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gemharvest · 1 month ago

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wyd!Boyfriend (Beef) Reference Sheet

Extra info will be under a cut to spare y'alls dashboards, but here the guy is. The Beef Bastard. For anyone who desires to draw him.

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Design Notes:

Palette is flexible; can be drawn in this palette, with canon BF's palette, or given a custom palette. Colored lines are not a requisite, but if you do pure black lines while using the ref's palette, please keep everything using that color the same color (ie; his piercing, opt. nail color, sweater on Christmas outfit, etc).

Shirt does not have to be tucked! I mostly drew it like that just to have the belt visible; up to you if you want to draw it half-tucked or untucked. idc

Shading colors are optional, I just have them there because I like using them; I personally still draw the shade in on his hat/ hair, but that's just how I like doing it. His hair base can be either color tbh it doesn't matter much to me, I just have it marked as the lighter color bc that's what feels right to me personally.

Would have a square face shape & brown eyes when not as stylized as the ref. I do not have a specific eye color picked out, as I do not see myself drawing it, but anything works as long as it's a darker brown.

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His playlist is at the end of this post (both Spotify and YouTube versions), but if you just want to hear his sample songs, here are links (+ 2 honorable mentions):

(fw + eyestrain) WHOKILLEDXIX - Kismet

Marina - Are You Satisfied?

(fw + insect & xray clips) Will Wood - Cicada Days

Twenty One Pilots - Fake You Out

100 gecs - 745 sticky

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Base Info:

Cisgender bisexual (he/him); polyamorous.

Has: ADHD with RSD; anger issues that usually come out to “protect” himself (can be to “protect” others as well, tho); an inferiority complex that makes him highly competitive & masks as a superiority complex.

Astraphobic (fear of thunder & lightning) as well as having a fear of abandonment. Other than that, he’s comically fearless; acting on impulse rather than any sense.

Has a bad acne problem; some on his face, but the worst of it is on his back.

Wears loose clothes, and kinda just throws on whatever he finds first. (Which tends to be his usual outfit.)

Slightly chubby, but his clothes make it harder to tell.

Street-smart, in spite of his general stupidity. Able to hold himself pretty well in a fight, as long as he’s thinking clearly.

Fairly strong as well, though he doesn’t make an active effort to work out. Stupids his way into being able to lift shit, I guess.

Shaves his face (prefers the look) but doesn’t bother with the rest of his body. 👍

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Headcanons:

(there is a lot here, I do not blame you if you don't read all of these 🙏)

Stims with a lot of repetitive hand movements (shaking, snapping motion w/o sound, opening and closing); beeps are sometimes vocal stims as well.

Would benefit from chewlery dear god, but would also need high strength ones. Maybe one day someone will get him a chew stim.

Enjoys high energy & loud music. Obviously a rap fan, but would enjoy breakcore/ speedcore/ hyperpop and similar genres, as well as things like YTPMVs or stupid mashups.

His beeping is not a language, as is the same in canon, though it generally has enough of a rhythm to it that people can get the gist of the intended words the longer they're around him.

95% of the time he speaks in beeps, and if he needs to relay info to someone who doesn't understand it, he'll write his words down (as long as it's an option).

Not comfortable speaking regularly, but can do it if the situation calls for it. Takes a lot to get to that point though, and was way less confident in his words when he was younger.

His beeping can also be a vocal stim, as mentioned previously, which can throw conversation off. Beeps will also lose their proper rhythm if he's upset/ super excited and etc., making them harder to understand.

Loves small animals, rats being a particular example, and is also fascinated by insects.

Usually just ignores insects, but picks up a catch & release habit w/ ones that get inside from GF.

When they get a shared apartment, he's the one who spends the most time in it, usually alone and working on music. Sometimes he gets overwhelmed by missing his partners being around, but manages it well knowing they'll be back soon.

Likes involving his partners with his music. Most of his album covers are art by GF, and will ask Pico for input on mixing or just general thoughts on how it sounds. Will sometimes get them to do vocals as well (takes a lot of coaxing for Pico to agree, so GF features more often than he will).

Usually prefers his nails unpainted, but will let GF paint them to match with her and/ or Pico.

Before Pico entered their relationship, he had his nails painted more frequently to match her. Went down in frequency because Pico really likes it & it became something the two do together. BF is not excluded, he’s just more indifferent about it whereas Pico and GF actively like painted nails.

Prefers black above all, then blue, but also enjoys red or green for his partners.

HUGE issue with picking at acne/ scabs. Has tons of little scars from doing it.

Clingy as shiiiittt to those he’s close to. Will not be the first to let go of a hug and will be content to cling to someone for hours; need to take care of his body be damned.

Related; he has issues wanting to stay up to work on projects instead of get proper sleep, but is pretty easily convinced to go to bed if his partners are around. Because cuddle time babyyyyyy.

Can’t cook for shit. Is like a Sim with 0 cooking skill and insanely bad luck. Best dude can do is make a sandwich/ salad/ anything that doesn’t require the oven or stove, and even then he sticks to simple things because he wants to do other shit.

Relied a lot on fast food/ pre-made meals when on his own. Once moved in with his partners, Pico cooks a lot of the meals & eventually is able to teach BF and GF enough of the basics to where they can prep stuff on days he’s gone.

BF is way slower to take to cooking than GF is; ADHD partially at fault (not finding it “worth it” = not going out of his way to cook still = learns way slower, which also makes it more frustrating). He gets it eventually tho it’s Okay.

Can be kinda an ass to those he doesn’t know, though more because he’s not thinking about it than actually being malicious. Though if he realizes he’s coming off rude he doesn’t quiiiiteee care. This behavior bites him in the ass w/ how he thinks about himself but whatever he’s not thinking in the moment.

Can sometimes be hostile when first meeting people, though usually isn’t too bad.

(RGBFverse exclusive, he is super hostile to the other BFs out of confusion, and then lashes out to keep himself from getting close, because he assumes he will be let down if he does. This later feeds into a fear that, after he becomes calm around them, none of them really like him, because why would they, after how he acted?)

Has spirals related to his inferiority complex where he begins lashing out at others to push them away, because he feels they’re going to leave anyways. These don’t happen often, but it’s really hard for him to pull himself out of it when they do. Feels he’s wearing others’ patience thin, but he appreciates those who stick through it nonetheless.

List subject to change, most likely w/ new additions as I remember things I forgot, or just clarifying anything I may have worded poorly.

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3 songs didn't make it to the Spotify playlist because they aren't up on there. Otherwise, both have the same songs & are ordered the same.

