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geekgirles · 5 months

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Something Like You

Summary:

There were many things Branch expected from being forced to go on a date with the winner of Brozone's latest contest: boredom, forced smiles, awkwardness, the looming possibility that he might meet his end tonight at the hands of an obsessive fan...

Never in a million years would he have expected falling in love with her, however. Or the many other surprises that meeting would entail.

Word count: 8959 words

Pairings: Broppy, BrandyxBruce

Read on AO3

As he wriggled in his seat in a futile attempt to make himself comfortable, his fingers drumming impatiently on the mushroom table, all Branch could think of was one thing:

He sincerely hoped Spruce—or Bruce, if he went through with it and changed his name—and Brandy didn’t last.

At first he had been ecstatic when his brother told him and their siblings the news. How could they not be happy for him? He had finally found a girlfriend who seemed to like him beyond his role as Brozone’s Heartthrob! Moreover, one that had accepted his proposal to marry him! That was all Spruce could ask for ever since he hit puberty and trolls started noticing him, and vice versa.

Sure, Brandy wasn’t even a troll to begin with—truth be told, Branch wasn’t even sure what she was—, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she made his big brother happy. Even if she towered over all her in-laws and the lucky couple wasn’t even sure if they could have kids together, it was okay. Because Branch had never seen Spruce as happy or in love as he was with Brandy. And he should know; he had been seeing his second-oldest brother change partners almost as often as he worked on his exquisitely chiselled abs since he was a baby!

And now he had finally found the one whom he wanted to settle down with…

At least, that was how Branch had felt before the terrible fate that awaited him dawned on him.

Boy, did Spruce leave behind a string of broken hearts! Seeing all the sobbing, heartbroken fans who wailed after him once it had been officially announced Spruce had entered a serious relationship and would no longer be going on dates with the winners of Brozone’s numerous contests, a part of Branch couldn’t help but be slightly alarmed at John Dory’s reaction to it. Such a calm, collected demeanour in the face of such a major shaking of their established status quo did not match the eldest brother’s usual control freak nature. At all.

Even though he never particularly cared about sales—just as well, seeing as those contests and other Spruce-related paraphernalia made up about 75% of the band’s income—, John Dory was a well-known perfectionist. Branch could distinctly remember his very first tour as a baby. John Dory almost blew a gasket when they couldn’t reach the Perfect Family Harmony!

Even today, Branch knew that, if it hadn’t been for Floyd intervening, Brozone would have disbanded that night for good.

Which was all the more reason to grow unnerved at his nonplussed reaction to his younger brother publicly announcing he was officially off-the-market and, though he would still be Brozone’s Heartthrob, had explicitly entered ‘you can look, but you can’t touch’ territory. It was so out-of-character of him, all four younger siblings had convened to have Floyd use his psychology training to talk to John Dory and figure out what was going on.

“Looking back, I really should have seen this coming…” Branch grumbled quietly to himself with a roll of his eyes.

It wouldn’t be until relatively recently that they would come to understand the reason why John Dory was taking Spruce’s decision so well. Sure, John Dory’s role as The Leader meant he was usually too busy for this sort of thing anyway; and Clay had long written the whole experience off after the last fan thought it would be a good idea to sign him up on Open Mic Night at a stand-up comedy club to perform, seeing as he was The Fun Guy and all…; and Floyd, aside from only really meeting up with a very specific side of their demography, could get overwhelmed easily by the experience, so he couldn’t really take on Spruce’s role, either.

…which left Branch as the fill-in for their dear Heartthrob and the prize to win in their contests. Because, why not? It wasn’t like despite his public persona as Brozone’s youngest and cutest member he, alongside Clay, could be quite cynical and hated putting up a façade for longer than necessary. Or that, like Floyd, he was quite introverted and usually preferred to spend his free time on a Friday night inside their shared bunker—which he built almost single-handedly, thank you very much—reading a good book and drinking a steaming mug of coffee in his bathrobe.

No, of course not! Putting on a fake, strained smile on his face for hours on end as he risked meeting his very own personal stalker and potential kidnapper (or murderer!) was his ideal date plan!

Did he mention sarcasm also ran in the family?

Lamenting his luck and cursing his eldest brother for the umpteenth time that evening, Branch quickly checked the time on his Hug Time Bracelet. “Quarter-to-Hug. She really should be here by now…” Putting aside the slight annoyance he felt, he ultimately shrugged it off before popping a fry into his mouth. “Then again, as humiliating as it would be to be stood up by the very person who competed to win a date with me, it’s not like I can complain. It’s way better than the alternative…”

Although Branch had to admit, the whole thing had been a little weird. John Dory had instructed him to be on his best behaviour and listen intently to what the girl (because apparently the winner was a girl—good to know, not like he cared) had to say, because of course he had. That was pretty much the drill with these dates. And yet, there was something about him that seemed…off. Almost like this was somehow more important to him than just leaving a lasting, positive impression on one of their fans.

Could it be that this girl was rich, or something? Maybe she actually spent a fortune in…in whatever it was contestants were required to do to get their date this time. Maybe she was one of Spruce’s hardcore fans and this was their one chance to convince her to remain loyal to the band even after her favourite became unobtainable. Or maybe—

“Oh, my Troll Tree! I’m so sorry I’m late! I was held up in a meeting.”

Ears twitching at the sound of the new, oddly melodic voice, Branch did his best to push down the urge to roll his eyes or make a sarcastic comment at her expense. Instead, he put on his most charming smile and finally turned to face the troll he’d be spending the next several hours with.

Only for his heart to stop at the sight of her.

He had to be dreaming, there was simply no way this was really happening. At least, not to him. For some reason, he suddenly got Perfect stuck in his head.

The troll before him wasn’t just a troll; she was a vision of loveliness. A creature so divine and angelic he couldn’t stop his eyes from quickly scanning her up and down in search of her golden halo or a pair of fluffy, white wings.

She wasn’t real, she just couldn’t be! Someone so breathtakingly beautiful only existed within the passionate, sugary-sweet lyrics they so often sang about. This girl before him was more enchanting than the subjects of Girl, Baby, Baby; Baby, Baby, Girl; and Baby, Baby, Girl, Woman combined! Frosting, her mere presence was enough to inspire the poet inside of him a thousand sonnets, let alone love songs!

In fact, she alone was pure poetry. An ode to everything beautiful and good in this world.

Her skin was the loveliest shade of pink, that which adorned the sky during the very first hours of the morning and made it a little easier to look at everything through rose-coloured glasses. In contrast, the countless glittery freckles on her face, shining even under the pod’s faint light, looked like she had quite literally reached out for the stars and used them to accentuate her blush.

Her nose, a darker shade of pink than the rest of her skin, wrinkled in the cutest way, reminding him of a small critter, as she brushed her fringe behind her delightfully round ears, almost shyly. And her hair, her bright, magenta hair that she wore loose except for a deceptively simple braided headband consisting of felt leaves and twigs, looked like silk. He suddenly had a very strong urge to intertwine his own cobalt locks around hers and test out if it was truly as soft as it looked.

She was just—

“Hi, I’m Poppy!” She introduced herself, breaking him out of his trance. She gestured at the booth he had been occupying for the last twenty minutes. “Mind if I sit down next to you?”

It took a moment for Branch’s brain to reboot itself. When it finally did, he practically jumped to his feet, startling his date—Poppy— slightly and making a few other patrons look at him oddly.

“Yes, yes! Of course!” He blurted out, a little louder than he had intended. Noticing Poppy’s slightly uncomfortable stance, he forced himself to calm down. He cleared his throat with forced nonchalance and exited the booth. Just as the pink troll was about to ask him what was wrong, he bowed politely and gestured to the seat he had just vacated. “After you, my lady.”

Looking back and forth between his gentlemanly pose and the seat he was gesturing at, Poppy couldn’t help but giggle cutely at his actions, unknowingly letting loose a hurricane of butterflies in his stomach. He was such a gentleman. There was a reason why he was her favourite.

She’d been right; he’d be the perfect choice to explain her plan to.

“Why, thank you.” She said with a curtsy of her own. Walking right past him, she got inside the booth, wriggling herself between the cushions until she made herself comfortable, not unlike Branch had done earlier.

Once she was comfortable enough, Poppy laced her hands over the table and sent a grateful smile at the blue troll watching her attentively.

Branch remained standing for a few more seconds, just committing the expression on Poppy’s face to memory. When her smile dimmed in confusion, however, he realised he was taking way longer than necessary and scrambled to sit next to her with as much dignity as he could muster.

Now that he was by her side, the smile returned to Poppy’s face. “I really can’t thank you enough for agreeing to meet up with me, Branch.” She told him honestly. “I understand you must be very busy, yet you made some time for me. Thank you so much.”

Branch almost told her it was the least he could do after how much she’d been supporting Brozone, the automatic response he gave to all their fans almost rolling off his tongue, but thankfully stopped himself. He couldn’t saddle Poppy up with every other troll who won a date with them and give her a half-hearted response; not when her mere presence made Branch feel like he was the winner. She deserved so much more.

With a boldness he didn’t know he possessed, he reached out and gently placed his hand on hers. As the pink beauty looked down in surprise, the loveliest shade of pink dusting her features and making her freckles stand out even more, Branch said, “Trust me, Poppy, the pleasure is all mine.”

If he felt like a winner before, the moment her smile widened in appreciation, Branch felt like he was on top of the world.

The loud thumping on his chest echoing in his eardrums, his own face probably turning lavender at this point, the youngest member of Brozone hurried to appear as nonchalant as possible, clearing his throat awkwardly and stammering a bit.

“I-I know this-this must be a little o-overwhelming for you.” He swallowed loudly. “B-but, you have nothing to worry about. Deep down I’m just like any other troll. One with several Double Platinum Records and over a dozen music awards, true, but just a normal troll, nonetheless.”

“Frosting!” Branch cursed to himself. “Did that sound too braggy? Does she think I’m a show-off, now? I mean, she is a Brozone fan, so she must know all that already but, still, that’s not the kind of information you just blurt out in the middle of your first date! …wait a minute. Does this even count as an actual date? What’s the actual difference between this and having a back-stage pass?”

As Branch was too busy panicking and overthinking his own words, he couldn’t help but avert his eyes, his blue irises darting back and forth the pod they were in yet refusing to land on Poppy, too afraid of her reaction to take that chance. Had he allowed his eyes to land on her, however, he would have noticed the slightly perplexed expression on her face.

“Wait, does he think I’m nervous because he’s a member of Brozone?” She blinked, not quite sure what to make of the situation. “But I’m the—!”

Before she could finish her train of thought, their waitress for the night finally arrived, ready to take their order. “Well, can I get you, you lovebirds—?” Her words got stuck in her throat when she lifted her eyes from her notepad and took a good look at her customers, mouth slightly agape as her eyes glanced back and forth from Branch to Poppy.

