#brooklynislandgirl 09

[macdiari]

Plucked from [x]

Any other moment he would have known her presence the moment it became in this place. Would have scented her and come hunting for amusement. For momentary acknowledgement. For…anything that he normally refuses to acknowledge exists in the depths of him. But right now he is blinded by his own banality. So when the first of her petal rain settle against his skin, it takes a moment for him to focus beyond them. But when he does? oh when he does…

A memory  rises to the surface. The sun burning warm in the sky behind her. A different and yet same kind of laugh that seems to echo through him as much as around him. Hands that aren’t his rising into his line of sight to brush away midnight silk hair and…there’s a noise in his throat. Barely audible, as he casts the sickeningly sweet recollection away.  Gaze shifting beyond her. Back to the sky. Because it is a strange thing to exist as he had before his escape…and it is so very hard to sometimes keep straight what really belonged to who.

Even still he does not move when she settles beside him. Does not offer her response for her delicate actions, nor reaches for her as the tips of his fingers burn to do. He lets her come to him first. Lets her do the reaching. Lets her comb her fingers through hair he hates. Let’s her speak her piece though it is no more than three words. And then there is movement. The smallest of his own smiles. A flicker of moon light before it is swallowed by evening clouds again.

Missed him did she?

A gain of ground with her it seems he’s made. And perhaps that is enough to quell a little bit of the disenchantment that plagues him. Gold shifting back to her once more with a lingering hold. Because perhaps it means…more…to him than just the beginnings of success of his chaotically laid plans. Perhaps it…stirs something in him, hearing those words directed to him. Because fear is not a thing people miss the absence of. Never mourned by a father that thought him nothing but a spare. Or a mother who was more scorned over her lose of leverage than him losing his life. Never missed by a half brother that hated him with every fiber of his being, as much as Lorcan did him. So perhaps…in her three very small words…Beth has struck him dumb. Dulled that sharp tongue of his. Momentarily anyway. Though he does is very best to hide it.

And how does he do that? He sits up. Bare back mostly to her. Bare feet drug across the grass, to uphold the bend in half sheltered legs. Pickings at blades to watch them turn to ash in an attempt to bridle his own twitching need for movement.

         “Bi’ o’a different tune from ye las’ word ta me, raicleach.”

          “Whoi’y d’change o’moi’nd?”

[whosxafraid]

Birthday Surprise

@brooklynislandgirl

It’s sneaky, and she will probably yell at him later for it. But for now...for now he puts his particular skill set to good use. Climbing up the rickety, breaking half a dozen safty codes; fire escape. A bit of flat metal to slide the lock on the window open, before as silently as possible--pushing it up and out of his way. Climbing in on silent feet, a rather interesting accomplishment given the size difference between him and the window. And closing it back again, sliding the lock back into place.

Next comes his boots. Untied and pulled off. Set neatly by the front door, before daring to move any deeper into the apartment. Her bedroom door reached in a couple handfuls of steps. Checking for any audible signs she’s awake. But there is none and he moves away again. Back down the hall and into the kitchen. Where his back pack is set down on the counter. Unzipped and the contents removed.

Note cards already written on. Bags of thyme stalks, oxlips, voilet,musk-roses and eglantine blooms and woodbine. Two containers of tea candles. A box wrapped up in glittery paper the evidence of which is still in his hair despite two showers. And all the ingredients for making her favorite comfort food. Bread, cheese, that one particular brand of raspberry jam. It’s not dinnger at a five star hotel but it’s what he can manage with the time table he’s had to work with.

The cheese put in the fridge for now, as the note cards and bag of pedals are picked up. Seal silent feet carrying him back to her door way. And beginning the painstaking process of arranging it all. One card at a time at intervals, and pedals sprinkled about between a bit hapazardly but not enough to not be clear it’s a trail to be followed.

I know a bank.......where the wild thyme blows......Where oxlips.....and the nodding violet grows........Quite over-canopied.......with luscious woodbine........With sweet musk-roses.....and with eglantine.

Down the hall it goes, around the corner to the living room; where it ends at the coffee table. A coffee table that is littered with the flower blooms and fawna left from the bags. Tea candles arranged between them all. Scattered about the other side tables, on the mantle. The glittery wrapped box placed on couch, the final note card ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY!’ angled up so as to be read easily. The position tweaked a few times before he’s satisfied with it. 

And then it’s off to the kitchen. Where sandwiches are made. Her favorite fizz drink plucked from the ice box, to be placed just as painstakingly as the box had been on the coffee table along with the plate of sandwiches. 

Now he just has to wait. Checking his watch two minutes until her alarm goes off. A rush to get all of the candles lit before again silent socked feet carry him into the kitchen. Hiding as best he can around the corner of the door way. Waiting. Hoping this goes over like he wants. It’s been sixteen months since he’s been home, and while he should have told her he was coming back sooner than planned---well a birthday surprise was just to hard to pass up.

[ruginite]

Do Not Mistake Timidness...

One week. 