#artings #wyd!RGBau #RGBFverse #wyd!BF #low contrast #i knowww this isnt specific to rgbfverse but he features in rgbfverse so what the fuck ever. i mention it in one of his #headcanon notes that should be enough. /silly #anyways #his ref is now public ! enjoy ! i have no clue when pico or gfs will be done; though once i can get back to them picos shouldnt take long #sorry that this is kinda a trojan horse of a post. come in with the promise of beef ref and get blasted with me thinking #way too hard about this motherfucker #Spotify

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presleyhearted · 7 months ago

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Kismet, Kismet ✨🤍 | Part 2

pairing : 1970s!e x Asian!OC summary : Angel Song grew up in a strict, Korean household. Molding her into the perfect 'good girl.' Through a strange case of serendipity, she finds herself face to face with Elvis Presley, the one person who just might threaten to shatter the glass of her good girl act. chapter warnings: age gap, illness, panic.

wc: 3841

genre: 70s!e x college!student!reader. fluff, angst, smut.

taglist: @atleastpleasetelephone @i-r-i-n-a-a @obsessedwithurlove

author's note : Here we are with Part 2! Thank you for the attention on part 1. I hope you like the name change, trust me there is a reason for it. I've always made a playlist for this fic! It is in the link below, but I will be adding songs as I go along. Happy reading! <3 - Rose playlist -

“It’s fine now.” Angel breathed out, signaling to the raven-haired star that it was clear for him to turn around. The split second that Elvis was turned around provided Angel with a small inkling of time to well, breathe. To somehow force her brain to process that this is the reality, even if she does not know how or why.

Elvis, on the other hand, was ever the gentleman. But the very thought of a beautiful woman changing clothes right behind him - well, he was a man, after all. This was merely a passing thought though, as the realization that he owed her an explanation for this strange happenstance, made him truly forget what words were. She was a stranger to him, and well, judging from the wide-eyed gaze from her a few seconds ago - He was the complete opposite to her. Whether she is a fan of his, or merely one of the members of the population who know him from the enormity of his fame - there was a crossroad.

If he were to tell her the truth about why America’s favorite rock ‘n’ roll star is hiding in a cleaning supply closet - that would fracture the carefully curated image that he knew the people see him as, most certainly including her. Words spread like wildfire, and the nation is always hungry for new information about the world of the people under the spotlight. Hell, even the rumors that are not even remotely true - people inhale and whisper from ear to ear as if it were a section in an academic textbook. For a situation like this, that is true and is real, it would be on the front page news by the morning of the next day.

It’s better this way. Elvis tried to tell himself. By upholding the immaculate persona that the public has carved out for him, he would not only be saving himself but also saving her idea of him. He does not want to leave her with a memory of Elvis Presley revealing that the man underneath the glimmering spotlight, has never felt more engulfed by the waves of darkness than he does now.

So, that is it. He decides to conceal an ugly truth in exchange for keeping the beautiful idea of him that she most certainly has. And just in time, she tells him that it is fine to now turn around.

So, he does. And goddamn it, Elvis thinks to himself. The choices and thoughts that occupied his mind suddenly went to a standstill. It was as if the time that he took to think about what his explanation would be, made him briefly forget to truly have a look at her. Albeit, he did not have time to earlier due to letting her change, now - Elvis found himself finding the space of the supply closet shrink at a rapid rate. He was sat down, and she was stood up - Elvis could not help but find his gaze traveling from her long, slightly tanned legs, to the dress, and to her face that seemed to turn a charming shade of crimson under his gaze.

A pair of hazel eyes looked into his azure eyes. The very same pair of hazel eyes that when she blinked - perfectly captured the appearance of double eyelashes that accompanied her eyes. Elvis’ gaze traveled further - a small button nose, and a full, inviting burgundy-colored lips. Her skin radiated a glow - she was pale, but slightly tanned, a sure result of the Vegas heat. Like the mix of milk and honey. He noticed her black, wavy hair reaching almost her waist - Angel was certainly not tall, but also not short. She was like an oil painting personified, like an art piece that somehow felt the need to step out of the confines of the frame that she was in and step her hand out to him. A beauty that he never believed existed, never encountered before, and felt that he was the admirer intruding. He was so entranced by Angel, that he hardly realized that she had sat herself down on the floor.

Angel cleared her throat, “It was . . . um odd for me to be standing up.” She explained. Her voice was soft, but firm. There was a timidness to her tone, that she noticed very quickly, and tried to desperately fix it because well - I can’t make a fool of myself in front of Elvis Presley. She told herself, but how does one steady herself when he is looking at her with such blunt intensity? It was an intensity that rippled through every part of her being, as he did not fixate on one part of her, he was studying her - every detail of her. She wished she could take a glimpse into his mind and know what he was thinking. She prided herself in being able to read people easily, ever the analytical mind of hers - as her friend Felicity would say.

But not this time. Angel tried to shake herself out of it and thought to herself ‘It won’t matter. He’ll say what he needs to say, and we’ll part ways.’

Angel then thought to herself that it most probably be the easier and smarter choice to apologize to him, apologise for barging in and invading personal space, and then be on her way out. This would make more sense since he does not owe her an explanation. Yes, she was initially shocked to find him in such a random place, but it did not mean he had to explain anything to her. Then Angel also realizes that Elvis has not said anything since turning around, he must be thinking the same thing. Angel thought.

So, with that, she shakes her hand at him and starts to stand back up, “I’m so sorry, Mr Presley. You don’t have to explain anything to me, I’ll go.” Her words rushed out of her mouth, words that filled a sudden dread in Elvis.

“No, honey, it’s alright.” He said softly, making Angel pause her actions. She was frozen in confusion. She was in a rush a few moments before getting changed because she was afraid to miss her favorite star walking out onto the stage for the first time in front of her eyes. But that was before she discovered that he was sitting down in a supply closet and before she also became aware that the time on the ticking clock in the small confined space - showed it had been well past the time Elvis was supposed to be on stage.

“But, I don’t want to intrud-”

Elvis cuts off her sentence, “You wouldn’t be, darlin.”

Angel finds herself biting her bottom lip, in a mental battle of her thoughts. An action that does not go unnoticed by Elvis. Angel felt her cheeks blush again at the sound of the name he called her, she was aware it was probably a habit of people from the South, but it made her blush nevertheless.

“I shouldn’t have barged in like that,” She finds herself saying, still standing.

Elvis shrugged, “It’s my fault.”

Angel profusely shook her head, “No, it’s not. I-”

There she is again, biting her bottom lip - a habit that Elvis found became keenly aware of.

“If you keep doin’ that honey, you’ll cause a bleed,” Elvis said, a smirk now on his lips. Yes, Angel did make eye contact with him, but not for long. The eye contact was overwhelming, so she found herself catching her eyes on everywhere else, but him. Which has been proven unsuccessful now, since that comment of his - with that teasing smirk on his lips, was a powerful weapon in making her hold the gaze of his blue eyes again.

She stopped biting her bottom lip, and found herself mumbling under her breath, “What am I doing.”

“Sit with me. Please.” Elvis said, his tone soft.

“But-”

“Are you in a hurry, darlin?”

A question, loaded with the hopes of a specific response. Elvis was aware that they were likely searching endlessly for him, hands probably in their hair in distress, but he could not leave. Not yet. Jerry knows. Knows where he is, even if Elvis did pull out a lie about the reason why he needed to ‘step out’ for a while and not be where he needs to be.

Words were caught in Angel’s throat, “Yes. No. Yes,” Upon seeing the amused grin on Elvis’ face, she sighed and attempted to clarify herself, “I mean, I was - I’m here to see your show.”

There it was. The very reason why she could not know the truth behind why he was here, and not out there now. She is a fan, and for his fans - telling the truth would be shattering something in them. He could never do that to them.

