took so long :(
If you forgot this prompt is for this ask game!
content warning: vague body horror/gore, major character death (sorta?)
a/n: experimenting with writing styles, the pacing isn’t my norm.
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"You know, forget what that huffy college advisor said, I think you'd make a great nurse!" Bubbles chirped, trying to break the nearly suffocating silence. It hung so heavy around the two of them, it felt as if someone or something was sitting on her chest, force feeding guilt and anxiety straight down her throat.
Silence aside, Bubbles was only telling the truth. First-aid was something Buttercup was apt at doing, given all the fights she had been in, and really, honestly, she should have been doing it professionally, if she didn’t have such lousy bedside manners.
Buttercup's jaw clenched and her nostrils flared as she spat out through gritted teeth, "shut up."
"I'm serious!" Bubbles protested, "Really, honestly, Butters, you'd make a great nurse."
Buttercup slammed a roll of bandages down on the tray beside her and shoot up out of her seat. She walked a few feet away and kicked over another freestanding tray, spilling its contents onto the ground.
"You know damn well that isn't what I meant!" Buttercup seethed, turning around to point a shaky finger at her.
Bubbles didn't even flinch. She sat still, taking in the angry flush running across her sister's face and the fire in her eyes before deflating.
"I know," She whispered, "I know it isn't."
Bubbles let her gaze drop to her hands. They were wrapped up in gauze, just like most of the rest of her body, making her look like some modern day mummy. If she had been human, she would have been dead, but Chemical-X, that wonderful, mysterious chemical, was one heck of a life saver! Her skin was still healing, however, burnt, bubbling, and smelling of rot and decay.
It was so...strange, how bullets bounced off her, but still left bruises, and acid did nothing to her body, but still stung, and lava was like water, but still burnt, and the sun's rays only left cumbersome sunburns, but HIM's mist, at least, in that moment, when she had lunged towards Blossom before her sister had disappeared into that dark red haze, had felt like nothing, and yet, had left her body almost beyond repair.
Her bandages were neat and tidy, Buttercup made sure of that everyday when they needed changing. The Professor had offered to do it, but her sister had insisted, and Bubbles preferred it that way. She could deal with Buttercup's anger, but the distraught, broken look in the Professor's eyes was too much to bear. It only reminded her of the things she'd rather forget, of her failures, of Blossom. Not that she was having any trouble remembering on her own.
She felt a crying sensation behind her eyes start to swell, closing her throat and stuffing up her nose, but no tears came out. She had no more to spare. It was almost a miracle. Her, Bubbles Utonium, had no more tears to spare.
For what it was worth, she gave it her best try.
Dry, heaving sobs echoed throughout the lab-turned-med bay, and Bubbles wished she could stop. It hurt to cry, but everything hurt, so it didn't make much of a difference.
"I'm sorry," She choked, sounding almost as desperate, but more borderline hysterical, "I'm so, so sorry! She—she was right there! She was right there!"
"Bubbles, wait, don't," Buttercup pleaded desperately, "don't cry."
"She's gone!" She wailed over Buttercup’s protests, thrashing around and pulling on her IVs, "She's gone! And it's all my fault!"
Firm hands carefully clutched her own, keeping her still. "Stop," Buttercup ordered, "stop. You're going to hurt yourself."
"What's that matter!" She hissed, "What does any of it matter!"
“I’ll get her back!” Buttercup yelled, her voice cracking, “I promise! I’ll get her back, now, please! Stop!”
“How!” Bubbles cried back, “How! She’s gone! I killed her!”
“I don’t know!” She shouted, her eyes shiny. Buttercup sunk down into a squat, and when she spoke again, her words came out around a half-formed sob, “I don’t know.” Buttercup cradled her head, “I almost lost both of you, please, just, please be more careful, okay? I can’t—I don’t want to bandage you up again.”
“Please,” Her sister begged, speaking into her hands.
They sat there in silence as Bubbles observed Buttercup, realizing for the first time, that the toughest out of all of them, the doer, was unable to do anything at all but fix her bandages. Her perfectly wrapped, clean bandages. It was only then that Bubbles felt her heart fill with something she had thought died along with Blossom.
It felt like love. It felt like hope. Whatever it was, she clung to it.
“Okay,” Bubbles agreed after another long, painful silence, punctuated only by Buttercup’s quiet sobs. “I’ll be more careful.”