The troll’s own awkward behaviour was all it took for Branch to get a hold of himself. Though a little surprised at first by her reaction, it didn’t take him long to understand everything. He nodded in understanding. Of course she was taken aback. She most likely hadn’t noticed she’d be serving a member of Brozone, after all. Let alone one that was on a date—he still wasn’t quite sure if that applied to their case, but let’s call it one to keep things simple.

With a good-natured roll of his eyes, he opened up his menu. “Yeah, she’s with me. It’s no big deal.” Taking notice of Poppy’s own surprised face at his comment, he dared to be a little bold again and sent her a playful wink. The adorable little sound she made when she chuckled immediately engraved itself onto his memory. “So, yeah, I’ll have a root beer and the roasted mushroom with marshtato tots. And the lady…?”

“Will have a chocolate milkshake and some chicken finger puppets, please.” Poppy replied, handing her menu back to their waitress with a quick ‘thank you’ and a smile as Branch did the same.

That seemed to break the waitress out of her daze. “Right. Got it. Coming right up!”

“Hope that didn’t make you uncomfortable.” Branch said once their waitress was out of earshot. He was used to people losing their minds over his mere presence, but Poppy was probably wholly unprepared for something like that ever happening to her. He wanted to make sure she was okay.

To his immense surprise and slight mirth, Poppy just made a psh! sound as she waved him off, as if the mere notion was ridiculous. “Don’t worry! It’s no big deal, really. Happens all the time, am I right?”

At that last part, she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively at him, almost like they shared a secret. It made Branch chuckle; she probably meant she should expect that from spending time with him.

With a playful roll of his eyes, Branch leaned closer to her, his face resting on his propped up arm. “Don’t I know it?”

The two shared a small laugh at that, and Hair if Poppy’s cute giggling didn’t suddenly become the reason blood even pumped through Branch’s veins. Seriously, at this rate, that little sound she made when she laughed would kill him.

But as he momentarily got lost in his own daydreams, the pink troll’s expectant expression brought him back to Earth with a start. It took a lot out of him to keep his expression even and not show the slight panic he was feeling as realisation hit him. The one supposed to be enjoying the date was Poppy, not him! And though he was extremely grateful for getting to know her, he should never put himself before their fans’ enjoyment.

John Dory would kill him if word got out that Poppy didn’t have a good time.

Clearing his throat slightly—and lamenting, not for the first time, his suave persona only really came up when he was on stage—, he tried breaking the ice. “So, this night is all about you, Poppy. Anything you need from me?”

“Oh!” Poppy exclaimed, a little surprised by his question. Then again, he was right; there was a reason she was here, after all, and it had to do with him. Taking a minute to think about her answer, she finally said, “Well, I suppose there is something…”

For the first time since he became a member of Brozone—basically his whole entire life—Branch found himself thinking he, for once, wouldn’t be opposed to fulfilling her request if Poppy asked for a kiss.

He wasn’t that lucky. “I was wondering if you think it’d be feasible for Brozone to sing at a special event?”

Oh.

Wait, what?

“...I’m sorry?” The conversation had taken a turn he wasn’t expecting. At all.

“Yeah! I mean…” Poppy floundered for words. Maybe she went in for the kill a little too early, her fidgeting hands betraying her nervousness. “I guess I was wondering if you guys would be opposed to singing outside of your concerts. I know each of you has been trying to do your own thing aside from the band for a while now, so you don’t make as many public appearances as before anymore. And now that Spruce is officially engaged, things are probably going to be even more hectic and there’ll be more changes, so…”

Bright, blue eyes stared intently at the beautiful troll before him as she rambled. He could feel she had a point with this, she wouldn’t have brought it up if she didn’t, but Branch was struggling to figure out what it really was. His ears perked up at the mention of Bruce, his confused expression giving way to realisation.

“You’re worried about the future of the band, aren’t you?” He questioned, his tone soft and understanding.

At that, Poppy stopped talking, staring back at him with wide eyes. After a few seconds of silence, her shoulders relaxed a little as she let out a nervous giggle. “You could say that?” She chuckled again. “I’m sorry, I know I’m asking for a lot, it’s just—”

Before she could say more, Branch shushed her gently. Almost instinctively, he reached for her hand again, giving it a reassuring squeeze to get her to look at him. His heart skipped a bit when those pools of pink met his gaze, beckoning him to drown in them.

“It’s okay, Poppy. I understand.”

“Really?” She asked, her voice sounding so hopeful it tugged at his heartstrings in a way that was almost painful.

How could he not understand? Everything she said was true. Back when his brothers were teenagers and he was just a baby, then a child, Brozone was pretty much everything they had going on. Whenever they weren’t at home, taking care of Grandma Rosiepuff (and getting totally demolished at cards), they would be busy with the band. JD would organise everything—and be a tad bossy about it, of course— and compose the lyrics for their upcoming singles and albums. Spruce would work on his physique and his public relations skills, as his role as their Heartthrob meant he was essentially their face to the public. Clay would be thinking up new Fun Guy routines whilst working on the perfect choreography to go along JD’s latest song. And Floyd would be up to the hair both trying to keep the peace between his bickering brothers and adding the melody to their soon-to-be latest hit.

And of course, as Branch grew, he too ended up having his own responsibilities and obligations. His single-minded goal of building their bunker helped morph him into a troll with a natural talent for architecture, technical support, lighting, acoustics…; which he then applied to their performances. He was essentially the band’s own stage technician! And when he hit puberty and hormones started acting up, they discovered a new talent of his: poetry.

And just like that, the youngest sibling became the group’s composer, too. Not like his new position and the respect it commanded prevented his brothers from teasing him about the countless poems he was sure to recite to whoever caught his eye—looking at Poppy now and thinking back to the twenty-something poems and songs he’d come up about her already, a part of him hated to admit his brothers did indeed know him well.

Seemingly overnight, Branch ended up being the brother with the most responsibilities, even though both Clay and JD, thankfully, helped him with their respective processes. And Floyd was always there to offer emotional support, too, of course.

Point is, Poppy’s worries were understandable. The group was changing, they all had different interests now. John Dory, perfectionist tendencies aside, spent a lot of his time working on Rhonda and travelling around Troll Kingdom, even if he claimed it was to gain inspiration for new songs. Spruce was going to get married, and he already spent long periods of time helping Brandy out at her restaurant in her native Vacay Island. Clay was a licensed CPA, as into safety procedures as Branch was, and he moderated Pop Village’s Sad Book Club. And Floyd put years of mediating his brothers’ arguments to good use and underwent psychology training, as well as branched out to other genres and became the lead vocalist of an indie death metal band.

…Branch had to admit the last one took him aback more than it should have.

And with Brozone-related activities and concerts becoming more and more far and in between, it was no wonder their fans feared they might be retiring soon.

“Of course, I do.” He told her honestly, a kind smile playing on his lips. “That’s essentially my life you’re talking about!”

Poppy’s expression turned sheepish. “Oh! Well, I suppose, when you put it like that, you’d obviously understand…” She trailed off, chuckling awkwardly. Somehow, this meeting was both going exactly as she’d ever dreamed of, and not at all like she’d been expecting…

Maybe agreeing to meet up with her celebrity crush had not been the smartest move on her part. Her brain felt like mush whenever she stared into vibrant blue.

Sensing her discomfort, Branch went on, trying to ease her into the conversation. “Again, I do. But I can assure you, you have nothing to worry about; Brozone isn’t going anywhere in a long time.” Pausing for a second to think, he added, “In fact, I’d say we could really use some more impromptu performances. Show our fans we’re still here for them.”

“Trust me, I know a troll or two that would kill to see more of you guys.” Poppy added knowingly. She rolled her eyes with a good-natured shake of her head at what appeared to be some interesting memories.

Fully aware of the level of overzealousness some of their fans could reach, the blue troll gulped, feeling no inclination to know what his lovely companion was thinking about when her fond expression turned disturbed.

Finally, she dispelled whatever unsettling thoughts she was having with a frantic wave of her hands. “Anywho, I was thinking you guys might try performing in celebrations. At least, the ones that don’t overlap with your busy schedules.” She added after a beat, almost like an afterthought.

“‘Celebrations’?” Branch echoed, an eyebrow raised, intrigued. “What kind of celebrations? Because, full disclosure, John Dory is very adamant in not going back to singing for things like birthday parties, weddings, or funerals unless they’re a really big deal—like King Peppy’s fun-birthday! King Peppy’s super fun birthday party!”, he caught himself before he could say anything insensitive. Trolls did not take kindly to the mention of their leaders dying. And was it his imagination or did Poppy perk up slightly at the mention of the king? “He feels we’ve come too far to go back to our roots like that.”

Although JD’s sense of self-importance definitely played a key part in the band’s decision to only perform in their concerts or very specific events, Branch made a point to omit the fact that they weren’t exactly welcomed into such gatherings, either. At least not since he left a lasting impression on Uncle Ron Sr.’s wife during her birthday, her wedding, and her husband’s funeral…

Boy, looking back, that woman had some very intense couple of years.

Shaking his head from such thoughts, he let his gaze fall on Poppy, an action that was becoming second nature at that point, when she continued, “Yeah, I know. But I mean, do you think you guys would be opposed to singing in big events?”

“Poppy, we’re trolls. Everything we do is a big event.” He couldn’t help but deadpan. JD would surely call him out on it if he found out, but seriously, he once saw some trolls throwing a rager after realising they’d managed to divide their pizza equally, without the need to fight for the last slice.

Luckily for him, she seemed to take his words in stride, biting her lip as she giggled cutely and giving the boy band member a first row seat to the string of pearly white peeking from behind. How was it possible that this girl got more adorable by the second?

“Can’t argue with you there. But I was actually thinking about, say, performing live at the Electric Foam Parade?” She said coyly, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Branch’s jaw dropped in shock. “Are you kidding me? Of course we’d love to! The Electric Foam Parade is essentially the event of the year for musicians. Biggest show after the Trollings’ Choice Awards and the Glittery Awards ceremony!” As a wild grin overtook his face, he leaned a little closer to Poppy, his voice lowering into a whisper as if he were about to divulge some well-kept secret. “Between you and me, John Dory considers losing our spot to the TrollsTree Boys fifteen years ago to be his greatest failure.”

“Ugh, I’m so with him there!” Poppy agreed with a laugh. When she took notice of the blue troll’s questioning gaze, she hurriedly tried to correct herself. “Not on the ‘greatest failure’ part, of course. I-I-I I’m sure he did his best and you all worked very hard for it, just that finding out the TrollsTree Boys would be performing instead of you was such a total bummer.”

Branch allowed a playful smirk to tug at his lips. “Bet you refused to go the moment you found out.”

To his surprise, despite her laughter, Poppy actually shook her head. “I would’ve loved to. You know, standing with my favourite band in solidarity, as any good fan ought to do, but I just couldn’t. I was supposed to be there and couldn’t skip, you know?” She threw her head back, a groan escaping her throat. “Man, responsibilities sometimes suck, right?”

Even though Branch was nodding, as he honestly agreed with her assessment, a part of him couldn’t help but be puzzled at Poppy’s words. She was supposed to be at the Electric Foam Parade? How was that even possible? As much as any troll loved a good party, it wasn’t like they were morally obligated to attend them.