Elvis hummed, “I know what you’re thinkin’, I’ll tell you.”

Angel somehow found herself sitting back down. Slowly. Of course, it would’ve been smarter if she just left. But there is a curious part of her, the part that wanted to know why Elvis Presley was in a supply closet when he was supposed to be on stage by now. Even more so, why his infamous entourage was not in sight.

Having her at the same eye level as him, Elvis swore he felt his breath caught in his throat and a distant knock of the heart within his body.

“You must be thinkin’ why’s that fool hiding in a supply closet?” Elvis said, chuckling a little. But also realizing that he said the word ‘hiding’ implies a surface of the truth. The truth that he told himself he would never reveal to her. But he just did, even if it was a tiny particle of the truth, and he did it subconsciously. With no control at all, as if his mind wanted her to learn it. Somehow.

And he very well knew that Angel caught wind of the word.

She did not know what to say, so Elvis continued.

Elvis ran his hand through his hair and sighed deeply, “I lost one of my rings. I was gonna ask the cleaning staff who was in here, thought she was ‘cus the door was open. But nah, no one was in here. Only me,” He then let out a laugh, a laugh that somehow sounded difficult to let out.

Only me and my foolish self. Elvis thought to himself.

Angel found the sound of that laugh to be quite forceful, a habit that was similar to what she did when conversing with her relatives when asked about certain subjects at family gatherings. She knew that kind of laugh too well, heck, she was the expert in it. Knew it well enough to know that the explanation Elvis just gave her, held no truth in it at all. Except for the last part. That she was sure of.

“Did you find it?” She asked instead, despite somehow having a feeling that he was throwing out an elaborate story of this ring.

Elvis shook his head in an attempt to keep that crooked grin on his lips, somehow looking strained - Angel thought to herself.

“No, I haven’t. I-”

It was Angel’s turn to interrupt this time.

“My name is Angel.” She found herself blurting this, not out of randomness, but because she somehow could feel he was sharing something personal with her when she hadn’t even told him her name yet. It was unbalanced. She knew him, well the image of him, and then now sharing this information with her - she had to tell him her name. She owed him that.

Elvis paused. He couldn’t help but. Of course, it is. There could not be any other name for her out there in the universe, it is the only name that belongs to her. It belongs to her.

“I thought it was only fair I told you my name. It’s not simple to be sharing this information with me, a stranger, Mr Presley.”

Heck, Angel could not even comprehend why he chose to share this with her, or why he wanted her to stay and sit with him for a while.

Elvis nodded, “Angel.” He said as if testing the way her name rolled off his tongue. Something was blissfully enchanting but illicit about the way he said her name, which sent a trickle of warmth through her body and locked her breath for just a second.

“It suits you very much,” Elvis said honestly because it truly did.

“Thank you, Mr Presley.”

Elvis shook his head, “Just ‘Elvis.’ Mr Presley is my father.” A wide smile overtook his face, an actual smile that Angel knew was genuine. She just did.

Angel nodded sheepishly and somehow found herself smiling, a contagious effect from him.

A sight that Elvis couldn’t help but think that he was possibly in a deep slumber, a daydream of some kind that involved this mesmerizing being with the face of heaven sent and the name to suit it. And now that smile of hers, a smile that dares to rival the morning sun. Not that Elvis saw much of the daytime, but if he did, he was pretty certain that the young woman in front of him could easily overshadow it.

Elvis paused then from drinking in her existence when he saw the frown on her face and her hazel eyes of hers pooling with a sense of sadness.

Damn it. She must be thinking ‘bout the show. I’ve disappointed her, she’s here tonight to see me perform. Not this. Elvis thought.

“I’ll be out on stage soon, don’t worry ‘bout it, Angel.” Elvis says, as if sensing that was what Angel was thinking.

But Elvis was wrong. He’s not even remotely close to guessing what she must be thinking.

Angel does not know why she has not noticed. Surely, it must be the shock of the strange situation that must’ve made her not realize. Not realize that Elvis Presley was profusely sweating and that made his raven hair stick to his pale skin. Angel was no medical expert, but it was the kind of pale that called for rest and a good break. It wouldn’t even make sense why he was sweating when he had not stepped foot on stage yet. Even more so, the way his chest would rise and fall at an abnormal rate.

Perhaps also the reason why he has been sitting down the entire time.

Elvis Presley looked tired.

She pulled out a handkerchief from her bag, an action that caused an eyebrow to quirk from Elvis.

The realization of how. . . vulnerable he looked. It pinched her heart in a way that made her ask the next question, forgetting momentarily that they had only merely met each other a few moments ago.

“Can I. . . ?” She gestured at his face, and somehow Elvis understood.

Somehow in that split second of her sad, hazel eyes meeting his blue eyes - Elvis knew that Angel saw behind it all. Behind the facade. That the veil of protection he put over the truth and the crafted lie - has now dropped, revealing him. Revealing that he is everything but fine. Elvis Presley crafted his public persona in such a masterful way, to the degree that people would not even notice the energy and shine he once had, was slowly fading away.

But Angel did.

And so, with her question, Elvis nodded. Angel put herself closer to him and pulled her knees underneath her as she sat down, so she would be sat on her heels. Elvis closed his eyes, as Angel neared him with the handkerchief in her hand as she slowly, but surely was wiping the sweat from his face. The closer proximity to her made Elvis naturally inhale her scent, she smelled of vanilla and a hint of what smelled like rose oil. A combination that was sweet, but playful. A tease to his senses. Elvis dared to open his eyes again, meeting her hazel eyes. Angel felt herself tense at the intense gaze of his eyes, as she tried to concentrate on the task at hand. The feeling of the cloth wiping the sweat on his face away was not much of an effect compared to the gentleness with which Angel did this. The genuine concentration, and worry in her knotted forehead made his heart sore and trip simultaneously.

She instinctively put the back of her hand on his forehead, as if realizing that she may be overstepping she withdrew her hand back like a flash of lightning. But Elvis was quick to reach for her, his hand enclosed around his wrist.

“It’s okay, honey.”

He let go and she reluctantly, but with Elvis’ nod, touched his forehead with the back of her hand once again.

“Mr. Pre- Elvis, you are burning up.” She said, her tone not even hiding the worry swimming in it.

Angel finds herself looking around and grabbing her bag, “I don’t, I thought I had a bottle of water or something. I don’t know. Sorry.” She said, oblivious to the smile on Elvis’ face as she rummaged through her bag.

Despite feeling the fatigue build up in him again, he found himself smiling at her.

“Say it again.” He said, despite breathing deeply.

Angel was puzzled, “Huh?”

“My name, say it again.” He wanted to desperately hear her say it again, a sound that was beautiful and was the opposite of the horrifying state that he felt his body being engulfed in.

A saving grace.

“Elvis, “ She sighed, “I know I’m in no position to tell you what to do, but you are not well. You need to rest.” She said honestly, gone was the timidness beforehand, and in its place was a woman running in a spiral of worry.

Worry for him, and it was a sight that Elvis had not seen in a long time.

Elvis shook his head, “I’m fine. I need to perform. ” He said, almost mumbling his words.

“You are not well for it. People will understand.” Angel found herself saying.

“Will you understand?” He asked.