#ppg#guess which sentence that is also a paragraph is my fave but would make anyone who appreciates grammar cry???#hm this was way sad#thats my bad#angst#if i was to continue this it would be largely inspired by the Death of Eurydice#ppg drabble#prompt game#per usual unedited#lil sister things
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Saw someone mention it in the tags and it got my brain thinking... They said ' what if zag was also a god of reunion and lost love of whether it's platonic or romantic ' and honestly given how zagreus managed to reunite lovers and family that would've essentially have been lost forever ... And the game itself being a love letter to love. I can see it.
#tho i wont take that up for my portrayal but rather have it be a power#hes defied fate on the highest level. perhaps he could also be considered the fatebreaker in his tales#having his hand in meddling with affairs of others when otherwise their fates should've been sealed to what they were#orpheus and eurydice forever apart#achilles and patroclus separated on bittersweet and painful memories -#nyx and chaos divided since creation#Hm.... Thimking
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see now im thinking about orpheus/eurydice + jimmy/kim except jimmy is eurydice and kim is orpheus
#like the interpretation that eurydice went into the underworld looking for something. so orpheus goes down too to get her out#but kim doesnt stay clean she finds herself getting dragged into it too. and such#hm#tings#bcs
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in honour of being promoted to Deputy Stage Manager in my school's theatre department, top gun high school/sixth form au:
Dr Kazansky rules the drama department with an iron fist. always wearing black turtlenecks. never seen without his glasses, his coffee, and his terrifying glare (which earned him the moniker Dr Iceman). do not show up to rehearsals if you don't know your lines. death be upon the poor students who fuck around during tech and dress, because they will find out. he loves the crew tho.
Mr Call-Me-Mav Mitchell is the head of sports. you name it, he's played it, and he could absolutely give you pointers, also, do you want a protein bar with that? it's chocolate flavoured :) even the kids who Hate (capital H) sports love him. he is sunshine and adrenaline in human form. endless energy. no one knows why he is called maverick, but even the principal does it, so.
Mr Kerner is the principal. he is also the only person who can interrupt rehearsals and survive. dr kazansky loves him. inexplicably, maverick hates him. nough said.
Jake Seresin is the school's golden child, not even because he's Kazansky's nephew. he’s head boy. he’s on the school’s football/rugby team. he writes regular articles for the internal magazines. and this year, he’s playing Orpheus in the school’s production of Hadestown. everyone thinks it’s nepotism. it is and it’s not, jake just lost a bet to his Uncle Tom, and must now reap the consequences to said uncle’s delight.
Bradley Bradshaw has been stage crew since he was thirteen and an overworked runner, thank you very much. it’s his final show, he’s the DSM, and if fucking seresin ruins this for him, he will riot. dr kazansky should never let that happen. however, this is the same man who, last year, laughed when revealing that a screen on stage had turned off and bradley had to go on stage during the show to fix it. hm. maybe bradley should have re-thought his life choices. also: the turntable. the goddamn turntable.
other characters include: phoenix as eurydice, bob doing lighting, payback and fanboy as ASMs who flirt over the comms to everyones misery, cyclone as another drama teacher/stage manager,
maverick keeps turning up to rehearsals and trying to help because his favourite (cough only cough) godson and his favourite player are both interested in this stuff, so he should at least try, right? kazansky hates it until he doesn’t. kerner thinks it’s all fucking hilarious. bradley is embarrassed but its kinda endearing do NOT tell him i said that.
kazansky and maverick both bare witness to A Moment between their respective pseudo sons and decide the two simply must get together for their sakes and also so they never inflict that on another person ever.
bradley and jake both bare witness to A Moment between their respective pseudo fathers and decide the two simply must get together for their sakes and also so they never inflict that on another person ever.
kerner is cackling. Cackling.
#the only part of this that is vaguely reminiscent of my life is the part where iceman is laughing at bradley’s horror at the prospect of#having to Go On Stage In Front Of People to fix something#director did actually laugh at me#and i did actually still have to do it#it was hellish#anyway#icemav 🤝 sereshaw -> so insane about stuff that there is no way that anyone else deserves to be put through that#slider is having the Time Of His Life and absolutely no real work is being done in his office#pity thr rest of the student body who has to deal with them on a regular basis#bradley rooster bradshaw#jake hangman seresin#tom iceman kazansky#pete maverick mitchell#top gun 1986#top gun#icemav#sereshaw#hangster
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We all have our “this is why Charles is in love with Edwin” moments. For most people it’s the Eurydice and Orpheus, but I have seen no one talk about the scene in h the yearbook room, despite the fact that I genuinely haven’t got it out of my head.