It wasn’t as if Poppy was King Peppy, for crying out loud!

Once again, his train of thought skidded to a halt when Poppy spoke up, unaware of the many questions circling around his mind. “Anyway, all the more reason to redeem yourselves and give it a try, right?” She gave a gentle nudge as she flashed him a smirk.

He smiled back. “Trust me, nothing would please my brothers more. Especially JD. And Spruce,” he added after a beat. “Oddly, he developed a sort of rivalry with the TrollsTree Boys’ own Heartthrob when his biggest fan left him for him.”

“The betrayal!” Poppy gasped, a hand over her heart.

“Tell me about it… You’d think he’d been actually dumped with the way he acted back then.”

“So? Isn’t that all the more reason to give it a try? To show everyone Brozone’s all set and ready to bro?”

“Hey, don't look at me!” Branch raised his hands up in surrender. “That’s not up to us, but rather, we’re granted the honour by King Peppy.”

“But what if you were granted the honour?” Poppy insisted, and the shimmering glint in her pink eyes betrayed a thousand thoughts going on behind them. Her body was practically buzzing with excitement, her grin stretched so wide Branch would have worried it might hurt her hadn’t he been so distracted by his heart thumping wildly in his ribcage. “Branch, what I’m trying to say is—.”

She never got to finish her sentence.

“Here you go! Roasted mushroom with marshtato tots and root beer for the gentleman, and chicken finger puppets with a chocolate milkshake for the lady!” Their waitress announced happily, setting down their food to enjoy. Smiling widely at the pair, she jabbed her thumb behind her, and for the first time that night, Branch took notice of the small stage in the centre of the room. “Today’s your lucky day; it’s karaoke night!” She sent a wink Poppy’s way. “You might get to listen to Mr. Popular over here sing you a song!”

As she left the two to enjoy their food and tend to the other customers, a grin spread over Branch’s face. She’d just given him a great idea.

Turning back to face Poppy, he found her staring down at their food in interest, the hunger reflected in her eyes. As she gingerly picked up a piece of chicken and dipped it into the honey mustard sauce—after a brief enactment of Hamlet, of course; it was only proper etiquette—, he caught her eye. Her brow furrowed in confusion when she noticed he wasn’t eating.

Taking a bite out of her food and swallowing, she asked, “Everything okay? Is your mushroom too well done, or not done enough?”

“Oh, no. It’s alright, don’t worry.” He answered, absentmindedly poking at the offending fungi with his fork. Setting the utensil aside, he cleared his throat. He could already feel his insides tingling at what he was about to do. “Hey, Poppy?” He called out to her. As soon as the captivating pink of her eyes met his gaze, he continued, “I was thinking that maybe I could do something to make your night really worth it. After all, you’re a Brozoner! It’s the least I can do to thank you for your support! It really means a lot, you know.”

The youngest member of Brozone felt an odd sense of accomplishment when her freckles got accentuated by the blush spreading across her cheeks. “Oh, Branch… You really don’t have to. You agreeing to meet up with me is more than enough already!”

She tried to brush his offer off with a modest wave of her hand. What she wasn’t counting on, however, was Branch gently taking her hand in his for the third—or was it fourth?— time that evening and looking at her like she was made out of glitter.

“Just let me take you to a better place.” He told her, his velvety voice impossibly soft.

Poppy could only nod dumbly at his request, her eyes wide and shimmering under the faint light as the handsome troll she had admired for so long wordlessly left the booth and made his way towards the little stage located in the middle of the pod. She let out a gasp. Was he really…?

As if on cue, her silent question was answered by Branch’s voice resonating throughout the space, immediately bringing all eyes on him like the superstar he was.

“Good evening, everyone! How’re we doing tonight?”

A cacophony of cheers and even cat calls answered back, making the blue troll chuckle fondly. Grabbing the mic and taking it off its stand, he spoke into the device. “I hope you don’t mind me hogging the spotlight for a little while. You see, I’m with a very special troll tonight,” as the words left his mouth, all eyes turned to follow his own gaze, which hadn’t strayed away from Poppy since they first met.

He absentmindedly noted how weird their silent astonishment at the sight of her was. Normally, when one of them went out on a date with one of their fans, trolls would be congratulating or even lightly teasing the lucky troll, but it wasn’t the case with Poppy. For some reason, they seemed surprised, but not as much as they would have been. Perhaps they were finally getting used to seeing fans around their idols?

Shaking those thoughts away, he went on. “We’re supposed to be having a good time, but I can’t help but feel like I haven’t exactly delivered. So, here’s to rectify such terrible oversight on my part.” He threw a wink the pink beauty’s way, causing the trolls gathered to squeal and swoon at the display. “This one’s for you, Poppy.”

Taking a deep breath, he let his velvety notes be carried over around the space. His tone, soulful and rich, strived to reflect his innermost feelings with each vibration of his voice. As he let himself be lost to the memory, his eyes searched Poppy’s, silently pleading for her mere presence to be his anchor and keep him grounded.

“So, many times

I thought, I held it in my hands

But just like, grains of sand

Love slipped, through my fingers

So, many nights

I asked, the Lord above

Please, make me lucky enough

To find a Love, that lingers”

It wasn’t Brozone’s most popular song. In fact, it technically wasn’t even one of their songs! At least not officially; they had never recorded it, let alone released it to the public. Despite how powerful of a melody it was, they just couldn’t bring themselves to capitalise on it.

It was the last thing they had of their parents, after all.

“Something, keeps tellin' me

That you could be, my answered prayer

You must be Heaven sent, I swear...

'Cause…”

Grandma Rosiepuff used to say their father had written that song to propose to their mother, and their parents would sing it to their precious trollings when they couldn’t sleep. Branch had been the only exception, his parents’ being taken barely a few days before he hatched. But his brothers and Grandma made sure he never forgot how much their parents loved each other and their family.

And now, something deep within his bones compelled him to sing it to Poppy. He doubled his efforts when he reached the chorus, desperate to properly convey the depths of his soul to the tantalising troll staring at him with so much awe in her eyes, it made him feel more important than a million fans screaming his name in a concert.

“Something happens when you look at me, I forget to speak

Something happens when you kiss my mouth, my knees get so weak

Could it be true, this is what God has meant for me

'Cause, baby I can't believe

That something, like you

...Could happen to me

Yeah-yeah...

Something, like you…”

It was like all her childhood fantasies had suddenly come true. Oh, how many nights had she dreamed of something like this? Of Brozone singing exclusively for her? Of Branch, her favourite by a long shot, dedicating her a song? All trolls longed for their special someone to serenade them, but should she dare believe Branch could be doing this beyond a sense of obligation given who she was?

For the moment, she chose not to care. Her eyes never leaving his dashing figure as he danced and sang his heart out on stage—all for her.

“Girl, in your eyes

I feel your fire burn (feel your fire burn)

Oh, your secrets, I will learn

Even if it takes forever...

With you, by my side

I can do, anything (can do, anything)

I don't care what tomorrow, brings

As long, as we're together”

Even as the other patrons cheered for him and swayed to the music, clearly enjoying the show and choice of song, Branch’s blue eyes were dead set on Poppy. Scrutinising her expression, her every move. She looked so happy, so touched. Almost as if this were the first time anyone ever broke into song just to let her know how utterly wonderful she was.

That wouldn’t do. If someone as enchanting as Poppy had never had anyone serenade her, what chances did the rest of us, mere mortals, have? He laced his voice with newfound intensity, a burning desire to make that pink angel feel as special as she was.

“My heart is tellin' me

That you could be, my meant to be

I know it, more each time we touch...

'Cause...

Somethin' happens when you look at me, I forget to speak

Something happens when you kiss my mouth, my knees get so weak

Could it be true, this is what God has meant for me

'Cause, baby I can't believe

That something, like you

Could happen to me”

Feeling the song coming to a close, Poppy followed her instincts, allowing her feet to guide her through the crowd of enthused viewers and closer to the wonderful troll turning what was supposed to be a simple meeting into one of the most spectacular nights of her life.

Coming up to the stage, she leaned against it, her head resting on her crossed forearms as she stared up at Branch adoringly. Surely, this wasn’t creepy or too obvious, was it? He was bound to have had countless fans do the same thing before, right?

For his part, upon noticing Poppy’s figure expertly and politely avoiding crashing into his small audience until she finally reached him, Branch crouched down next to her so their faces could be close enough for her to see the devotion shining behind his eyes. Surely, this was okay, right? There was nothing wrong with showing this beautiful, sweet, incredible troll that he cared, now was it? As long as Poppy had fun tonight, not even John Dory could reprimand him for anything.

“Something magical (something magical)

Something spiritual (something spiritual)

Something stronger than the two of us alone

...Yeah

Something physical

...Something undeniable (undeniable)

Nothing, like anything (anything)

That, I've ever known...

'Cause...

Something happens

When you look at me, I forget to speak

Something happens

When you kiss my mouth, my knees get so weak

Could it be true, this is what God has meant for me”

As the blue-haired troll allowed himself to get lost in Poppy’s stunning pink eyes, her captivating smile drawing him closer and shining so bright it could eclipse the sun, all Branch could think of was one thing:

He sincerely hoped Bruce had a wonderful marriage to Brandy and they had many kids. Like, a lot. Maybe something like twelve boys and one daughter.

It was the least they deserved for giving him the chance to meet the reason his heart beat at all.

“'Cause, baby I can't believe ...No

(That something, like you) Something, like you

(Something, like you)

That something, like you...

...Could happen to me

Can't believe, that you happened to me.”

.......................

After the spell the both of them seemed to be under was broken by the other patrons' raucous cheering and rounds of applause, Poppy and Branch went back to enjoy their dinner. They exchanged stories and playfully teased each other, with Poppy practically eating up each and every piece of gossip Branch could tell her about his brothers without really breaking their trust. In turn, Poppy, who seemed to be quite the adventurer, shared her own anecdotes of her time away from Pop Village. That one time she unknowingly ate a ballberry and blew up like a balloon was equal parts hilarious and disconcerting.

Oddly enough, she kept bringing up the idea of Brozone singing at all kinds of holidays, which if you knew Pop Village, were a lot. But understanding she was just a fan eager to see some more of her favourite boy band, Branch shrugged it off. If he were being honest with himself, knowing his siblings, especially their leader, they’d probably be down for it.

As the night drew to a close, Branch found himself escorting Poppy back to her pod, both out of gentlemanly obligation and uncontrollable desire to prolong the night as much as possible. Glancing around, he surmised the reason John Dory was so adamant the night was perfect was indeed because she had to have money; she certainly lived in one of the nicest parts of the village.

When they finally reached the door to her pod, it was clear neither wanted the night to end.

“I had a wonderful time, Branch. Thank you so much.” Poppy told him honestly, her appreciation reflected in her eyes and the grin playing on her lips.

“Trust me, Poppy. The pleasure was all mine.” He smiled back at her.