“Of course. Any of your fans will.” She said with an encouraging nod.

Angel waited years to see him perform live, and if that first performance happened to be when he was feeling like this, she couldn’t watch him. Can’t let it happen. Heck, she’ll wait years even - she’ll wait till he is better enough to perform.

“Not the Colonel.” He responds, a sad smile on his lips.

Angel assumed this must be his manager, remembering his face and the name of newspaper pages. What kind of person, let alone manager - would let him perform like this?

“It’s too hot here, you need to be someplace else,” Angel said, knowing that the supply closet was not the appropriate place for him to rest properly, “Does anyone know that you are here? How do I get ahold of them?”

She was in full-on panic mode now and leaped up onto her feet. Elvis sprung his arm forward and grabbed hold of her hand, “Angel, don’t leave. Please.” The tone of his voice was void of the confidence and teasing from moments prior, in place was the pleading voice that was filled with fear. True fear. A fear that she would leave him like this.

She shook her head quickly, “No, no. I-I just was thinking how to get you help.”

Angel is smart enough to know that she could not just waltz out of here, and find a helpful passerby because it is not just anyone she is getting help for. Elvis Presley. Somehow, she just knew that he wouldn’t want his vulnerable state to be known to any other person than the ones who work for him and know him.

She was just a fan. But somehow through a happenstance of naturality or not, she saw right through him - saw right through the armor that he lets dazzle everyone else. And even if he realized that she stepped over that veil - he let her. Let Angel walk right through it.

As if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Like now, as if it is the most natural thing in the world to have her hand in his. An action that was so quick, but she swore sent a flicker of something through her bloodstream.

And just in time, there was a knock on the door - a look exchanged between both of them. But a breath of relief escaped them simultaneously as it was the familiar face of Jerry Schilling who walked through and shut the door behind him. Angel knew that he worked for Elvis, and saw him in that one article of Elvis’ entourage being labeled ‘The Memphis Mafia.’

So, she was glad that a stroke of luck hit, as her prayers were answered. Because otherwise she really did not know what to do.

Jerry Schilling’s eyes found Elvis’ and scanned the state that his friend/boss was in, before shifting his gaze to the woman who was standing up and whose hand Elvis gripped tightly. As if signaling to help him, Jerry nodded and advanced towards Elvis, at the same time Angel dropped her hand from Elvis.

“Come on, E. Let’s go.” Jerry said, but Elvis’ gaze was on the black-haired beauty who was currently getting her bag off the floor. His eyelids were half-closed.

She turned with the handkerchief in her hand and planned to hand this to him, to let him keep it. But found him tugging her hand again, closer to him.

“Stay.” He said.

“I-”

Angel turned to look at Jerry Schilling as if silently asking for his opinion on this.

“I’ll go if she goes with me,” Elvis said, almost mumbling his words.

Jerry Schilling then nods to her.

Angel sighed, not quite sure how and why this is happening all of a sudden. The probability of their meeting, and now with Elvis’ reluctancy to go with someone who could help him. Someone who he knows far more than her, her who was a mere stranger not that long ago. She tried to make sense of and understand why Elvis would want her to be there when he would have more than enough people around him soon. People who knew him personally, and who will help him.

She could not wrap her head around it at all.

But with the ticking of the clock on the wall, and Elvis seeming to not have any plans to get up from his spot yet, she realized that he was waiting for her to say something.

“Okay.” Angel said.

Kismet. Kismet. Perform. Mask. facade. My name. Your name. Angel. Pale. The truth. Elvis. Elvis. Angel. If she goes. Kismet. Kismet.

#elvis fic #elvis presley #angst #fluff #elvis x original female character #elvis fanfic #elvis x oc #kismet kismet #part 2

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u2fangirlie-blog · 8 months ago

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Good Omens Aziraphale's Sad Bastard Breakup Playlist

After the breakup, Aziraphale has a new job in heaven, having taken Gabriel’s vacant position. Aziraphale is haunted by sad music reminding him of his time with Crowley. The songs are dramatic, tragic, melancholic, angry, wistful, romantic, and sentimental. How does he listen to music at his new job in the head office? Are material objects allowed? Does he keep a secret stash of tea, cake, and records and a phonograph player in his office? Does he have a celestial radio that can tune in Earth radio stations? Does he sneak off to Earth to hang out in record shops and bookstores? Or more dramatically and emotionally torturously, does he remember every note, every nuance, every feeling, of every song and replay them in his mind? He's stuffing his face with angel food cake and tea while crying and listening to sad bastard songs and hiding from Michael and the Metatron.

See note after list on song selection process.

Songs include:

“Lacrimosa” – Mozart, Requiem in D Minor, Vienna Mozart Orchestra

“Commendatore” – Mozart, Don Giovanni, Amadeus film soundtrack

“Ja, tot katoramu vnimala” – Rubenstein, The Demon, Nicolai Ghiaurov

“D’amour l’ardente flemme” – Berlioz, The Damnation of Faust, Maria Callas

“Liebestod” – Wagner, Tristan and Isolde, Waltraud Meier

“Ach ich fuhls” – Mozart, The Magic Flute, Gundula Janowitz

“Thy hand, Belinda … When I am laid in earth” – Purcell, Dido and Aeneas, Janet Baker

“E lucevan la stelle” – Puccini, Tosca, Placido Domingo

“Celeste Aidia” – Verdi, Aida, Mario Lanza

“Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen” Mahler, Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau

“Der Wanderer” – Schubert, Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau

“Love is a Plaintive Song” – Gilbert and Sullivan, Patience, D’Oyly Carte Opera Company

“I am a Courtier Grave and Serious” – Gilbert and Sullivan, The Gondoliers, D’Oyly Carte Opera Company

“The Gentleman is a Dope” – Rodgers and Hammerstein, Allegro, Blossom Dearie

“A Hymn to Him” – Lerner and Lowe, My Fair Lady, Rex Harrison

“Could I Leave You?” – Sondheim, Follies, Alexis Smith

“We Do Not Belong Together” – Sondheim, Sunday in the Park with George, Bernadette Peters and Mandy Patinkin

“On My Own” – Schonberg, Les Misérables, Frances Ruffelle

“As Long as He Needs Me” – Bert, Oliver, Judy Garland

“Stranger in Paradise” – Wright and Forest, Kismet, Richard Kiley and Doretta Morrow

“A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square” – Sherwin and Maschwitz, Vera Lynn

“Night and Day” – Porter, The Gay Divorcee, Ella Fitzgerald

“I’ve Got You Under My Skin” – Porter, Born to Dance, Shirley Bassey

“Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered” – Rodgers and Heart, Pal Joey, Sarah Vaughan

“They Can’t Take That Away From Me” – Gershwin, Shall We Dance, Fred Astaire

“Mon Deu” – Dumont and Vaucaire, Edith Piaf

“Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien” – Dumont and Vaucaire, Edith Piaf

P.S.: Aziraphale likes Les Mis because it reminds him of that time Crowley rescued him from the Bastille. Don't tell anyone. It's a big secret.

P.P.S.: “Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered” reminds him of the time he and Crowley got drunk in the backroom at the bookshop the day the anti-Christ was delivered to Earth. Basically, this song reminds him of every time they went out for drinks or stayed in and drank.