“They died in a secret gay suicide pact,” “What?!” “They were just best mates,”
We know Charles was projecting on Chad and Hunter. Edwin’s response to Richie’s suggestion was more than understandable. He was just then resurfacing very old, very repressed emotions, so Richie mentioning it was like a jolt. But Charles, who projected so much onto the boys, was so quick to restate that they were just friends. Best friends. And he does it while staring straight at Edwin - not to correct Richie, but to assure Edwin that it was incorrect. Why were you so insistant on it not being true, Charles? Why were you so desperate to make sure Edwin didn’t think about Chad and Hunter being gay? Why were you so desperate not to think about Chad and Hunter being gay? Hm? These boys you so strongly decided represented you and Edwin?
Tl;dr that one line was one of the gayest in the entire show and has literally no heterosexual explanation.
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The Bird And The Man
Chapter One
Rated: Explicit | Warnings: none (for now)
Ao3
Chapter Two
“Your name is Orpheus.” The creature tilts its head at you, “You are a novelist and self-proclaimed detective.” You are not sure about the last part, “Orpheus.” Repeating his name this time slower. The creature says nothing but lowers his body to rest his head on your lap.
There are few places in the manor where both hunter and survivor can meet, but not many use them as most have no need to meet one another.
Until now.
You call this place your Elysium, much like the garden where the lady who studies bugs (Melly?) and Emma the gardener often attend, this place seems to be in sort of the middle of the manor connecting the manor the survivors are in (reality) and the other manor for the hunters (a different reality).
The fundamentals of this are something you right now cannot explain nor can truly comprehend. Exciting, you think. Either way, this is your little place of peace and quiet away from others.
Note: you do like them but if Naib tries to read what you are writing over your shoulder, you are going to fight him (you aren’t).
It has been a few weeks, slowly you created a sort of ‘nest’ for yourself at this spot with a large tree in the center of the garden. There is a cute stone path that leads here and the sunshine angles just right here. Ideal spot! One you did not know you were sharing until a few days ago. By chance, this meeting happened when crossing paths with the bird-like creature who was once Orpheus the Novelist.
As an aspiring writer, well an amateur trying to break into the field, you had hoped to speak to the man. Curious and wishing to pick his brain, his books— Especially the Call of The Abyss series— Seem so in-depth. Each word holds a heavy weight to them, you experience the book rather than read it.
But… He is not as open as you might have hoped.
Before you discovered the truth about this manor and the games all are forced to participate in (well most are willing), you tried talking to him but he seemed distant. His mind is here but likely analyzing you and your reasons for being here.
Honestly, you aren't sure why you came… Life is hard and being a writer of no name is challenging, to say the least. The letter said to offer patronage and inspiration, and you were living in a boarding house; you answered the invitation.
Now here you are basking in the warmth of the autumn sun with this bird creature version of Orpheus. Stroking his exposed feathers that drape like hair on his head. He lays there facing away, breathing steady, your hands petting the soft and oddly unkempt feathers of hair.
“Orpheus.” You say it again, “Do you remember where it is from? It is Greek, and his story is sad.” Mumbling to yourself, “He attempts to save his wife Eurydice from the Underworld. Hades told him not to look back until they both were out of the Underworld.”
Nightmare shifts when you touch a sensitive spot, a pleasant sort of feeling.
“He nearly makes it but—”
“Doubt begins to whisper in his mind. It festers. They were so close to the entrance but Orpheus lost faith and turned around.” A masculine voice comes from across from you, a white suit stands out from color in the semi-outdoor garden. The creature resting on your lap is suddenly up and alert, it makes a sound of a warning.
“Easy.” Out of the shadows of the bushes appears a man in a pristine white suit, “It was not my intention to interfere with your moment, Nightmare.” Adjusting his monocle as his eyes go to you, who is still sitting on the ground looking surprised to see him here, “Your voice drew me here.” Informing you, “You would not happen to have seen the Photographer by chance.”
A deep gravelly voice stops you from replying, “No.” Forced out as if it is uncomfortable to speak. Nightmare spoke.