“And, um, please, do think about what we’ve talked about tonight, okay?” She pleaded, brushing her fringe away from her face shyly.

His smile morphing into a playful smirk, Branch pretended to think, tapping a finger against his chin. “What we’ve talked about tonight?” He asked no one in particular. Seeing Poppy’s suddenly distressed expression, he chuckled, letting go of the ruse. “Of course I remember, Poppy. Don’t worry, I’ll talk to my brothers about singing at some celebrations.”

The pink beauty let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank Troll! For a moment there I genuinely thought you’d forgotten! I’m…I’m really looking forward to seeing you all perform soon.”

Then, mustering her characteristic boldness, she closed the space between the two of them and planted a soft, sweet kiss on her beloved idol’s cheek. Her ears perking up when she heard him let out an almost inaudible gasp.

As Branch stood there, completely frozen, a hand tentatively reaching out to touch the spot where Poppy had just kissed him—it felt like it was on fire under his touch—, Poppy thanked him one last time for everything and went inside her pod, bidding him good night.

It took more time than Branch cared to admit for his brain to catch up with reality and for him to gain enough presence of mind to stop standing on Poppy’s door like a stalker and begin the trek back home. But Branch couldn’t care less. He was on cloud nine!

Who would’ve thought he’d find the love of his life in one of Brozone’s contests? Just waiting for him to notice her?

He was in such a good mood, upon descending into their bunker’s living room, one of the communal rooms it possessed, his brothers immediately perked up, taking notice of their baby brother’s unusual behaviour.

“I take it everything went well?” Floyd, ever the observant one, asked Branch as he flopped down next to him on the sofa. The magenta-haired brother had to admit it was a little weird seeing his younger brother look so happy, his smile hadn’t been so wide since he reached puberty, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

If anyone deserved to be smiling like a fool for once, it was Branch.

“It was wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.” Branch replied, his voice steeped in utter bliss.

“Oooooh, I know that look!” Spruce exclaimed, a knowing smirk planting itself on his features. With a few purposeful strides, he strutted over to the sofa, leaning against the armrest and peering down at his little brothers, but especially at Branch. “Somebody’s got a crush!”

That immediately got Branch on the defensive. “What?! No! I-I-I I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

If his stammering sounded suspicious to his ears, no doubt it sounded off to his brothers, too. Still, refusing to admit defeat, the blue-haired sibling crossed his eyes and resolutely avoided eye contact with Spruce, not unlike when he was a child pouting at something his brothers said.

“How cute! He’s blushing lavender!” Clay pointed out, looking up from his novel.

“Shouldn’t you be reading?” Branch snapped. To his chagrin, his blush only deepened.

To be honest, the middle child was behind on his Sad Book Club book of the month, but his catching up could wait. Teasing Branch was always such a delight, and the idea of his baby brother finally getting himself a girlfriend was too good to pass up on.

Unfortunately, just as he was about to quip back, their eldest brother’s voice interrupted their bickering.

“Oh, Branch. You’re back.” John Dory half-heartedly greeted him, looking up from the stack of documents in his hands for a second as he entered the room. Pulling a pen out of his hair, he worked diligently on the papers in his hands for a short while before returning his focus on his little brother. “Hey, listen man, thank you so much for filling in for me tonight. I swear, I would’ve gone myself, but these last few days work just kept piling up and if I didn’t finish making the last adjustments to Baby, You Drive Me Wild But I Think Our Relationship Is Fuelled Only by Excitement and Won’t Last tonight, it just wouldn’t be ready on time to be included in our next album!”

Branch was about to wave it off when something he said caught him off-guard.

“Wait, I was filling in for you?”

“Yeah, that’s right. Why? Is there a problem?”

“No, not really. I just thought I was filling in for Spruce, now that he’s off the market and all that…”

“And you are.” John Dory confirmed. At the same time as Spruce said, “And I couldn’t be more thankful for that.”

“But that’s only when we hold a contest among our fans and the prize is a date with one of us.” Their turquoise-haired leader continued, his eyes squinting in confusion at their baby brother.

“But you just said I was filling in for you tonight.” Branch insisted, his own confusion apparent.

“And you were!” John Dory threw his hands to his sides, not following. Seriously, they were going ‘round in circles.

As usual, it was Floyd who came to their rescue. Turning to Branch, he asked cautiously. “Branch, what did you think you were doing tonight?”

Branch was a little taken aback by the way Floyd phrased his question. It was almost like he knew something he didn’t. “Going on a date with the winner of our latest contest…” He said uneasily, suddenly hyper-aware of the astonished looks on his siblings’ faces.

“What?!” John Dory finally exploded. Taking a deep breath to force himself to calm down, he pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “Branch, for the love of everything trolly, please, tell me you didn’t treat Poppy like any other of our fans.”

Branch could confidently say he had not treated Poppy just like any other fan. “I…really didn’t.” Then, thinking back to her insistence that he tell his brothers her idea, he perked up. “Oh, she also had the greatest idea! She thinks we should totally perform during the village’s celebrations. And, you’d like to hear, JD,” he turned to his brother with a smirk, “she thinks we could be the main event at the Electric Foam Parade.”

And just like that, all the tension left their leader’s body. “Oh, thank frosting! I knew talking to Poppy about this was a good idea!”

“Dude, what are you talking about?” Spruce sent him a pointed look. “It was her who came looking for you, not the other way around. And you almost dismissed her as just another fan asking for an autograph!”

“And, you forget it was per my suggestion she came looking for you at all.” Clay pointed out, matter-of-factly. “It’s all thanks to me we even have this opportunity.”

As their three older siblings bickered amongst themselves, it was Floyd who noticed the utter confusion on his baby brother’s face. Staring intently at his face, and taking special note of the way his eyes lit up at the mention of the pink troll, his eyes widened when he connected the dots.

“Branch, is the girl you’ve fallen in love with Poppy?” He gasped.

The moment Floyd’s question registered in their ears, all three oldest brothers halted their childish argument, turning to stare owlishly in astonishment at their baby brother. Silently asking for confirmation.

His face turning a furious shade of lavender was all the answer they needed.

And their cue to lose their collective minds.

“Look at my baby bro! All grown up!” Spruce said proudly, wiping a fake tear off the corner of his eye. “And he has such great taste, too! A chip off the old block…”

“If you were his father!” Clay corrected.

“Hey, I basically raised you three! I can say whatever I want!”

Meanwhile, John Dory kept muttering to himself. “This was supposed to be just a meeting…How did this happen? I mean, Poppy is obviously a keeper but I just can’t seem to wrap my head around it…”

“All I know”, Clay began, his voice carrying over the room and over his brothers’, “is that Viva’s going to be ecstatic to hear my little brother and his little sister might end up together.”

At that, Floyd left his spot on the couch to put a sympathetic hand on the yellow-haired troll’s shoulder. Knowing Viva and her boundless energy, Clay was in for a long couple of weeks, at the very least.

“Wait, Viva?” Branch interrupted his siblings’ ramblings. “What does Viva and her sister have to do with anything?”

All four trolls exchanged a glance. “Um, Viva’s sister is Poppy?”

Branch made a psh! sound, incredulous. “That can’t be right. It can’t be my Poppy.” Ignoring the way his brothers cooed and teased him about referring to Poppy as his, he went on. “It’s gotta be some other troll.”

“I can very much assure you it’s not.” Clay insisted. “It’s the same Poppy.”

“C’mon, it’s gotta be a coincidence. Many trolls are named Poppy!”

“Do you know any?” This time, it was Floyd who spoke, gently encouraging him to realise what was truly going on.

“But that’s impossible! Because if Poppy is Viva’s sister that means…that means…” He trailed off, his voice tapering off and his eyes widening as he finally connected the dots.

Everything made so much sense now.

Everyone’s shocked yet polite reactions at seeing them together wasn’t because of him, it was all her! The way she kept bringing up matters that only the Royal family had any power over, like deciding the groups that would perform at Pop Village’s most prestigious celebrations. John Dory was right; it was never meant to be a date, it was an important meeting! …which also explained his insistence on everything going perfectly tonight; there was way too much on the line.

Not to mention, the way Poppy carried herself with an air of grace and elegance, yet had this aura that let you know she was perfectly approachable. No, scratch that. She was like a beacon of light, guiding and warming up your soul with a mere smile. Drawing you in like a moth to a flame.

Floyd exchanged worried glances with his brothers when Branch froze up like a Swag Stag in headlights. Their concern only skyrocketed when their baby brother hugged his knees to his chest and buried his face in them.

Just as he was about to ask if he was okay, Branch threw his head back, his hands rubbing down his face. “I can’t believe I'm in love with the Pop Princess, of all people. Talk about a frosting cliché.”

“Hey, language.” John Dory admonished lightly.

“If it’s any consolation, I mean it when I say you’ve got good taste.” Spruce tried to lighten up the mood. “I met her with JD, and she’s an absolute sweetheart.”

“Oh, a total keeper.” The eldest agreed.

Just then, an impish smile made its way to the sensitive brother’s face. “You know, I haven’t really interacted with Poppy all that much,” Floyd admitted, “but I remember her face when JD told her she would have to meet up with you.”

Despite himself, Branch’s ear perked up at that, listening with interest.

Floyd smiled to himself. “She was ecstatic! Seriously, like a trolling on their quarter-half-birthday! So I wouldn’t be too surprised if it turned out the Pop Princess is also in love with you.”

As always, Floyd knew just what to say to make him feel better. His mind going back to the look of utter adoration on her face as he sang to her, Branch dared to believe, even if just for a moment, that Poppy could ever come to love him, too, and her admiration wasn’t based solely on her love for Brozone.

Maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t made himself a complete fool in front of their princess.

“You know, she’s actually the Queen, now.” Clay reminded them. “Her coronation happened a few weeks ago, but we couldn’t make it due to incompatible schedules.”

Branch could feel his eye twitch.

“I boasted in front of the freaking Queen?!”

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sotwk · 1 year

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Dandelions (Boromir x she/her one-shot)

Moodboard gifted by the lovely @entishramblings

Summary: Boromir brings flowers to his lady love.

Word count: 2k

Content: G-rated Romantic fluff, pining, unnamed love interest, shy, love-sick Captain of Gondor, little brother supporting big brother

Warnings: None

To read on Ao3: Link

Dedication: For the 57% + 10% who answered this poll by @bored-artist and said they would love getting flowers:

Inspiration: This goes out especially to my friend @scyllas-revenge, whose anecdote about her childhood admirer immediately inspired me to write this. The flowers don't matter as much as the giver, and here is the flower-giving experience I think you should have.

Divider credit: @firefly-graphics

Dandelions

Third Age 3015

Minas Tirith, Gondor

“Bring her some flowers.”

Faramir’s advice seemed helpful and practical enough at the time he offered it. But it was also something he just muttered hastily to Boromir as he helped the Steward's elder son slip away from the Citadel before dawn could rouse the other residents of the White Tower. Lord Denethor was expected to remain preoccupied that entire day, conducting councils and tours for the visiting delegation from Dol Amroth. But Faramir had also assured his brother that he would cover for him should anyone come inquiring about the Captain's whereabouts.