P.P.P.S.: “I am a Courtier Grave and Serious” was the song Aziraphale planned to play when trying to tempt Crowley into learning the gavotte. It reminds him of the ball in the bookstore when he finally danced with Crowley.

P.P.P.P.S.: “Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien” is as close as Aziraphale can get to telling the world and Crowley to eff off. He has no more effs to give. Or at least he’s trying to convince himself he no longer gives a f***. He’s going off to his new job at the head office and Do Good.

Note on song selection:

I selected songs that thematically fit with the relationship between Aziraphale and Crowley. I think the songs tell a story of Aziraphale’s struggle to reconcile his conflicted motivations. They reflect Aziraphale’s fears and desires. He fears being hauled off to hell for disobedience. He fears Crowley’s death and being alone in the world. He desires to be emotionally intimate with Crowley. (Dare he risk physical intimacy with Crowley?) He feels self-righteously indignant, but he’s soft and squishy and weepy and misses his best friend.

I don’t have much knowledge of opera or musical theater, but I have some experience with choir and solo performance. I did a lot of research into opera, art songs, musicals, showtunes, and standards to create a playlist on YouTube. Selections were based on availability, popularity, and sound quality. My big question was whether or not Aziraphale is a strict originalist or if he likes different versions of songs. In some places, I chose newer versions over original versions due to the sound quality of the recordings. I tried to keep selections accessible to a wide audience with varying degrees of musical knowledge. You may not like my choices, so your mileage may vary. You can make your own playlist.

You can listen to it on YouTube.

#good omens 2 #neil gaiman #aziraphale #crowley #breakup #sad bastard music #angry love songs #breakup playlist #playlist

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stardust-swan · 1 year ago

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How to Be a Real Life Mermaid 🌊🧜‍♀️🐚

The Look

🐚 Wear sea foam green, aquamarine, teal, ocean blue, soft grey, lilac, periwinkle, emerald, pale gold, white, deep blue, and turquoise

🐚 Pick flowy fabrics such as taffeta, chiffon, linen, silk, muslin, and sequined fabrics that resemble fish scales

🐚 Choose garments like maxi dresses, flowy skirts, bandeau off-the-shoulder tops, tank tops, soft scarves used as tops, shell clutches, woven bags, and pretty beaded sandals

🐚 Accessorise with jewellery made from pearls, sea glass, seashells, turquoise, aquamarine, opals, gold that resembles the sun glinting on the sea, and silver that reminds one of the metallic sheen of fish scales. Examples of accessories you can wear are bangles, anklets, layered necklaces, and pearl earrings

🐚 Makeup Ideas: eyeshadow in nudes like a sandy beach, greens and blues like the sea, or lavender and pink like a coral reef, shimmery highlight, dewy skin, coral pink lipstick, and seashell pink lipgloss

🐚 Hair Ideas: loose curls that look like ocean waves, fishtail plaits, green and blue hair dye, pearl hairclips, and sea salt hairspray. Brush your hair with a pretty wide-tooth comb.

The Lifestyle

🐚 Listen to songs such as Martha's Harbour by All About Eve, No Ordinary Love by Sade, Come Into the Water by Mitski, Pearl Diver by Mitski, Mariners Apartment Complex by Lana Del Rey, and Call of the Sea by Claudie Mackula (a longer mermaid playlist is here).

🐚 You can also listen to the sounds of the ocean, like whale song or waves crashing on the beach

🐚 Watch movies and TV shows such as Aquamarine, Splash, The Little Mermaid, H20: Just Add Water, Mr Peabody and the Mermaid, Miranda (1948), Mermaid Melody Pitchi Pitchi, Ponyo, Barbie in a Mermaid Tale, Barbie: The Pearl Princess, Neptune's Daughter (1914), A Daughter of the Gods (1916), Queen of the Sea (1918), Venus of the South Seas (1924), and Magic Island (1995)

🐚 Read books, fairytales, and poems such as The Little Mermaid by Hans Christian Andersen, The Mermaid Handbook by Carolyn Turgeon, Mermaids: The Myths, Legends, and Lore by Skye Alexander, A Daughter of the Sea by Amy Le Feuvre, Undine by Friedrich de la Motte Fouqué, The Mermaid by Alfred Lord Tennyson, and The Sea-Child by Katherine Mansfield

🐚 Mermaids are renowned for their beautiful siren song, so sing sweetly and brightly as often as you feel like it

🐚 Make your self smell like the ocean by using a deodorant like Old Spice Deep Sea, and perfumes like L by Lolita Lempicka, Acqua di Gioia, Salt Air by Skylar, Fleur de Corail by Lolita Lempicka, Seahorse by Zoologist, Nymphéas by Kismet Olfactive, Salina by Laborattorio Olfattivo, Alien Mirage by Mugler, Very Sexy Sea by Victoria's Secret, 20,000 Flowers Under the Sea by Tokyomilk, Nebbia Spessa by Filippo Sorcinelli, Tiziana Terenzi's Sea Stars Collection, Chant d'Extase by Nina Ricci, Sirena by Floris, Squid by Zoologist, and Orto Parisi Megamare (be aware that the latter two suit a dark siren who lures men to their deaths more than a sweet mermaid princess).

🐚 Make your home smell like the deep sea too, with sea salt scented diffusers and candles such as Yankee Candle Sea Minerals, Yankee Candle Seaside Woods, or Jo Malone Wood Sage and Sea Salt

🐚 Home Decor Ideas: silk sheets in blue, grey, and sea green, seashell jewellery trays, homemade terrariums, jellyfish embroidery, seashell candles, beaded curtains made from string and shells, paintings of maritime scenes, glass vases filled with layers of sand, seashells, and faux pearls, seashell shaped soap dishes, rattan furniture, woven baskets, treasure chests to keep your valuables in, mermaid figurines, a seashell or jellyfish mobile, a bowl filled with seashells, a glass bottle filled with ocean water or with a love letter inside to replicate a message in a bottle, mosaics with marine motifs like seahorses and shells, even an aquarium with colourful fish if you are able to care for them

🐚 Spend lots of time around near bodies of water, swimming in it to connect with your inner mermaid, or just walking in it and feeling the sand beneath your feet

🐚 Collect seashells and pretty pieces of sea glass thar wash up on the shore

🐚 Watch synchronised swimming, or even learn it yourself

🐚 Go diving, snorkeling, or mermaiding

🐚 Visit aquariums to see beautiful exotic fish and learn more about the ocean

🐚 Do your best to be sustainable; make the world a cleaner place for your fishy friends to live in. If possible, attend a beach clean-up group local to your area to help pick up litter

🐚 Carry a haircomb and hand mirror with you at all times (you can hotglue seashells and faux pearls on the back of the mirror to make it even more like a mermaid's treasure)

🐚 Watch documentaries and read books on the ocean, marine life, and nautical myths and legends

🐚 Enjoy snacking on seaweed soup, coconut water, and Guylian seashell chocolates

🐚 Take luxurious baths with dead sea salt, seaweed masks, small white bath bombs that resemble pearls, a coconut scented candle, and calming music

#mermaidcore #life aesthetic #mermaid aesthetic #femininity #hyperfeminine #hyperfemininity #that girl #that girl aesthetic #princesscore #royalcore #elegantcore #fairycore #cottage #oceancore

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kismetkastle · 2 days ago

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I need this “girls picking up stray girls and loving them” kind of romance

I’ve been around the block

And I see you cry a lot

Can I walk you home?