He lets it sit there collecting dust for one week. Glancing at it on occasion. Sometimes having staring contest with it. Daring it to scream louder than it already is. Purple and glittery and out of place amid the grease and oil and years of keeping to himself. And there’s a grumble that escapes as ear phones are jammed on his head and he turns away. Back to what he’s supposed to be doing. Back to his life like it should be. Without distractions and attachments, because it’s easier and it’s safer and it’s...

                 “FUCK!”

            You okay over there, Sparky?

               “Shut it, Hobbs!”

There’s a snicker he ignores. Flinging the pain out of his hand. And getting back to work. His bay mates on either side have been less than helpful in the distraction department. Nagging and questioning like two nesting hens. To the point he’s had to chase them out of his bay half a dozen times, for simply standing there and staring at him like they expect him to burst into flames at any moment. Which maybe in the grand scheme of things isn’t that far fetched. 

A sigh that drags everything down. Headphones pulled away from where they’d fallen about his neck. He’s not getting anything done. Or at least not done with any proper success. And once again the square purple note is stared at. Everything pro and every con weighted against each other for the umpteenth time. 

                   Just call her already, dumbass.

A hand over his face once, twice, thrice. Into his hair that rakes it away from features that can’t really decide how they want to sit. Because he wants too. He wants to spend more time with her. And clearly so does she....but the risk is just....

                   Look just do coffee. That’s not gonna hurt anything. 

His gangly neighbor is right, though. And very slowly feet shuffle across the room. Pick up his phone. Dial the number out without another look at the alien addition to his work space; and one letter at a time type out a message.

[ Text to: 555-3921 ] Hey it’s Baz.  [ Text to: 555-3921 ] Did u wanna grab a cup a joe 2morrow?

        Did you do it?              ----you did didn’t you....                     ---jesus tell me you didn’t  t e x t  her...           “SHUT UP Y’OVER GROWN CAT!”

[therealgamble]

I posted 560 times in 2021

317 posts created (57%)

243 posts reblogged (43%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 0.8 posts.

I added 614 tags in 2021

#corinnebaileyrp - 143 posts

#thanks peaches - 79 posts

#submission - 67 posts

#tabbyrp - 64 posts

#meme reply - 61 posts

#wirbf - 46 posts

#good morning - 45 posts

#tgicm - 42 posts

#happy friday - 35 posts

#brooklynislandgirl - 32 posts

Longest Tag: 82 characters

#if you're going to use this to be an asshole then be prepared for an asshole reply

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

8 notes • Posted 2021-09-17 19:27:41 GMT

#4

@tabbyrp

9 notes • Posted 2021-05-28 03:01:08 GMT

#3

Dude, @tabbyrp is the best. She sent me a care package of UK treats!

10 notes • Posted 2021-04-26 23:15:17 GMT

#2

Hey peoples. So, I feel like I should let you all know that I’m just not feeling it anymore. I’ve tried so many times, but I’m just not.

By now you all know me, so you know I’m not going to do something dramatic like delete my blog or drop all my threads or go on a long hiatus. I’m still here, I’m always lurking around. I just don’t want you all feeling like you’re waiting on me.  

And for one time, I actually feel like lifting the curtain a little and telling you a bit of my story...

(shortened for this post - you can find it n my archive if you want)

10 notes • Posted 2021-05-04 13:44:53 GMT

#1

I’m in a 2-hour long meeting on time management. Oh the irony.

12 notes • Posted 2021-11-29 20:09:36 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[rugini]

Do Not Mistake Timidness...

Picked up from [ x ]

Anyone that knows him, knows he can never be early. And on time? Well that’s usually once a week…at best. But while most of the time it’s entirely his fault, and the fact that he has never been, nor will ever be, a morning person—this time? This time it really wasn’t his fault….

He’s wrapped up his projects by five. Cleaned up and out of the hanger by five thirty. He’s still got time. So he’s not in the biggest rush of his life to get back into the city. Picks up something to eat because last thing he needs is his stomach complaining the whole time. By six thirty-three he’s found somewhere to park a few blocks off. Eats his burger on the way. And then that…that’s about where everything goes to left field shit.

Because he’s crossing the street with a horde of other people. Like ants in a scurrying line. Checking his phone because it’s gone off again. Hobbs pinging him every fifteen minutes got old an hour ago, but he can’t just shut it off. And he wouldn’t have even noticed the broken down car, sitting in the expired paid parking along the side walk if the driver hadn’t quite literally taken a step back form the smoking engine, and into him.

And yeah the truth is…he gets distracted. He stops and half an hour later has both discovered the problem and fixed it. But now? Now he’s damn late. And heavy feet are hurrying him a long the crowded street. Weaving around people. Unaware of the grease stains on his shirt and the oil on his hands and jeans; until he’s reaching for the door handle. Until he catches his reflection in the glass of it and fuck.

He doesn’t even stop to find her. Ducking into the bathroom. Locking himself in a stall and removing all the stains he can find in privacy. Hands through his hair along with a breath or two to slow his insides down. Before he’s at the sink. Splashing water on his face. He’s not nervous….this isn’t the first date he’s ever had. But it’s the first one in…well that doesn’t really need to be public knowledge. Possibly ever.