Cloaked and hooded and bearing neither armor nor arms save for one dagger at his hip, Boromir rode his horse through the dark, winding streets of Minas Tirth and descended to the city’s bottom level. Flowers, flowers. The word tumbled around in his thoughts, but his mind could not fully conceive a plan to procure this particular item. Boromir had never visited a flower vendor in his life, although he knew stalls existed in the city markets. He could not even recall ever plucking wild-growing ones off the ground.

Or was it from trees? Shrubs? Where did beautiful flowers grow, and how could he hope to secretly obtain them if he did not know the answer?

He pondered on the matter so deeply that he barely noticed he had already reached the Great Gate, where he must face the night watch on duty before he could flee towards his day of freedom.

Dark eyes underneath a silver helm squinted up at Boromir’s face, showing recognition but registering no surprise. After a brief pause, nothing more than a cough left the sentry's lips. No names uttered, no interrogation, not even an order to lower his hood. The lead guard gave a signal to his fellow watchmen to open the great door and then stepped back, waving the Captain through the City Wall.

Concerns over being stopped had never even crossed Boromir’s mind; not once in their shared lifetime had Faramir ever failed to deliver on a promise.

And so out of the White City Boromir rode, driving his horse off the Gateway and galloping into the grassy fields of Pelennor. He headed north-east, traversing farmlands and cutting fresh trails through rough terrain just to forge the shortest possible route to his destination.

To her.

His heart thundered in competition with the pace of his horse’s hooves. Just conjuring her face in his mind, imagining how it would feel to stand within reaching distance of her, close enough to receive her smiles and be caressed by her sweet scent…

He shifted his weight forward and increased the pressure of his legs on his horse’s sides. The mare responded by surging forward with full vigor, as though charging into one of their many battles together, and Boromir made a silent promise to reward his faithful steed accordingly upon their arrival.

Bring her flowers. Faramir’s parting advice hounded him throughout the ride, refusing to be dismissed as an optional gesture. His brother meant well, but the suggestion did little to bolster and plenty to shake Boromir’s confidence. The Captain-General of Minas Tirith, Heir to the Stewardship of Gondor, commanded plenty of admirable skills, but wooing ladies had never been one of them. At least not in ways considered customary, if his ignorance on gifting protocols was of any indication. Courting traditions were something he never considered worth taking the time to learn, since there were no women who motivated him enough to care about such frivolities.

And then he met her, in whom he found every motivation to start caring. Every reason to even continue being. Boromir had come face to face with a battle he could not rely on his sword or strength to conquer. This confused and frustrated him in ways that should have made him angry. Instead, he could not think of another time in his life when he had ever been happier.

She was worth feeling like an idiot for.

Halfway through his journey, he stopped by a small stream to give his hardworking horse some water and a brief rest. As he paced up and down the loamy bank, ruminating upon reunion scenarios and conversation topics in his head, Boromir's gaze drifted across the running waters. It idly scanned the open fields that stretched out all the way to the nearest farmhouse, located at least a mile off. Suddenly, his anxiety-ridden brain registered the sight of bright yellow dots scattered about the freshly sprung carpet of pale wild grass, bobbing merrily upon their long stalks with the passing breezes.

Flowers! Boromir rushed forward eagerly, drawing his dagger to immediately start cutting up bunches and bunches of the yellow blooms, until he had enough to fill the clutch of his left hand. He produced a passably clean cloth from his saddle pack and used it to tie together the bundle of wildflowers, finally feeling relieved and mayhaps even a little proud of his victory.

The rest of his journey passed with greater ease in the knowledge he would not be arriving empty-handed. The sun had completed its ascent into the cloudless azure sky as he approached the small farming village known simply as Northmere. Once a place of such meager consequence that the Captain of Gondor did not even know of its existence, it had become the most precious location outside of the White City to him before he even had a chance to set foot in it.

A straw-roofed cottage with a fenced-in front garden and a blue-painted door. She had told him exactly how to find her house, and there were not many around to choose from. Walking alongside his horse, Boromir crossed what seemed to be the market square, just a handful of shops to provide the locals with basic essentials.

One store keeper, a burly older man with flour-dusted arms and apron, came out to his doorway to watch the stranger pass through. He caught Boromir's gaze over the distance and simply nodded his head, perhaps even cracking a smile behind his bushy gray beard. Boromir suspected some other curious eyes tracked him from surrounding windows, but no further interactions were attempted.

He found the blue painted door towards the end of a long, worn dirt road that bisected the cluster of houses comprising most of the village. Like reaching mythical treasure at the end of a quest, it filled him with triumphant excitement to approach it.

And nervousness. Valar, his hands never trembled this much clutching his sword as he faced down death on the battlefield. But there he stood at the pathwalk of the cheery cottage, unarmoured and weaponless, preparing to stand in the presence of his greatest weakness, the one who made him feel more vulnerable than any deadly foe from Mordor ever could.

He felt a sudden, firm shove on his back that made him stumble slightly. He chuckled and reached over to pat his horse's neck; he had stood there frozen for so long that his friend felt the need to check on him. "Yes, yes, yes…" he muttered, half to himself. "I am going!"

"Boromir?"

His heart soared at the voice that spoke his name, a sound fairer than any birdsong, and he turned sharply in its direction, pulsing with anticipation from head to toe.

The image of her face had scarcely left his thoughts since they parted exactly one week past. But his memory was a lying, grasping fool that had done no justice to the vision that now stood before him. She stepped out of her little front garden and walked the short path to him, her ear-to-ear smile and sparkling eyes flooding Boromir with mutual joy, even though she could not possibly be as happy to see him as he was to finally gaze upon her.

She had been tending her garden while waiting for his arrival; he noticed the potting soil that lingered on her slender hands and the smudges on the white apron over her skirt. Her cheeks bore the rosy flush of physical labor, and the long waves of her unpinned hair blew freely around her shoulders. She was so effortless in her natural grace, so wonderfully different from the prim and powdered ladies of Minas Tirith that his father regularly forced (or forced themselves) into his company.

It still astonished Boromir how such beauty could have escaped his notice for so long, and he had praised Eru ever since for opening his eyes to Ioreth's young apprentice from the Houses of Healing. For all the times he had teased Faramir for burying his nose in books instead of looking at the world around him, it turned out he had been the one cursed with certain blindness all along.

“You came,” she said softly, stopping tantalizingly short of his arm's reach. She stared up at him with open affection that warmed the Captain to his deepest fibers. "I had hoped for it, but I did not think you would be able to get away."

“I told you I would come, and nothing would have stopped me," Boromir said quickly, and perhaps too fervently.

"I… I have missed…" Her voice failed her on the last word as shyness overpowered her excitement over his arrival. She ducked her head, hiding her blush behind her curtain of hair, as she twisted up the fabric of her apron between her jittery hands.

"I just could not wait to see you again," Boromir said hoarsely. "I could not have borne a second longer without you."

"O-Oh. Y-You honor me, my lord." And the blushing maiden answered his abrupt confession with a polite curtsy.

Her sweetness and modesty crushed Boromir with a sense of unworthiness to even stand in her presence. He felt torn between a strange compulsion to fall to his knees, and an utterly improper desire to seize her and just hold her close against him.

How did he get by a whole seven days away from her? And the more agonizing thought: how would he force himself to part from her again after this?

"Are… are those for…what are those for?"

Boromir stared blankly at the bundle of yellow flowers he clutched in his right hand, an overlong pause passing before he remembered their purpose. “These are for you,” he confirmed, reaching out with the offering. “I… I thought you would like them.”

In accepting the flowers, she stepped closer to decrease the distance that separated them, and her fingers grazed against his in the transfer. Boromir’s hand twitched as impulse rebelled against manners, and he very nearly made a greedy grab for her hand.

“They’re beautiful,” she said, gracing him with a gentle smile that was real beauty beyond comparison. By Eru, Boromir thought in sudden despair. What was he thinking coming to her with such a pathetic gift, so far below what she deserved?! For a maiden as gloriously fair as the sun itself, he should have brought the finest treasures from the most expensive shops in Minas Tirith, if not the very jewels from the coffers of the Steward.

She held the posy up to her nose, sweeping the golden petals across her freckled cheeks and berry-pink lips, and Boromir felt overcome with a feverish desire to trade places with the flowers at that moment.

“It is nothing…” he mumbled weakly.

She shook her head, her face at once firm and determined. “It is everything,” she corrected, raising her gaze to meet his with renewed courage. “You are everything.”

And with two more steps to eliminate the gap, she pressed herself against the warmth of his chest, tucking her head neatly underneath his chin, their bodies already a perfect fit for each other’s embrace. Boromir enveloped her in his arms, promising with all his strength that he would find some way to be worthy of this, of her, even if he had to scour all of Middle-earth for the right flower to profess just how deeply he had fallen in love with her.

Perhaps his wise little brother could help him again.

Tagged by request: @aduialel @fizzyxcustard @laneynoir @auttumnsayshi @achromaticerebus @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog @blueberryrock @scyllas-revenge @glassgulls @ladyweaslette @heilith @absentmindeduniverse @undeniableadrenaline

For more of my stories, please see My Masterlist.

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#boromir fanfiction #boromir #lotr fanfiction #boromir x reader

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madelgard · 9 days

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Time to recap the May the Fourth 2024 event entries, starting with the adult fics. The writing in these are adult in rating and topic, and out of respect for everyone's need to curate their own reading experience (and mindful that certain ratings and tags are not everyone's cup of tea), we wanted to spotlight these separately. The rest of the entries are located here in this post. Special thanks to @whenfireanddarknesscollide for the lovely calligraphy on this graphic.

Please be sure to leave a kudos and a comment if you liked the fics. And thanks for reading!

📝 Adult Fic Entries 📝

Let me help by @alex-dax

Thrawn/Pellaeon, 3k+ words, Mature

He starts to notice that Thrawn seems more tense close to Empire Day. He’s not at a point where he can be sure, not yet, but he begins to suspect this is more than a dislike of the political games. There is something underneath the glacial calm of that alien face. He’s also absolutely not a point where he could even begin to consider discussing it with the Grand Admiral. And so, they spend another Empire Day with drinks in Thrawn’s command room. Pellaeon can even convince himself Thrawn’s shoulders seem less tense at the end of the night. Almost.

Bridleway by @madelgard

Motti/Jerjerrod, 6k+ words, Explicit

On any other occasion, Tiaan would have hidden himself away in his office at Corellian Engineering Corporation—and by now, his commanding officers were quite accustomed to the sight of Captain Jerjerrod hunched over his drafting table from dawn to dusk. They would have let him be. But Empire Day held a unique appeal. The fleet was in, along with one officer in particular. “There,” Conan murmured, right up against his ear. His hand pointed skywards, to the Strike-class cruiser in low orbit. The hangars were overfull, and Imperial vessels had been given special dispensation to clutter the skies. Hundreds of ships were visible; a durasteel flex of towering Imperial might. “That’s my Ion Storm. If you ask sweetly, I might be persuaded to take you on a little tour.”