I said baby why are you all alone?

I offered her a nice ride home

She said that she’d rather spend the night with me

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

#kismet’s playlist #sir chloe #baby bugs #cannibal girlfriend #music #lesbian #pansexual #bisexual #spotify #favorite #Spotify #poetry

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gnome-adjacent-vagabond · 24 days ago

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I need song recommendations for a Kismet playlist, a Nathaniel Billings playlist, and an Arthur Lorencz playlist.

#peter lorre #boris karloff #kismet (my favorite brunette)#arthur lorencz #nathaniel billings #the boogie man will get you #my favorite brunette

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dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice · 3 months ago

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To the Shadows that Cry Witch /// Chapter 24

Here's the next chapter! Enjoy! <3

Summary: When two girls fell into Middle Earth, excited at the prospects of living through their all time favourite novel, they find things are not as they seem. Something is watching them, as if they're being dared to reveal their secrets. How will they survive the challenges of the journey, dealing with the darkness that follows them, alongside certain two princes who are fascinated at everything they do, and a brooding, grumpy king who begins to suspect that they aren't telling the whole truth.

Where were they from, really? They did take the rabbit hole down, after all.

Tags: Kili x oc/reader - Fili x oc (POV to be written soon) - Thorin's company × ocs/reader (platonic) - fluff - angst - EXTREME slow burn - crack - Bagginshield

Word Count: 4038

Warnings: Swearing.

Taglist - comment or message to be added!

Want some background music? Check out my Soundtrack Playlist!

Now available on Wattpad and AO3 (please let me know if links aren't working)

< Chapter 23 // Chapter 24 // Chapter 25 >

Part 3: Chapter 24 -

30 Different Ways To Fuel Yourself Off Of False Hope.

Kismet (Definition): A hypothetical force or personified power that determines the course of the future events. Fate, Destiny.

(Noun / Origin: Old Turkish / kis·met)

Bag End, Hobbiton, The Shire – T.A. Tuesday, 26th April 2941 of the Third Age (Trewsday, 6th Thrimidge, 1341 in Shire-reckoning)

Waking up on the day we had spent over a year of our lives waiting for was certainly less invigorating than I assumed it to be.

A month ago I would have been practically vibrating in my seat, beaming with enthusiasm at the thought of my favourite story come-to-life happening, and that I would be able to take part in it firsthand. Now that feeling had been flung out the window, my jitters of excitement were replaced with nervous ones. Sickness and dread filling the empty pit of my stomach as my mind filled with all the ‘what ifs?’

What if they don’t let us come? What if Gandalf can’t convince them? He’s already gonna have a hard time trying to get Thorin to understand that Bilbo is – somewhat – capable of surviving and adapting to the wild.

What if they start yelling about women not being strong enough and how mad they are that Gandalf told us about a ‘secret’ mission? And I start crying because I can’t handle yelling and being rejected which will make them even MORE stubborn about not letting us come? Even if they did let us come, would Thorin sulk and hate us for months?

Oh God.

What if HE doesn’t like me?

My eyes unconsciously dragged over to the bow leant against the corner of the parlour as my thoughts drifted to him. Blurry flashes of wavy brown hair and a cheeky smile danced across my vision. I let in a deep breath, before frantically pushing the waking nightmares of all the insecurities and terrible outcomes that would possibly happen this evening into the depths at the back of my mind.

Giving my head a small shake and rolling my shoulders, I returned my sights to the piece of paper on the table in front of me. I bounced my leg erratically, spinning the quill in my hand between my fingers and staring at my looping handwriting with vigorous intent, but barely taking a word in.

About an hour ago, in order to try and take my mind of things and rid my stomach of it’s sickening feeling, I had started a checklist. A feeble attempt of a distraction to try and use the attention of my already racing mind to guess the contents of what I was bringing, rather than dwell on the probability of my year-long plans collapsing before me.

I had also spent my morning trying to find comfort, and enjoy everything the best I could, making sure to not take everything around me for granted as I had realised today could be the last official day that we enjoyed comfort. A proper bed, proper meals, a steady routine, and the reassuring bubble of safety and peace the Shire gave. The thought of leaving it all behind made me want to tear up.

Despite my distraction attempt, I found myself constantly glancing out the open window in front of me, my nerves having woken me up just before dawn, and I had sat here by candlelight long enough to watch the sun rise and the birds begin their morning call. Now the candle was extinguished, smoke wisps trailing up and out the window into the crisp spring air, the wax beginning to harden as I leant back in the wooden chair, thankful for the cushion studded onto its base.

It was still relatively early, and I figured it was only about 6am, not bothering to get up and double check the grandfather clock in the other room. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I spent the next hour extending the checklist, until Kay stumbled in, copper hair and nightgown askew, mumbling about how my shuffling had woken her up too early for her comfort. Leaning back in my seat, I watched (as another distraction attempt) Kay, whose eyes were still slightly swollen and half-glued together by sleep, as she felt around for the kettle, hanging it on its hook above the fireplace before clumsily setting some wood down and lighting it on fire with her wand.

Slumping onto one of the dining chairs, she rested her forehead in her hand, groaning with fatigue weighing on her figure.

“What time is it?” she mumbled, eyes closed as she looked ready to fall asleep again.

Turning back to the window, I lifted my feet onto the chair tucking my own nightgown over my legs as I stared out at the glowing, orange beams of the morning sun that cut through the clouds and trees. “Like 7? I haven’t checked since I got up.” I answered, hooking my chin over my knees.

“What time did you get up?” she yawned.

“Uhh,” I squinted, watching a deer drink from the river down at the bottom of the hill whilst everyone still slept. “I think it was quarter to five? I couldn’t get back to sleep cuz of today.”

“Jesus Christ.” Kay breathed as she got up and joined me at the parlour table, brushing a hand through her knotted hair. “The hell have you been doing this whole time?”

“Anything but thinking.” I sighed, seeing Kay curiously reach over and drag the piece of parchment I had been writing my checklist on towards her.

“About today?” she suggested, twisting her head to scan the words.

“About everything that could go wrong.” I groaned, leaning my head back to glare at the ceiling.

“Now why are you worrying about that?” she vocalised, pushing the paper back to me as she leant on her elbows. “The worst that could happen is that they say no, and then we – plus Gandalf – simply gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss Thorin into being a feminist and letting us come.”

Snorting in amusement, I lowered my head back down, absentmindedly scratching my fingernail against the texture of the parchment. “How’re you so calm about this?” I questioned, glancing up at a suspiciously mellow-looking Kay, despite the craziness of her fresh-out-of-bed appearance.

She shrugged. “Honestly? I think I’m disassociating so hard that my brain simply doesn’t have the capacity to conjure up anything other than the fact I’m about to meet my future husband.” She simply explained, a cheshire grin wide on her face.

“Oh Christ alive.” I agonised, leaning forward on my elbows and proceeded to drop my face into my hands. “I forgot about that.”