“Hm, very well.” His eyes drift from you to his counterpart then back to you, “A pleasant afternoon to you both.”
The Novelist walks away and you stand up once the shock wears off.
Nightmare turns to see you beaming at him, “You spoke!” Eyes lit up like lanterns in the dark. “Can you speak again?”
“Painful.” Slower this time, “Hurts.” He kneels then grabs his throat hidden by the mask at this angle, head lowered.
You touch the side of his mask, rubbing the parts you feel are exposed, he lets out a shaky groan of comfort— Well, you hope this is comforting. “I had no idea.” All this time you have been teaching him words not knowing he could speak but cannot. He points to the notebook you carry with you at all times, it lies on the ground open to a page full of words.
You follow his pointer finger with the quill nip attached, your eyes falling to the notebook. The cheerful gasp that left you makes his head turn to the side as the joy you express so easily, then again you are the first survivor (outside of his counterpart) to speak with him.
“Here!” Sitting down and gesturing to him to join you, “You can write as much as you want!”
And he does.
The whole day is spent like this talking, he enjoys the way you smile or giggle. He reads over your stories before giving a few critiques but always follows up with praise and pointing at the parts he enjoys.
You… You don't want him to leave as it grows dark. There is a match he is part of, Nightmare promises to see you in this same spot tomorrow afternoon after lunch.
“Be safe! I mean… Win? I don't know!” Unsure how to say goodbye to your new friend.
Every day you write in your notebook, you have brought over quite the collection! The one you give to Nightmare the next time you see him is a notebook you made to look like the one Orpheus uses in his match.
“You are him deep inside.” You do not see a monster… You see Orpheus the Novelist, the man you admire.
The creature swears his cold heart skipped a beat. The passage of time is chipping at his heart with each time you see him.
It becomes a daily activity for you to go into the second garden in the manor, the tree there is your meeting spot. As winter approaches, the tree no longer provides shade. But you still like sitting under it with the birdman keeping you warm.
“See! And this one is called…” You ramble to him the characters you recently made up in your head while being chaired in your last match.
He stares as you use your hands while you talk, he remembers what it was like to get lost in one's imagination. The world you created in a matter of minutes unfolding a tale one cannot wait to put to paper.
“What do you think?” You say after explaining an elaborate plot and the characters you thought of.
Nightmare writes that you need to write your idea before you forget, again.
You laugh as cheerful as ever.
When you leave early to prepare for a special event match he leaves after a period of time. He sits there thinking; recalling your voice, your face, your personality. Details as one such one such as he would notice and plays them over and over.
#orpheus x you#idv orpheus x you#orpheus x reader#nightmare x reader#idv nightmare#nightmare x you#identity v x you#identity v x reader#identity v#idv reader insert#idv orpheus#idv novelist#idv x reader#reader insert
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are there any ships that you like?
HMS Erebus and HMS Terror
SS Edmund Fitzgerald
Carroll A. Deering
SS Valencia
SS Baychimo
HMS Eurydice and HMS Atalanta
Mary Celeste
2000 year old Phoenician war vessel, Marsala, Italy
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I think it only fair to ask on this, the beginning of Spoopy Season, for a continuation of Living Blood? 🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡 Also Happy Halloween!!
a continuation of 1 2 3 4
Zagreus hoards the darkness.
It's a waste to spend it on the mirror when he can twist it into something different, something better and more useful.
Wielding chaos doesn't come to him easily, but that just means it's like everything else in his life. He uses it to hide things from his father and to change things without his notice.
This domain belonged to Chaos first, after all. They can see everything that he's doing, but they;re intrigued and amused and even offer boons and advice to help him. Zagreus is grateful for it, even though it's always a double edges sword.
He wouldn't have been able to do so much so quickly without it.
Replicating Chaos's portals is tedious and pulls the blood from his veins, but less and less as time goes on. And as his priestess spreads his names and his blessings across the mortal earth, he has more blood to give.
Zagreus bleeds, and bleeds, using the power of his blood melded with chaos to twist the underworld into a different shape, and yet his body never runs dry. These days he only dies when he chooses to.
He shifts among the levels of the underworld, bypassing all the irritating challenges and using the time everyone thinks he's using to fight his way to the surface on more substantial pursuits.
Creating a path from Tartarus to Asphodel to Elysium without getting caught by Charon does drain him to exhaustion a few times, but it's worth it.