#tiaan jerjerrod #conan antonio motti #gilad pellaeon #thrawn #thrawn x pellaeon #motti x jerjerrod #maythefourth2024

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corneliaavenue · 5 months

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2024 reads

If We Were Villians by M L Rio (1/2) 4.25/5

Throne of Glass by Sarah J Maas (1/4) 4.25/5

Love, Theoretically by Ali Hazelwood (1/4) 5/5

Crown of Midnight by Sarah J Maas (1/7) 4.75/5

Educated by Tara Westover (1/8) 5/5

Kingdom of the Wicked by Kerri Maniscalco (1/14) 2.75/5

The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath (1/14) 4/5

Heir of Fire by SJM (1/18) 4.5/5

What My Bones Know by Stephanie Foo (1/19) 3.75/5

The Assassin's Blade by SJM (1/22) 3/5

Queen of Shadows by SJM (1/26) 4.75/5

My Year of Rest and Relaxation by Ottessa Moshfegh (2/6) 2/5

Empire of Stroms by SJM (2/10) 4.5/5

Tower of Dawn by SJM (2/10) 3.75/5

Babel by R. F. Kuang (2/23) 4.5/5

Kingdom of Ash by SJM (2/25) 5/5

Divine Rivals by Rebecca Ross (2/28) 4/5

The Seven Year Slip by Ashley Poston (3/3) 5/5

Fangirl Down by Tessa Bailey (3/3) 3.75/5

When Breath Becomes Air by Paul Kalanithi (3/4) 4.5/5

My Fault by Mercedes Ron (3/6) 1/5

The Woman in Me by Britney Spears (3/19) 4.5/5

The Briar Book of the Dead by A.G. Slatter (3/21) 3/5

Check & Mate by Ali Hazelwood (3/23) 2.75/5

The Break Up Tour by Emily Wibberly (3/25) 2.75/5

You, Again? by Kate Goldbeck (3/29) 4/5

Ruthless Vows by Rebecca Ross (4/5) 4/5

Bride by Ali Hazelwood (4/9) 4/5

Butcher & Blackboard by Brynn Weaver (4/17) 2/5

The Poppy War by R.F Kuang (4/19) 5/5

The Soulmate Equation by Christen Lauren (4/23) 3.75/5

Funny Story by Emily Henry (4/25) 4/5

Throne of the Fallen by Kerri Maniscalo (5/1) 4.25/5

Boyfriend Material by Alexis Hall (5/5) 1/5

#hannah reads

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kharia-adarkim · 2 months

Text

decided to write some brief graha/venka fluff

The viera woman sighed, crumpling up another sheet of paper and tossing it at an overfull wastebin. The Alliance's soldiers needed a rousing speech to bolster morale, and the Elder Seedseer herself had vouched for Venka's speechcraft and motivational capabilities, but despite her efforts, the words wouldn't come to her. Her thoughts kept drifting to her fellow scions trapped in their unnatural slumber in the Rising Stones. Thancred's collapse had already sent ripples of unease through the troops, and while Y'shtola and Urianger's condition was still known only to a privileged few, it would only be a matter of time before the truth got out.

"A walk," Venka murmured, "to clear my head." She set her quill back in its inkpot and donned a comfortable jacket. For all it's blazing daytime heat, Ala Migho's frigid nights made her miss her mothers' cozy cabin in the Twelveswood. She'd scarcely walked a block before a faint whisper caught her attention. "Who goes there?" she called out, silently cursing at herself for leaving her bow at the inn. The whispering grew louder, and horror dawned upon Venka.

"Let expanse contract, eon become instant..."

"No, no..." Venka muttered. Who would be next? One of the twins? Tataru? Krile? Suddenly, her knees became week, and Venka's vision began to blur.

"Throw wide the gates..." the voice called out, and Venka's vision went black as she collapsed onto the cobblestones.

The smell of brewing tea roused Venka from her slumber, and she quickly jolted awake. She was shocked, however, to find whe was not in Ala Migho, nor the Rising Stones, but a wholly unfamiliar room. Furthermore, she was clothed not in her pajamas and jacket, but a simple linen smock. On the other side of the room, an elezen man stood over a set of teacups. When he noticed Venka was awale, he smiled warmly.

"It seems the Exarch was right after all," he said as he brought a cup over to the confused viera. "'Brew some bergamot tea, the smell will surely wake her up' he told me. How are you feeling?" Venka glanced between the man and the teacup before cautiously accepting it and taking a sip.

"Where are we?" she asked at last, "And who are you?"

"Name's Seigmar, miss," the man replied, "and you're in the Crystarium." Venka nodded politely, taking another sip of tea to hide her confusion. She'd never heard of a Crystarium, and Siegmar didn't resemble any elezen name she'd ever heard.

"And this Exarch," she continued, "who is that?"

"Why, he's our leader, and the founder of our fair city. I'll have Captain Lyna introduce you to him once you've got a clean bill of health. Let me get you some bread." Venka continued to sip her tea as she tried to make sense of the information. It had to have been several hours at the least, owing to the bright light that filtered through the window. But where was this Crystarium located? The air wasn't half dry enough to be Ala Mhigo, nor cold enough for Coerthas, and the architecture was unlike any she'd seen before.

A few hours and a short medical examination later, a knock on the door drew Venka's attention. "This is Captain Lyna," a voice from the other side announced, "are you ready to see the Exarch?" Venka opened the door and was shocked to see another viera standing before her, donned in polished plate. "What's the matter? Still not feeling well?"

"No. I mean, yes, er-" Venka stammered, "It's just, you're..."

"Oh come on, surely you didn't think you were the only viis to have left the greatwood?" the woman answered. "Come, the Exarch wants to see you. And when you're done, I can give you a tour." She turned and began to walk down the hall, and Venka followed the viera - viis? - out of the building. They'd taken but a few steps out the front door before Venka stopped in stunned silence as the Crystal Tower loomed high in front of her. "Impressive, isn't it?" Lyna called back. "Now come on! The Exarch might be too patient for his own good, but you still shouldn't keep him waiting." Venka shook out her confusion and followed her guide up the grandiose steps, into the tower itself. After strolling down a few unsettlingly familiar corridors, they arrived at a sturdy oak door. Lyna banged on it a few times with her fist and call out, "Exarch! Your guest has arrived!"

"She may enter," a voice replied from within, "Thank you Captain." Venka's brow furrowed. Though muffled, the voice, too, was familiar to her. Her musing was interrupted by the loud clunk and creak of the door opening. Lyna gestured for her to enter, and as she did, closed the door behind her. Venka looked around at the myriad of books and strange arcane devices literring the room, until her gaze came to rest on a robed figure with a crystalline hand gripping a staff. "Though I am likely not the first to say it, let me bid you welcome to the Crystarium. I am-"

"G'raha?" Venka whispered. Were her ears decieving her? He sounded more tired than when they'd last spoken, but his voice was unmistakable even after all this time. The Exarch coughed and cleared his throat.

"I- no, no, I- I am the Crystal Exarch," he stuttered, "I'm not sure who-" he began, and was again interrupted as Venka lept across the room, tackling him to the ground in an embrace. The Exarch tried to regain his composure, then noticed the tears rolling down Venka's cheek, and her small, stifled sniffles. After a moment's hesistation, he sighed, and laid a gentle hand upon her back. "Yes," he said softly, "it's me."

#venka chira #our writing #<- first attempt even 🫣

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thewatercolours · 1 day

Text

King’s Quest Ficlet: “The Best Watch”

The guard shifts all had sly nicknames that had been around longer than anyone remembered. The Cheery Watch, the Mosquito Feast Watch, the Buffoon’s Watch. Tonight, Graham had been assigned the Best Watch, two to eight in the morning. He stumbled blearily up the winding stair to the lookout tower, already wishing he had used the extra five minutes he’d spent in bed to don more layers. He ought to be rested. He had taken to his bed almost right away after dinner. But he had woken up a dozen times in the meanwhile, and as his shift approached his throat had gone ticklish in the worst way. Those five minutes had seemed so worth it until he stepped into the cold.

No one would have guessed it was late spring. The rain he squinted into had all the bite of winter. It drove against his face, his bare hands, and weaseled its way beneath his leathers to soak his clothing. More than once he checked the folds of his cowl to see if the drops had turned to hail. He had already had enough of it before he finished the spiral to the top of the stairs, muscles aching. Zards, he must be going soft. He had taken the steps slowly, and still he got winded.

He saluted with half-shut shut eyes as he stepped onto the turret. He exchanged placed with the faceless guard, and stepped into the so-called shelter. The rain’s angle made the little roof useless.

He wasn’t supposed to slump against the wall. Anyone on guard duty was to remain as upright as if they were being inspected. But if he was only just starting his watch and he was already giving out? And his throat was making it clearer by the moment that it wasn’t just dry.

Well, he just wouldn’t give out. One night. Not even a whole night. That wasn’t too much to ask. He was a new knight. He’d be judged harshly for calling in now, after only a few days. Besides, he’d set himself a bad habit if he wimped out. Just a few hours, a sunrise, and a lovely morning to look forward too. How quickly six hours went when he was enjoying himself! If only he got into a frame of mind, they’d go just as quickly.

Was his nose getting snuffly? That wasn’t supposed to come right at the beginning!

He planted his feet and gritted his teeth, staring at the tower across the way. He could do this.

Around the witching hour, he lost his stamina, leaned his back against the wall, and thought what wuss he was.

Around dawn, he lost his feet, slid down the wall, and didn’t think of anything.

At some point, he came to himself for a few moments. His body was one, great, sopping shiver, and his cheek had gone numb in a puddle. “Pull yourself together,” he thought fiercely. He raised his head dizzily, let it sink, and passed out again.

—

He half-woke to soft light, and a hand brushing his forehead soothing, over and over. “Sh, sh,” said Mistress Hobblepot, somewhere beyond the candle flame.”It’s just a bad dream.”

He didn’t remember any bad dream, but it felt comforting to be told so nonetheless.

“You can wake up if you want to,” she crooned, “if you can hear me.”

He could, he could. And though he felt certain he wasn’t in a coma and could sit up if he wanted to, he just couldn’t muster the will. His throat was tight, and his neck felt like he’d slept on it wrong every night of his life. One ear popped.

The window to slip back into sleep was still open. He shut his eyes again. “I don’t want to,” he breathed, so softly he was certain she wouldn’t hear.

But of course she did.

She took her hand away. “Oho,” she muttered, and he couldn’t tell if she were pleased or not. “Someone’s come home at last. Boy, you scared the gravy out of half a dozen people last night. Open your mouth up.”

“After,” he mumbled.

“You want there to be an after?” She said with a fond sort of sharpness. “You open your yap.”

She checked him over, grilled him, and rearranged him, all the while taking him on a tour of all the different ways the tongue can click. “Here you are, a healthy young boy, and you’re just going to throw it away for - oh, a medal? Or whatever they give you for standing out there.”