“And you’re about to meet yours~” she sing-songed, prodding at the hands hiding my face. I let out a strained laugh, both amusement and anxiety ridden between. “You already made some odd noises when you had to deal with meeting Gandalf, I can’t wait to see what on Earth you’ll sound like when you meet him.”

“C’mon Kay, it’s not like I’m gonna marry the guy!” I whined in anguish, dropping my head from my hands and onto the table. “I barely have a crush on someone who is technically a complete stranger who I know next to nothing about. Look at what happened with Bilbo! We’ve watched the movies hundreds of times and we never knew stuff like how he preferred fried eggs over poached until we ended up here!” I was basically sobbing my smushed face into the wood at this point.

Twisting my head so I could face Kay, I looked up at her with wide, wet eyes. “What if he turns out to be nothing like I expected or he finds me weird?” I muttered pathetically.

Within a flash, Kay had rolled up my piece of parchment, and swatted my head with an outraged expression. “Have you forgotten his apparent type?? Miss ‘5’9 potential model who’s been mistaken for an elf multiple times??’ He’s gonna walk in, take one look at you and have the fattest fucking aneurysm, because we are the hottest people in history to exist in Middle Earth.” She paused in thought for a moment. “Except for Galadriel of course. Can’t disrespect my milf wife like that.” She patted her hand over her heart and blew a kiss out the window.

Huffing a laugh, I took another glance out the open window, spotting the mail-hobbit-man as he began his morning route. “What on Earth do I even say to them all?” I almost whimpered, beginning to spiral. “What if they get weirded out about how well we remember all their names??”

“Alright, stop.” Kay emphasised with another swat at my head. “You’ve got a whole day to get through before dealing with that, so before you send us both into a mental breakdown, let’s go get ourselves ready so they don’t walk in on us looking like a hundred year-old mops.”

As soon as the words left Kay’s mouth, Bilbo stumbled in scratching his nose whilst he made use of the preboiled kettle. “Market trip today.” He declared halfway through a yawn, stretching his arms up. “Need some fish and veg for tonight’s dinner and whatnot.” Sliding into the chair beside us with a fresh cup of chamomile, he took in the morning scenery through the window with a content sigh, seeming to have completely forgotten (or forced himself to) about yesterday’s affairs. Shifting his head, he gave us both a once over. “Fancy coming?”

The sereness of Bilbo’s mood that morning had been shot into the stratosphere when the clock hit half nine. I hadn’t missed the strain that had begun to grow in the hobbit’s smile the closer he got to swinging his blue coat on, and by the time we were out the door, his face had dropped completely.

Despite his much smaller stature, we found ourselves jogging to keep up with the frantic hobbit as he practically jogged down to the market, head swivelling around like an owl as his eyes determinedly scanned everything they landed on.

Settling into a speed-walk, I sidled up next to him as he continued to scurry on, leaning down to keep my voice lower. “I doubt Gandalf’s gonna be hiding out in the market waiting to scare you, Bilbo.” I attempted to reassure, knowing full well the wizard was still off somewhere collecting our not-so-unexpected guests. “There’s no need to worry so much.”

Bilbo blinked up at me, forcing a bewildered look upon his face. “Worried?!” He scoffed, faking a chortle. “Why on Earth would I be worried? Hahaa…”

“Because you look as nervous as a mouse about to steal a crate-full of cheese right under someone’s nose.” Chimed in Kay as she caught up on Bilbo’s other side.

“Mouse–?” Was all he could sputter out in offense to being compared to the rodent before he sprung a foot in the air, startled when another hobbit called out to him, wishing a good-morning. Opening his mouth, he went to retort, but his mind seemingly ran elsewhere, and he simply spun on the spot to march over the stone bridge ahead.

Giving each other knowing looks, Kay and I trailed not so long after, mixing into the throng that was the Tuesday morning market. Kids scurried after each other with shouts and screams, looping around us until they took off in another direction.

Lifting my head, I took in the scene before me. Hobbit-men roaring with laughter as they puffed out smoke-rings under the tents and pavilions scattered around, a hobbit-woman thanking someone as she received a payment at her market stall, handing over a sack of whatever the other hobbit bought with a grin moments later. Snapshots of the everyday lives of some of the most peaceful creatures in Middle Earth, and I knew I was going to miss it.

Zoning back in, I brought my gaze further down, to where it landed on the back of Bilbo’s coat as he conversed (though rather distractedly) with one of the local fisher-hobbits, thanking him as he was handed his packaged goods – I presumed it was the fish he had spent the last 24 hours raving about not getting.

As Bilbo continued around the market, Kay and I temporarily went our separate ways, grabbing a few final things to stick in our bags. Meeting back about a quarter of an hour later, we spotted Bilbo who seemed to be trying to hurry back, eager to return to Bag End with his now-full basket of goods. Peering over his shoulder, he surveyed around until he caught our eye, and gestured for us to follow.

Jogging forwards, we hurried to catch up, only to slow down to a stop as Bilbo’s path was blocked by who we recognised to be Master Worrywort, his appearance giving a sense of Deja vu. Hauling his wheelbarrow stacked with produce, the older hobbit paused as he spotted Bilbo, his eyes lighting up.

“Hello, Mr Bilbo! Ah! And of course the lovely ladies.” He greeted us all, reaching into the pile in his wheelbarrow to pull out a very large-round vegetable that looked like a weird cross between a potato and a turnip. “Here!” He held it up in front of Bilbo. “Have a feel of me tubers.” Reluctantly, but willing to appease him, Bilbo briefly gave the vegetable a touch. Glancing up, Master Worrywort eagerly gestured it towards us. “Nice and firm they are. Just came in from West Farthing!” We both reached to politely prod and pinch at it for a moment, giving satisfied nods.

“Very impressive, Master Worrywort.” Bilbo complimented, eager to shift the conversation along. “Now, I don’t suppose you’ve seen a wizard lurking about these parts?” He asked, squinting against the sun as he gave the marketplace a once-over for the hundredth time.

Master Worrywort frowned in thought, placing the vegetable back in his barrow. “Tall fellow?” He suggested. Bilbo went to reply, when something caught his eye, his face paling as the other hobbit took no notice and carried on. “Long grey beard, pointy hat? Can’t say I have.”

Looking over my shoulder, I spotted the basket of grey wool that was being carried behind some of the stalls, my height making it easy to decipher that it was, in fact, not a wizard. Turning around, I went to assure Bilbo, only to find he had already taken off before Master Worrywort had finished speaking. The three of us scanned the area in confusion, looking for the missing hobbit.

“Where’d he go?” Wondered Master Worrywort.

Continuing to peer around for Bilbo, Kay answered. “Christ knows. He hasn’t been feeling himself lately.” She lied – though it wasn’t completely so.

Unbothered, Master Worrywort simply shrugged, before tipping his straw hat and bidding us adieu. The second he picked up the handles of his wheelbarrow to carry on, we shot off, crossing the bridge to see Bilbo step out, a dazed look on his face. Checking behind me, I saw that the basket of grey wool had revealed itself to be nothing but that.

“C’mon.” I sighed, patting the weary hobbit on the shoulder. “Take yourself back home and grab some tea and a book, then relax. Me and Kay are gonna run some errands.”