"Oh, you've been up to something interesting, haven't you Prince Z?" Sisyphus asks in delight when Zagreus shows him the entrance.
"We could use some help with the next harvest," he says, grinning. "If you're up to keeping a secret."
It's a huge swath of the underworld that he's edged his way into, formed by chaos and blood and that can’t be touched by anyone without his express invitation.
“This isn’t a path,” Patroclus scoffs when Zagreus shows him. “This is – it’s nearly the size of Elysium! You could fit a whole kingdom in here!”
That’s an exaggeration. It’s much smaller than Elysium.
“Or a princedom,” Eurydice adds thoughtfully. “The clearing has been getting a little crowded. I don’t suppose anyone knows how to build a castle?”
“I designed a few in my time,” Sisyphus says, rubbing his hands together.
Zagreus frowns. “I don’t – it’s just supposed to make things easier for us, and to give us more room to grow things.”
“We’ll do that too,” Patroclus says, surveying the land with a contemplative air that makes Zagreus nervous. “But every god needs his domain.”
“This is my father’s domain,” he points out. “My domain lives in my followers’ veins and perhaps in the temples they’ve started constructing.”
“Where is your father’s power here?” Patroclus asks. “All I feel is yours.”
Well – well. Hm.
“There are a few more nymphs I trust that could help,” Eurydice says, “if you don’t mind, Prince.”
He gives up. “If you trust them, I trust them. Just don’t go overboard.”
Three of his very good friends are smiling at him and nodding and Zagreus tells himself the unease he feels is paranoia.
~
Meg hears rumors but doesn’t understand them and dismisses them. The dead are all a bunch of gossips and nothing they say can be trusted.
Except she vanquishes another disobedient soul and as it vanishes it hisses, “Horrible harpy! You deserve to be part of the Prince’s Court!”
What an odd way to phrase that, she thinks. She and Zagreus are just sleeping together, whenever she’s free and she can stop him for long enough to roll him into bed.
It’s almost laughable – the idea that Zagreus would have any court of his own, that there’s any power that could be clawed out of Hades’s grip.
It’s impossible.
She’d once thought escape was impossible too.
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Gallavich is kind of Orpheas and Eurydice coded now that I think about it. Hm.
#shameless#gallavich#mickey milkovich#ian gallagher#perhaps I will analyse this at some point#it has potential
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Assigning all the Eurydices in my CYM-Hadestown cast a version of Wait For Me Reprise because I FEEL LIKE IT
Sydney (@that-f-cked-up-bitch): Eva Noblezada (2023)
youtube
I can't explain it but this version is just so..YOU!
For one the instrumentation is intense as FUCK but also Eva's performance is so jam-packed with energy and power!! So confident and sure that things will turn out.
If I close my eyes and use my imagine I could very easily imagine you performing this song with that same amount of power.
Atlas (@literatureisdying): Grace Hodgett Young (go to 2:57)
youtube
Grace's voice is so pure and angelic and beautiful!!! And who else do I know with a pure and angelic and beautiful voice, hm? :)
Ivory (@https-envy): Grace Yoo (go to 4:06)
youtube
Grace's WFM2 has this real confident "let's do this!" energy to it, which makes me think of you!
Penny (@confess-thy-sin): Solea Pfeiffer
youtube
The raw passion and emotion in Solea's version is absolutely unmatched! I just know even though I've never heard you sing that you would put all your heart and soul and passion into this song like Solea does, Penny!
#Youtube#hadestown musical#hadestown broadway#hadestown west end#hadestown#eurydice#eva noblezada#solea pfeiffer#grace yoo#grace hodgett young
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hm. the way anne carson plays with eurydike in antigonick-- her monologue that ends with the line "exit eurydike bleeding from all orifices" and then the stage direction [eurydike does not exit], and after the messenger's lines the messenger says "exit eurydike" and then the chorus repeats "exit eurydike" and then eurydike repeats "exit eurydike" and then the stage directions repeat [exit eurydike]-- i think she's translating jocasta's last words in oedipus actually.