“My pay?” He managed a droll eyebrow lift, which was a bit ruined by the barking coughing fit that followed.

“Don’t get cheeky.”

“Where are we? Your house?”

“Your room. Which I have to say, isn’t the best place for healing up either.” She sniffed, and ran a finger along the wall behind his head. “Pretty darn sure there’s mould growin’ in these cracks. I swear, if we weren’t in a tower, I’d move you down to the shop in a wheelbarrow myself. Get you set up in a proper bed. But we’ll just have to make this work.” She squeezed a dollop of something from a skin bag, and rubbed it between her palms. “You’re not terribly sick, but you’re not exactly going to win ‘prize pig, first place’ either. Hold still.” She rubbed whatever it was over his throat carefully. It smelt unnaturally sweet. “So you’re going to stick to this bed as long as you can, and you -”

Graham gasped as the full impact of the situation hit. “I have to talk to Guard Number One,” he cried, and his tonsils throbbed horribly. “He’ll be -”

“He already knows. Just you settle back.”

“But -”

“Oh, hush up,” she said. But it was the most soothing “hush up” he’d ever heard. “You’ve already slept all day, No trouble’s going to be put off by going now. I’m going to hit you with some rare and miraculous cures (soon as Chester’s done mixing them up,) and you’re going to make me feel I haven’t wasted them all by giving them the sleep they need to work. Got that?”

“Got that.”

(And, er, I think I got that too, because I have to get that sleep she’s talking about too if I want to get better. So, we’re gonna post, because this was never intended as a very good ficlet. It doesn’t do anything unique. It’s just me taking out my whininess on a poor fictional character.)

Thanks for the prompt, @captmickey!

#This one was written with a foggy brain #so #yeah #I might some back and work on it more another time - or I might hide it - but it's a kind of relief to post it.#king's quest #king graham

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rosesandalfazemas · 1 year

Text

This is the intro of my longest fic this year and I'm publishing for this amazing week~. The cover is a drawing I prepared before but the story sees the light now~. Hope you like it and Happy EngPort Week!

Spanish version here.

Thanks to the amazing @imdedlikeu for helping me with the translation~

Day 1 (May 8th) ~ Surprise/Gift @engportevents

1 . O presente

At some point in human history, that had seemed an excellent idea; especially considering he had never been able to really see himself as he was, except at the beginning of time, through blurry reflections of lagoons and rivers.

Now, he wasn’t so sure nor happy with the image the mirror reflected.

“Querido, are you okay?”

The voice on the other side of the door, along with the gentle tapping of knuckles against wood, snapped him back to reality. The last couple of nights he was restless; a sensation he hadn’t felt for centuries, when wars awaited him at dawn, or when he’d embark on conquests at sea. The knots in his belly felt just the same.

“Yes, darling. I’ll be out.”

England rolled down the cuffed sleeves of his shirt, slipped into his coat and buttoned it up. He smoothed his hair, and walked out only to face a confused Portugal, who watched him expectantly.

“It’s been half an hour since you stepped into the bathroom, is everything okay?”

“Gabe, you know I like making myself desired“ he half-smiled, dispelling the worry from his own eyes - the other one could read him too easily.

“Are you playing at not telling me? Okay.” He asked with an arched eyebrow. Resigned, he stood with his hands at his waist. “We have some things to do.”

“Of course.” the blonde agreed automatically, he quickened his pace, moving forward.

Their masks slid on as they took a turn around the corridor, they walked side-by-side, a calmness that only kings seemed to own. Smiling with kindness and exquisite courtesy to those present; mortals of both nations working on the celebration of the Anglo-Portuguese alliance.

Many brave folks walked up to meet them and shake their hands; their first time they saw them under the Secret of the State; others were relieved they were there supervising everything, even if it seemed like a trivial tour.

“We’d like for you to see the preliminary inventory senhor Dos Anjos” a woman said speaking in Portuguese and holding a tablet, thin like a lectern.

“The celebration will the whole week with an event per day, Lord Kirkland.'' another man commented to the blonde, showing him on a cellphone with the chosen locations. He was unable to hide his excitement at being able to speak to his Fatherland.

It was a busy month, adding more work to what they usually had as nations. Eternal labor like themselves, navigating between mortal generations; meanwhile, those who show their support for what they were, at the same time, linked the countries together.

It was strange how the universe worked.

The british slowly began to drift from reality; on the one hand, while his consciousness was able to answer with his voice and mouth, registering what was being said to him, the shine in his eyes indicated he was looking at something else, within himself. Movement that the country at his side didn't miss.

“If you’ll excuse us, we must continue with our day,” the Portuguese said in perfect english. “Everything we’ve seen is perfect for us, so please continue as you have. Shall we, Arthur?”

“Of course, Gabriel,” his companion answered following his lead, “Later I will go over the details of the Tower of London. Proceed.”

“Yes, sir.” The small group answered, happy with the partial approval of Kirkland.

Taking it as a sign, the Lusitanian took the other’s arm and took him to one of the private offices he owned at the Portuguese Embassy, those where they met most frequently in London. The Anglo closed the door, leaning against it.

“Please, marido, tell me what’s going on. You’ve been lost all morning.”

Arthur walked quietly towards the other’s desk, sitting on the edge to better look at him.

“I apologize, I know I’ve been out of sorts.”

“Is there something wrong with one of your facets?” Portugal asks, wanting to make sure. “They seem to appear on days like these.”

“No, nothing like that. Everything is alright.” He answers calmly, making the other raise an eyebrow.

“Then?”

“Well… I was wondering, what sort of gift a husband gives on a six-hundred-and-fiftieth wedding anniversary?”

The Lusitaian’s eyes widened, and he laughed.

“All the zoning out and dramatic silence, because of this?” he walked towards him, calmer.

“It’s not just anything…” he defends himself with a childish pout, his cheeks puffed. Gabriel nods, getting closer and adjusting the blonde’s bangs.

“Of course it’s not, amor. But you behaved in a manner that made it much more serious.”

“It is serious. I don't know what to give you.” The brunette smiles more.

“We’ve celebrated many anniversaries at odds or upset with each other; sometimes even with an oceans distance between us.” He lovingly kissed his forehead “You know I’m happily content with your undivided attention and company alone. The privacy of intimacy is something that becomes more and more expensive in these times, especially between us.” He traces the other’s face with his finger, “A nice dinner, some wine, walking hand-in-hand alongside the beach and sailing at night…”

“Of course we’ll do that.” Arthur agreed, serious. “However-“

“It’s not enough.” The other finished. The blonde only nods. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged, looking at him, unblinkingly, his eyes shine intensely. “Every fiber in my body is telling me this year we should do something more.”

“Is it the side of you that is human, or a premonition of the Old Magic?”

“A little bit of both.” He smiled, both bashful and mockingly. “I couldn’t give you any kind of gift last year.”

“What we did as a delayed gift was compensation enough” the dark-haired man added in a lascivious smile, touching the other’s silk green tie. “Especially when yo-“

“Don’t challenge my modesty, my dear, or I'll be forced to embarrass you here at the Embassy.”

“You seem so sure of that, Kirkland.” The other whispered.

“You know I am good at winning bets; I made it very clear when I was a pirate adorning his gypsy with jewels an-”

“Don’t try to change the subject, Artie.” Gabriel insisted. “Do you have an idea why you feel this way?”

“There will be a Blue Moon on our anniversary.” He said slowly, blinking, to appear more human. “You know what that means for my brothers and me.”

“Yes, the opposite of the Red Moon.” He answered bitterly, trying not to think much of it. “Do you have to stay on the Isles?”

“Of course not! It’s the day I celebrate with you, you fool.” he said in an obvious tone, tapping the other’s chest, slightly offended.

“Oi, don’t behave like a criança.” He sighted, “Then?”

“There will be an immense amount of Ancient Magic flowing from the surface of the veil, like Samhain.” He answered, excitedly. “And I was hoping we could go to Windsor Castle, in the west tower, there’s still-“

“Wait, the old room still exists?” He pulled back a bit, surprised.

“I’ve always conserved the old room, it was the first nuptial bed we shared together, why would I take it off?”

Gabriel’s blush was so sudden and intense, it made his husband laugh. The other one kissed the tip of his nose in response.

“I thought the tower was destroyed in 1853, after the fire.” He smiled slightly incredulous. “That's so… romantic, Arthur.” England showed his thanks through a gesture of pride.

“It is one of my many secrets; and since they’re mostly related to you, I can usually reveal them on special days like these.” His expression softened, holding him comfortable by the waist. “I think the memories that were made in that room will make the trip easier.”

“What trip… ?”

“I don’t want that old bed for something so banal,” he began, raising a thick brow, “of course I would be happy to do it, but there is something much more interesting.”

He smiled more.

“Let’s celebrate that day in the Lightning Wasteland!” Portugal’s eyes widen in genuine surprise.

“Wait... in the Dreamworld? But what about the events for this week that the humans have prepared? Will we not be attending?”

England made a dismissive gesture, “We’ll go, yeah, we’ll just be late…or have you ever seen a King or an Empire arrive anywhere on time? It’s in our blue blood, my love. Like I said before, you need to be desired.”

“The world doesn't work like that anymore, Arthur…” he sighs resigned, then the blonde laughted.

“It’ll work as we want it to, Dos Anjos.” His expression was mischievous. “Our alliance, our marriage, is the longest in history, let it be the ones to say how things are done. Mandates are not forgotten.”

Portugal blinked, smiling with amusement; he was well acquainted with Arthur’s sly attitude, when the Englishman was planning something mischievous. However...

“Okay, let’s do it.”

After six hundred fifty centuries, the human world was running out of marital surprises.