           He’s got this.

But he’s got to move too. He’s got to go out there and hope she’s there. Hope she hasn’t left. Because the reality is? He’s fifteen fucking minutes late. She probably thinks he stood her up. She’s probably long gone. And maybe he loses his damn courage a little bit. Enough to have his head hanging. Watching the water swirl down the drain. But then the door bangs against the wall. Someone in a hurry and…

               Fuck it.

The facet’s switched off. Shoulders are squared. Another pass of hands through his hair and…well here goes nothing. Feet shuffling out him out into the cafe. Hands pressed into his pockets. Blue scanning faces. And each one he loses a little more hope. A little more doubt seeps in but then…there she is. Tucked at the end of the order line. The expression on her face anything but the bright one she’d had a week before. And maybe there is something overly nervous about the way he swallows the lump in his throat. About the way he pushes forward. About the way words end up tumbling out of his mouth once he’s close enough.

               “H-hey. S-sorry m’late I uh….”

                “…I got…..h-hung up.”

[whosxafraid]

*  ANSWER  TWENTY - ONE  QUESTIONS  !

tag  twenty - one  people  you’d  like  to  know  better.

some questions may be ‘ ??? ‘ instead of answered.

01.    NICKNAME  :  Crow

02.    REAL  NAME  :  -Classified-

03.    ZODIAC  :  Cancer

04.    HEIGHT  : 5'4"

05.    WHAT  TIME  IS  IT  ?  : 14:29

06.    FAVOURITE  MUSICIANS  /  GROUPS  : Linkin Park, Mike Shinoda, Cryo Chamber, Warduna, The HU, 2cellos, Noah Gunderson, Daniel Waples, FAUN, Amber Run, Blacktop Mogo, Tommee Porfitt, Lindsey Stirling, Two Steps From Hell...

07.    FAVOURITE  SPORTS  TEAM  : LSU, GTech, N.I.N.F.T, R.I.N.F.T.

08.   OTHER BLOGS : @croinagreine , @nolegacies

09.    DO  I  GET  ASKS  ?  : yes, some i wish i didnt but most that i love :)

10.    HOW  MANY  BLOGS  DO  I  FOLLOW  ?  : uh...i’d rather not...post that.

11.   ANY  TUMBLR  CRUSHES  : yes several but if i have to pick one...its actually not a RP blog..... @octomoosey​ because honestly my FAVORITE theme creator ever.

12.    LUCKY  NUMBER  :  13/21

13.    WHAT  AM  I  WEARING  RIGHT  NOW  :  my new Ireland Flag tshirt and shorts

14.    DREAM  VACATION  :  Northern Ireland, Republic of Ireland, Norway, Sweden, I’d like to see London specifically in Britain.

15.    DREAM  CAR  :  I had a mustang when i was younger...i’d love to have it back.

16.    FAVOURITE  FOOD  :  House Salad from a specific Road House

17.    DRINK  OF  CHOICE  :  Fizzy, Sweet Tea

18.    LANGUAGES  :  English, bad English, trying to learn (Irish) Gaelic. 

19.    INSTRUMENTS  : I’ve played a lot of different ones (Piano, flute, piccallo, violin, cello, drums, viola, recorder] but none currently.

20.    CELEBRITY  CRUSHES  :  ...i can hear some of you laughing with this one....

21.    RANDOM  FACT  : I’m afraid of the sound Styrofoam makes.

TAGGED BY: @amarexestxanimas​

TAGGING: @brooklynislandgirl​  |  @ashgiven | @untamedgoodoleboys​ | @morgansmornings​ | @riggsanity​ |  @therealgamble​ | @corinnebaileyrp​ | @tabbyrp​ | @mynameisanakin​ | @musescomefrompain​ | @witcherblooded​ | @alongingwithin​ | @victorious-sigyn​ | @noprodigalson​ | @thedarcydichotomy​ | @bluuxhalcyon​ | @dcddyrecper​ | @akiyamascn​ | @thepropertyofalady​ | @thewhiirlwind​ | @officer-chen​

[ruginite]

Here’s the RP tracker: [ x ]

If you don’t like this post within a week (10pm EST 02/09/18), our thread(s) will be archived.

It’s totally fine if you want/need to drop one thread but keep another.

Totally fine if you need/want to drop everything.

No conflict. No hard feelings.

Everyone have a good one,

Chicken

@badgeinparadise |  @bettershotthanbucky | @birdofsouls | @bloodcnmyname | @brooklynislandgirl | @drifting-anarchist | @heavensfavoured | @justastarkgenius | @morgansmornings | @ncshimuri | @ronmanmob | @ruthlessmeans | @tarnishedhalo | @the-blackest-spider | @whitewolfiisms

* @seiismic - our thread is not tracked because it does not track properly due to multiple reblogs from other threads with other blogs, that sprouted from the original open. she is still aware of it. thx.