ἰοὺ ἰού, δύστηνε: τοῦτο γάρ σ᾽ ἔχω/ μόνον προσειπεῖν, ἄλλο δ᾽ οὔποθ᾽ ὕστερον. "oh, oh, awful! this is the only thing i can say to you. there is nothing more." (1071-2)
it's a sort of performative way of speaking silence. in sophocles, eurydice leaves quietly without a word, like deianira does, which the chorus takes as a bad sign. jocasta and carson's eurydike comment on the fact of their exiting without comment. and the chorus in oedipus takes this as the same sort of bad sign, they say "i am afraid some sorrow will break from this silence" even though jocasta has left not silent but speaking a silence.
#judith mossman (2012) compares it to hamlet's 'all the rest is silence' which i love#mine#how is a greek chorus like a lawyer#bodycostume#still have to figure out how exactly silence is part of that but it IS
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one quiet moment in the garden
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He meets her in the garden midway through drill after catching her watching in the corner of his eye. Her skirt pulled behind a wall when he looked towards her—she used to be faster, if she wished it all he would have seen was her fleeing shadow. It was enough, though, for him to stop and yell for his soldiers to keep going without him. He smiles as if he has some grand secret as he goes, but his men know where he’s headed. They’ll whisper later how unsubtle the Commander was about it, as if he’s almost showing off, but it was never as if he was good at keeping his private affairs private. Besides, it gave them a break—for all his softness now, he still hits like a druffalo whose young has just been threatened.
So when he comes, his hair loose and pulled wild from the wind and his cheeks still flush from a mock fight, he greets her out of breath and with a grin plastered on his face. “I caught you, my darling.” He smells like sweat when he leans in, hand already catching a tangle of hair. Her heart swells all the same; at his warmth, at his presence, at the way he sighs and all the bravado of the Commander melts into just her Cullen. Her ena’vun.
“You look lovely this morning. Are you both well?” He asks and kisses her brow. His lips are chapped but she welcomes the roughness, the scratch of his scruff. His hand touches her cheek and cradles it as if it were the most precious thing in his world.
Eurydice hums, her eyes down between them, and she’s reaching for his hand, guiding it to her belly. “She moved today.” She says and places his fingers right at her side. She pushes them down gingerly to help him find it, “Right here. We have been poking each other back and forth since I awoke. I think she wakes with us, yes? Yes.”
Cullen’s smile grows as he feels around the spot and then, there it is. A bump back. A tiny kick They both jump when they feel it and Cullen let’s out a small surprised laugh. “I think you’re right. Now what are you doing to your mother, hm? Are you playing games?”
“She is young to know what games are, is she not? I do not think she understands what she is doing.”
“Oh, I suspect she does. She’s going to be handful when she comes to us, love, I just know it.”
A curl falls over his forehead when he says this and it shines in the midday sunlight, just as his smile does. She thinks that she shouldn’t touch it, that if she does, she might break whatever this peaceful little bubble they have at this moment. As if he was a freshly painted canvas and if she placed her hands on it to feel the texture, to trace the lines, and comprehend what makes it so breathtaking, she’ll ruin the wet paint.
The mark on her palm hisses in her mind, always threatening to take her peace. Move and I will snap, whispers into her bones, and the pain I will give will never ebb.
But she does. She touches him, brushes his hair back from his forehead, feels his eyes rush from her belly to her face, and she smiles.
“Good. I want to see what person she is. What we make together.”
#cullen rutherford#cullydice#cullavellan#female lavellan#f!lavellan#inquistor lavellan#Eurydice Lavellan#cullen x inquisitor#dai#art#writing#dragon age inquisition#tw: pregnancy
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Kevjean is Orpheus and Eurydice coded
hm. do you ever think about the stretch of time after evermore but before kevin was publically announced as part of the foxes' line-up? do you think jean knew kevin made it out safely? do you think he worried that one day they'd get a news report on the untimely and tragic death of a young star just barely in its prime? do you think he feared that it was all for nothing?
anyway. i trust that he is there (i think) i trust that he is there (please?) i trust that he is there (say something so i can hear you) i trust that he is there (what if it's a lie?) i trust that he is there (i can't even see his shadow on the wall) i trust that he is there (say something) i trust that he is there (SAY SOMETHING)
#asks#kevjean#good morning cuties#well. good afternoon. do not judge me on my sleeping habits im a hardworking man
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Your favorite Ghost Ship
Real, fictional or rumored,
#Polls#Ghost ship#Ghost ships#Of myth legend reality and media#Dracula and 1899 and more!#Anyway this only exists bc i catastrophically misread someone else's poll and went y'know...#Poll#Tumblr polls
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Those Cool Summers’ Nights
Mezo Shoji x Reader
This is part of the Time to Shine Collab by @cup-of-fluff . Thank you so much for letting me participate!