But nothing stopped his husband.

~~~~

#aph portugal #aph england #engport #porteng #engportevent #engportweek #engportweekevent #hws england #hws portugal #axis powers ヘタリア #hetalia #fanfiction #hetalia axis powers #aph #hws

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adastra121 · 5 months

Text

Eridia Crawl (TOUCHSTARVED x Twisted Taverns)

I put this song in my Hound!MC Alon's playlist and imagined them giving a tour of Eridia. So, I edited "Tavern Crawl" from Twisted Taverns to fit Touchstarved.

Welcome, unwelcome, one and all. This place is so dreary, so heavily walled! Why tour ‘round a tower as tragic as tall? There is nothing to dazzle! No spark of enthrall.

Who let the Senobium become such a snore? Humanity’s last hope has so little in store. But what if I told you there’s more to explore In Eridia! Let me show you a place I adore.

Tired while travelling? Just stop by Elyon’s. Your own fancy room for all evening through dawn. The fun never stops, you may come as you please, And everything’s fine 'long as you pay his fees.

But we can't stay too long now, just as before And I could be wrong—Is that blood on the floor?! Looks like we aren’t welcome, you can't ride for cheap. Let's venture on forward to the wastelands deep!

The Seaspring’s an o-Ais-is for those in the fog, Quite easy to find, you just look for his dogs. ("Oi! That's not a dog!") Oh, and don't be surprised by what lurks in the tide. And really, don't fight it. Believe me, I've tried…

The fun’s not yet over, let’s head to the best! The first round’s on me! But you’ll pay for the rest… Where wetter is better, it won't let you bore. Next up is a place most unfit for a lord!

Follow my lead to the Bloodhounds’ abode, The Wet Wick’s for outcasts above and below This tavern’s my favourite, it's got its own band, And my friends are more than happy to lend you a hand!

Welcome, welcome, one and all. Come visit Eridia, come and have a ball! If you're starved for adventure, time to heed your heart's call. It's your game to play, fall in love with ’em all!

#touchstarved #touchstarved game #red spring studio #twisted taverns #dungeons and dragons #dnd #parody #Spotify #I tried to make the last line about the romance game and routes #lyrics rewrite #song rewrite

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kendsleyauthor · 1 year

Note

Prompt 13 for Xander and Grayson or Micah and Everly? 👀✨

Makeshift Medic

Print/trinket universe

~1900 words

Warning: Blood

Summary: When Xander stumbles in, drunk and bleeding, Grayson takes it upon himself to treat his wound properly. (Takes place sometime between Teddy Bear and Cozy Up.)

Thank you for the prompt!! This one made my heart sing 🥰

@marydublinauthor 🌸

If Xander didn’t make it back to his room on the bus by 4 AM, that typically meant he didn’t plan on sleeping that night. It was nearly dawn, and Grayson hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep.

It wasn’t that he was worried about what Xander was doing—he was a rockstar on tour, what could anyone expect? No, Grayson’s uneasiness came from having the room to himself. Intimidating as Xander’s presence could be, having him around was a safeguard.

A drunken roadie could stumble into the room to harass him. Or maybe a rabid fan looking for Micah.

Laying back on the pillow, Grayson kneaded his temples.

He was being paranoid. There was twenty-four-hour security keeping an eye on the troop of tour vehicles. But would anyone bother to intervene if it was a print who was in the danger?

The door burst open. A figure stumbled into the dark room.

Sleep-deprived and wired as he was, Grayson shouted in alarm and scrambled to the corner of his pillow. Then he froze up, his heavy breathing beginning to calm when he recognized Xander’s silhouette.

“Lights… on,” Xander mumbled. When nothing happened, he huffed. “Lights on,” he said louder.

Grayson flinched both from the sound of his voice and the light that flooded that room. He gaped when his vision cleared.

One, Xander was clearly hammered.

Two, his hand was bleeding.

“Are you okay?” Grayson jolted to hands and knees, leaning forward.

Xander barely looked at him. He muttered something incoherent and sank down on the floor beside the bed. For a second, Grayson thought he was passing out right there, until he heard Xander digging around through one of his bags.

When he stood again, he held a med pack—one that had clearly been swiped from the tour physician.

“Do, um… Do you get hurt often enough to keep that in reach?” Grayson asked.

Again, Xander didn’t answer. He sat on the edge of the bed and slumped over, clumsily opening the pack.

For all of his hyper-intense focus while sober, his inebriated self could only focus on one thing at a time—if even that. Or, he was just being an asshole and purposely ignoring Grayson’s concern.

“Don’t tell me you got mugged?” Grayson tried again.

Finally, Xander snapped his head around to see over his shoulder. He stared at Grayson like he was crazy. “You think I’d lose a fight?”

The intensity of his glare almost sent Grayson fleeing back to the corner of the bed. He raised his hands in peace. “Hey, for all I know, they’re laying a blood-soaked heap outside.”

Xander narrowed his eyes like he couldn’t be sure whether to take it as a compliment or not. He snorted and went back to rifling through the medical supplies. “I tripped, okay? Scraped myself on gravel or glass or something.”

“Two are two very different things. Maybe you should go to—”

“I’m not knocking on the doctor’s door like this. She’s already been on my case about drinking. Don’t wanna deal with that.”

The finality of his tone made Grayson shut up for a few moments. He watched as Xander haphazardly selected what he was going to use to fix himself. Unfortunately, that selection only amounted to a roll of bandages to wrap the wound.

“You can’t do that!” Grayson blurted before he could stop himself.

Once again, Xander looked over his shoulder. That glare, unfocused or not, towered over Grayson at a building’s height. Neither of them moved for several seconds, locked in a silent staring contest that Grayson finally forced himself to break.

“You… you can’t,” he insisted. “You can’t just cover it. You’ve got to disinfect it.”

“I can take care of myself.” The defensiveness in his tone bit hard.

Intimidation rolled through Grayson like a thunderstorm as Xander continued to study him, daring him to continue the argument. But the longer Grayson looked, the more he could see embarrassment lining his narrowed eyes and pout. It was far more than Xander gave away when sober.

“If that gets infected, there’s no way you’re playing for a while,” Grayson said, injecting some semblance of authority into his tone. “So, listen to me.”

Another beat of silence. Grayson’s confidence wavered. For all he knew, pushing Xander over the edge would result in a broken limb or two.

At last, Xander pursed his lips and shoved the box in Grayson’s direction. He stared down at the bedsheets with insecurity that Grayson didn’t think possible from him.

Grayson slowly slid off the pillow and inched toward the drunken giant. It could have been some power move trap—lure Grayson close and hurt him just for the fun of it. But Xander didn’t appear to have the wherewithal or spitefulness to pull that off.

Although every self-preservation instinct told him to keep his eyes on the massively potential threat, Grayson tore his eyes away to look through the box. He grabbed a bottle of salve by the cap and heaved it out. It was longer than Grayson’s arm, and he’d never had access to such high-end medical supplies. He’d only heard that it worked wonders.

Clutching the bottle to his chest, Grayson walked closer to the edge of the bed, right beside where Xander was sitting.

“Lay your hand out,” Grayson said, calmly as he could manage.

Xander obeyed after a heavy sigh. The gash was deep, but thankfully it didn’t look like he needed stitches. Blood continued to trickle out and pool in his palm, threatening to stain the bed.

Grayson uncapped the bottle. “You need to soak up the blood first.”

“Ugh.”

With some more cajoling, Xander did as he was told. He used some of the gauze to gracelessly mop up his palm. He even managed to use an alcohol whip on the cut without being a baby about it.

“Good,” Grayson said.

“Don’t talk to me like I’m five,” Xander muttered.

“Then don’t whine like you’re five.”

When Grayson peeked up to see if that would ignite some anger, he noticed the other side of Xander’s face has a smear of red across it. There didn’t appear to be another cut—maybe he had thoughtlessly brushed his hand over his cheek. Whatever the case, the sight of it didn’t do much to make Xander appear harmless at the moment.

Let’s get this over with.

Taking a dollop of the salve into his hand, Grayson leaned over Xander’s palm to apply it to the wound. The moment he made contact, however, Xander seemed to forget what his intentions were. Fingers curling reflexively, Xander snapped his hand away and stared at Grayson with wide eyes.

“H-hey,” Grayson said, swallowing hard. One of those fingers had nearly given him an uppercut to the jaw. “I need to touch you. Please. I just want to help.”

“Why?” Xander snapped.

“B-because, I mean,” Grayson sputtered. “You’re bleeding. People hurt when they bleed. You’re hurt. It hurts, doesn’t it?”

That didn’t quite seem to satisfy Xander’s demand, judging by his deepened frown.

Grayson returned that frown. “Why are you so shocked that I want to help you?”

Xander shrugged. Cautiously, he laid out his hand again. “Whatever.”

Watching for so much as a stray twitch from Xander’s hand, Grayson gingerly spread the salve on the wound. Almost immediately, the redness began to fade, and the skin began to close a little. With any luck, it would be nothing more than a scrape by tomorrow morning.

“Okay,” Grayson said, searching for the end on a roll of gauze. “Can you lift your hand a little?”

When Xander didn’t move, Grayson dared to peer up at his face and found him staring hard again. Whatever he was thinking about, he couldn’t seem to make sense of what was going through his own head. He blinked and finally seemed to register that Grayson was waiting for him.

Once Xander’s hand was in place, Grayson pressed the end of the gauze to the salved wound to keep it from slipping. Then he wrapped Xander’s palm, asking every few rounds if the tightness was okay. Xander’s only feedback came in the form of noncommittal grunts.

When it was done, Grayson hesitantly told Xander to cut off the remaining bandage roll with medical scissors. Thankfully, that went without disaster. After the gauze was taped off, Xander inspected his hand and flexed his fingers.

His eyes drifted back down to Grayson, intensity flaring up again. “You’re not gonna tell anyone about this, are you?”

Grayson tossed the salve back into the box and clenched his jaw. Annoyance kept him from making eye contact, not fear. “Oh, what? That a print patched you up?”

“Nah. That I tripped over my own feet while I was fucking wasted.”

“Oh. I mean. I don’t know.” Grayson’s gaze fluttered upward and he caught sight of the smeared blood on Xander’s face again. “Hey… You’ve still got—”

“What?”

“Here. Lean down.”

Grayson ripped off a clean corner of the alcohol wipe that Xander had used. To his surprise, Xander didn’t argue about leaning down.

Once his face was close enough, Grayson reached out to wipe the blood. Xander went tense—his jaw clenched right beside Grayson. But neither of them flinched. Xander’s skin was hot to the touch. Stubble grazed Grayson’s skin as he gently cleaned away the red smear. He took a step back, holding up the stained wipe for Xander to see.

“Hm.” Xander clumsily plucked it out of his hand and tossed it, along with everything else they’d taken out, back into the box.

Grayson sighed wearily. “Okay, I know you’re wasted, but you can’t just put bloody things back in—”

“Thanks,” Xander cut in suddenly. “Thanks for the help. Micah would’ve lost his shit if I couldn’t play because of an infection.” There was a beat of awkward silence, though it didn’t last long. “You didn’t answer my question, though. About not telling anyone.”

“I mean… I think the doctor should probably know that you hurt yourself, right?”

“Wrong.” Xander’s expression went blank for a second. Then he stifled a yawn into his good hand and wavered like a sudden wave of sleepiness had crashed into him.

Without warning, he scooped Grayson up.

“H-hey! Wh-what—” While Grayson stammered out half-questions, Xander yanked back the sheets and crawled under them, taking Grayson with him.

Settling into bed without a care, Xander hugged Grayson to his chest. Although his touch was more uncoordinated than usual, it felt far from menacing.

While Xander’s heart thudded at an unhurried pace beneath him, Grayson’s pulse was fluttering like a panicked bird. Sure, Xander was a cuddler when he was unconscious, but never while he was this awake—though it quickly became clear that awake was an understatement.

Xander’s mumbled words were barely audible, even when pressed up against his chest. “Can’t have you running off to tell on me.”

Before long, his breathing evened out. The weight of his hand loosened. But Grayson stayed where he was. After what he’d been through the last fifteen minutes, he couldn’t say no to some warmth and safety—things that were becoming dangerously familiar from the likes of Xander Dalton.

((Xander only knows two things: 1. be grumpy 2. cuddle Grayson))

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