Still staring behind us, Bilbo nodded, not moving until we gave him a slight nudge, and off he went stumbling back up the hill with his basket.

Once he was in the distance and we were sure he wasn’t about to have a nervous break, the two of us spun on our heels and crossed back over the bridge, taking the path to the stables.

“You’re leaving?? Why?!”

Bertie looked up at us with wide eyes, clouded with confusion as he absorbed the news.

“We’re going travelling for a bit.” Kay offered, which technically wasn’t a lie. “Might see if we can find our families.”

He gave a slow nod. “Is Bilbo going with you?”

I opened my mouth to say yes, but paused, realising that despite the future events on the horizon being very much canon, Bilbo still had free will and the right to refuse to come.

“Maybe.” I suggested. “We’ll have to see.”

“Well I hope he does!” he exclaimed, looking almost saddened at the thought of Bilbo not going. “He’s awfully fond you both, y’know.”

Blinking, I glanced at Kay, only to see her respond in a similar way.

“Right.” Stated Bertie with a clap and a rub of his hands, startling us back into focus. “If you are both going, I wish you both the best of luck.” He gave us a warm smile, which quickly morphed into a tired one. “But for the love of Yavanna, please take those… beasts with you.” He pleaded in exasperation, gesturing at Calhourn and Hecate who were munching on a hay bale in the corner of the building. The latter raised her head to fix poor Bertie with a very prominent stare, and the hobbit shifted back a few steps, grumbling and cursing under his breath as he went to prepare their saddles and the rest of their equipment.

The sun was at its highest point in the sky by the time we started to head back to Bag End, our half-explanation for leaving having been given to the stable owner, who had kindly insisted that our jobs would still be here whenever we came back. Now we were halfway there, and I was panicking when I had realised I had forgotten to do something I considered rather important.

“Ah crap!” I cried. “I still need to write the letters!”

Kay glanced over at me, brows furrowed. “Whatever are you needing to write letters for?” She questioned.

“I need to write to whoever’s going to presume Bilbo dead and try to sell out Bag End!” I exclaimed, and Kay’s brows rose in realisation. “Otherwise he’s gonna come back to one hell of a nasty surprise. Oh! And also one for Gladiola to say we’re leaving and that she’ll have to find other babysitters, and whoever is–uh-crap –”

Kay quickly grasped my shoulder, swiftly brining my stressed rambling to a halt. “Girlie you’re going to give me a heart attack with how much you’re stressing out!” She breathed. “How about, when you get back, I’ll find out whoever does the house auctions and you write the Gladiola. Then we’ll see if anyone else needs one as well.”

I nodded silently, refusing to speak anymore in case everything came out uncontrollably in front of the shrew-faced Lobelia Sackville-Baggins that was sneering up at us from her front garden when we pattered by.

Reaching the front door of Bag End, I sped ahead of Kay, eager to snatch some parchment and a quill, then ran to my room, slamming the door shut behind me.

Reading over then re-reading again, I double checked the letters now fully completed in front of me. Kay had slipped in earlier, sliding over a small shred of paper that had the address of the hobbit that would be auctioneering in a couple years’ time when everyone would think Bilbo to be missing and most likely dead. The other one was for Gladiola, explaining – but not giving away too much – about what was going on, apologising for the last minute notice, but pleading that no one tries to sack Bag End (‘punch the Sackville-Bagginses for us, if you must’ I had underlined boldly).

Sealing each letter with a wax seal, along with the box of little gifts and knick-knacks Kay had precured for the Greenfoot’s as part of the apology, I gathered everything up, and slipped out of my bedroom window as quietly as I could.

The evening had begun to settle in when I hurried down the hill, the sun turning the sky into a flurry of oranges and purples as I tried not to trip over any grass mounds. Minutes later, when I had reached the house of the Greenfoot’s, I peered through the small window by the door from where I was stood behind the gate. The candles were lit, but no silhouettes came into view, so I quickly twisted the handle of the letterbox, the handprints of paint we had helped the kids stamp on still yet to be tarnished by the weather, and I felt guilt creep up in the pit of my stomach.

Before I could turn any more miserable, I hissed out a curse when the lid let out a creak. Shoving the parcel and letters (I had asked Gladiola in her letter to deliver the other one) into the box, I gently eased the lid back up, thankful it hardly made a squeak. Glancing up at the window, I jumped when I spotted Gladiola, but let out a sigh of relief when I realised her back was turned.

Without a second thought, I dashed off, skipping the paths as I took a beeline straight up, resulting to crawling on all fours up the steep parts at some points. Reaching the top, I turned around, taking in one of the last views of Hobbiton beneath the final rays of the vanishing sun with a weary sigh. With a stretch of my back, I went to walk towards my window, when my eyes were drawn to a short but unusual looking shape in the distance. Squinting, I watched as it made its way through one of the paths between the crop fields near the outskirts on the other side of town.

“I know that silhouette…” I thought to myself, before my eyes widened and I let out a gasp.

Dashing round the bend to my open window, I narrowly missed a drunk hobbit as he stumbled along swigging from the flagon of wine in his hand. I practically dove through, earning myself several bruises along my arms and legs as I clumsily battered them against the furniture whilst I struggled to clamber to my feet.

Sprinting across the floorboards, I almost slipped several times as I hauled my bedroom door open and bent over to avoid the beams as I half-jogged/half-stumbled through the hallway in my woolly socks, grasping the wood lining the archway to the kitchen to skid to a stop. Though that didn’t stop me from headbutting the chandelier.

“Ah, fuck!” I cursed, rubbing at my forehead before I ducked through.

Kay was staring up at me confused from where she sat at the kitchen table, quill poised to continue scribbling away at whatever was on the parchment in front of her until I interrupted. Bilbo was across from her, bent over the stove as he prodded and flipped the fish on the pan in front of him, too used to our antics at this point to bother looking up.

“Evening jog?” Kay muttered, keeping her voice quieter than the sizzling of the cooking food as I flopped down next to her.

Chest still heaving, I turned to look at her. “Huh?” I furrowed my brows.

She gestured at my face with the quill. “You’re cheeks’re pink and your hair’s frazzled.”

Sitting back, I absentmindedly reached up to pat down my face and hair. “Went to deliver the stuff.” I breathed. “Then decided to climb up the hill and ran when I saw someone in the distance.”

Kay’s eyes widened, and she took a glance at the still distracted hobbit. Giving me a look to show she understood, she returned to her parchment when Bilbo swivelled around, taking turns picking up the three plates that already had the boiled slices of carrot and potato ready to go, along with a small bundle of herbs, to shovel a freshly fried trout onto each one.

Sliding a plate in front of the two of us, we picked up our silverware as Bilbo tightened the sash round his waist that held his dressing gown over his night-time robes. Settling down in his seat, the hobbit let out a content sigh.

He glanced up at us with a smile. “So,” He started, tucking a napkin into his collar. “What did you two get up to in town after I went home early?” He asked as he reached over to take a pinch of seasoning from the tiny wooden bowl between us.

The two of us stiffened, watching intently as Bilbo began to season his food in an all-too familiar way.

And that was when the doorbell rang.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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