Synopsis: You and Shoji both came home to work at different times, but always found the time to sit together, relax, and sometimes, just observe the night.
Word Count: .8k
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Shoji had always liked nights like these. Ones where the mosquitos weren’t coming out of hiding, the air was only just slightly cold, the sky was clear and cloudless. He inhaled deeply, taking in the cool air, and smiled as he exhaled, relaxing into his chair on the porch of his home. He had considered himself licky when he found said house for sale; away from people, overlooking the ocean from a ways up, giving the perfect view of the sunset and subsequent night sky. There was only one thing that could make this night any more perfect for the young hero..
A gentle kiss landed on his cheek, startling him out of his thoughts. You offered a small, sheepish smile, sitting in the chair next to him.
“Sorry, didn’t hear you come home.” He exhaled, taking the drink you offered to him. You opened your soda, the crack and resulting fizzing sound lingering in the air as you both sat silently for a while, both taking some time to relax and unwind from the day’s events before really interacting with one another.
Shoji took a sip of his drink, taking a moment to glance over towards you. It had been many years since he had felt the need to wear his mask around you, and he had always been grateful for the comfort and safety you had always seemed to exude for him. Now here you were, next to him, just.. Sitting. Seeming as relaxed as you always managed to make him feel, without having to do anything but exist in his vicinity.
“Mezo?”
“Hm?”
“You were staring at me.. Everything alright?”
“..Yes. Merely admiring you, (Y/n).”
You chuckled, and he couldn’t help but to smile. He used to hate expressing his emotions without his mask, the corners of his far-too-wide mouth curling upwards, but you had always told him that you loved him already, that he couldn’t scare you off just by showing his happiness.
You looked away from him, gazing back out across your shared yard. From his vantage point beside you, he watched as you leaned forward onto your knees, idly swirling your drink in your hand.
“Hey, Mezo. Look.” He followed your gaze, looking back out into the cloudless sky.
The stars shone brightly from where they sat in the sky, not quite twinkling like most people would say, but seemingly pulsating with light. Various shades of white, blue, and red dots, all suspended like pinpricks through the fabric of the night sky.
Shoji smiled again, tilting his head back to observe you. You had abandoned your drink on the table between your chairs, head resting in your hand. A small smile graced your features, and Shoji couldn’t help but feel a ripple of love for you. Even just sitting like you were, lost in your own thoughts as he was, you were always so.. Ethereal.
You turned, eyes locking with his own. He gave a sheepish smile, turning almost hastily back to the sky.
He heard you stand, and a slight twinge of guilt hit him. It almost felt as though he had somehow scared you away as he had done to others in his past. Like Orpheus to Eurydice, he resisted his urge to turn, to look; as though doing so would somehow force your departure.
Instead, you walked over, sitting yourself on his lap. A small noise of confusion left his throat, and he finally looked back to you.
You leaned back in his chest, pulling all six of his arms over you. Similarly to a child seeking protection from their parents, you laced your fingers with his one by one, impatiently bringing them across your body before reaching for the next. When you deemed your work satisfactory, you finally met his loving, confused gaze, and merely shrugged at his silent question.
“I got cold.”
He sighed, feigning exasperation as he gave you a gentle smile.
“We could go inside.”
You pretended to think it over. Shiji laughed at the creasing of your brow, the one arm you brought up through all his to rest on your chin.
“Hmmmmmm.. I don’t think we can see the stars from inside..”
“We cannot.” He confirmed.
You feigned a pout, seemingly unable to contain the upward quirk of your lips.
“Darn it! Whelp, guess I’m going to stay right here,” you punctuated the word as you leaned deeper into his chest, “so that I can keep stargazing.”
He sighed, pulling you closer to him with the blanket of arms you yourself had put together. He leaned forward, kissing your temple before resting his chin atop your head.
“Then I will stay right here to keep you warm.”
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Still bad at ending stories.. Oh well. Taking requests. Make sure to check out the rest of the collab I did this for!
#mha#bnha#mha x reader#bnha x reader#shoji mezo#mezo shoji#bnha mezo shoji#mezo shoji x reader#shoji#shoji x reader#bnha shoji#mha shoji#shouji mezou#x reader#xreader#xreader fluff
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