#eros ate paper | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

writings-of-a-hufflepuff · 3 years

Text

How Longingly I Look Upon You

Fandom: The Mandalorian

Collection/Series: Western AU- Putting Down Roots

Pairing: Sheriff Din Djarin x Female Teacher Reader

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long

Rating: G

Warnings: N/A

Summary: Valentine’s Day is a holiday you love, for it’s celebration of tenderness and appreciation. It matters very little that you never have a partner to share it with. This Valentine’s Day the Sheriff offers an opportunity, a potential, something you never thought he’d do.

Notes: This took me way too long to finish thanks to work, but I hope it was worth the nearly 2 month wait!

Archiveofourown

Comment and Feedback Form

Taglist Form

Mando’a Translations:

Ba’vodu - Aunt/uncle Cyar’ika - darling/sweetheart (with Paz, i’m using this informally in a way you’d call your friends babe or love as a term of endearment but non-romantic) Ne shab’rud’ni - don’t fuck with me Cyare - beloved, loved Mesh’la - beautiful Cabur’ika - Lit. Little Guardian, but Din’s term of endearment for reader after ‘Never Mess With a School Teacher’ because she is a true guardian of her kids. Mandokarla - having the ‘right stuff’ basically being truly mandalorian in spirit.

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

Valentine’s day was a holiday you actually quite enjoyed. It was a day to celebrate love, whether Eros, romantic love, Agape, unconditional love, Philia, affectionate love, or even Philautia, self-love. For you it had always been a day to celebrate the people in your life and while certainly you’d never had a suitor or a courtship during Valentine’s day, that hadn’t mattered so much. You filled your life with love for your family, even if they were now gone, love for your friends, and love for your students. It mattered very little in the end, Valentine’s day was a day for love in all its forms and for you, it was a joy. A joy to teach your students about the day, about the significance, to watch them create cards for their families, and see the red faces and giggling laughter when one of your students braved the walk across the classroom to hand a gift to another. Rather than dwell on what was missing, you chose to focus on all the joy that the day brought.

Today was no different, you had gone into your school house the day before. Spent your Sunday afternoon hanging red and pink bunting, crafty paper hearts and cupids. You wanted every holiday for your children to be worthwhile, to feel like a special day and part of that was decoration. The school house looked like a Valentine’s dream and the lessons for the day were to centre around the same theme. You would cover the history of Valentine’s day and St Valentine, work on mathematical problems in a Valentine’s context, create Valentine’s cards and write stories about great romances and read some of the best love poems that great poets had produced.

You had even gone with a colour scheme of red and pink for your outfit that day, despite your mother often saying you shouldn’t mix the two. Your dress was neatly ironed, almost gaudy in its Valentine’s nature, but fun. Your mother would have no doubt said that the lace and frills, the large puff sleeves, were all a bit much. Much too gaudy for you, a simple school teacher to wear. You wore it anyway because that was how you wanted it. Gaudy, happy, joyful, and overly extravagant for a day teaching. It was flattering, following your silhouette and grazing the ground gently. You had placed little delicate pink flower pins in your hair, surrounding your high updo. You had even rouged your cheeks, something which you rarely did anymore, usually much too busy.

You’re at the schoolhouse door smoothing down your skirts when you see the first of your childrens making their way down the main street. Lunch pails are flying behind them, skirts and ribbons whistling in the wind as they run. You greet each of your children with a bright smile and a ‘Happy Valentine’s day!’, like clockwork, as part of their routine they hang their coats, scarves and hats on the coat hooks by the door and settle into their seats, pulling out slates, books, pencils and chalk. They begin to chat amongst themselves as they wait for you and the lesson to begin. You had them well trained and so allowed them the time to chat knowing they’d listen up the moment you called for it.

Little Grogu is the last to arrive, running on little legs beside Din who always walks him to school in the morning before beginning his day as Sheriff. The little boy wraps his arms around your legs in greeting before wandering in with a wave to his father. While he can speak and you’ve witnessed it more and more, he is generally mute, preferring to use other forms of communication. You’ve noticed this little quirk of his, but don’t mind. If he would rather not speak that’s fine, so long as he’s progressing in his school work then you have little to worry about.

“Happy Valentine’s day, Din.” You tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ears, a little nervous to wish him a happy Valentine’s Day, oddly enough. All these months of knowing him and he still makes you nervous, not in a bad way. It had gotten worse since that kiss in the school house, the nerves of wanting him but not being sure if that kiss had truly meant more to him causing you to become shy when near him. You feel completely and utterly safe with Din, yet at the same time feel that bubble of excitement and nerves in your stomach, that roiling sensation you’ve not felt since you were a child with a crush. You wanted him to see you as more than just Grogu’s teacher but as a woman, an unmarried woman, a woman he could potentially see himself with. A future wife. While he’d expressed interest in courting you that day, nothing had happened since whether he’d changed his mind or the busyness of life had taken over, you weren't sure. You had never thought much on the prospect of marriage, despite your mother’s many warnings, you had simply not cared all that much. You had decided to live your life on your terms, as much as possible, but Din...Din was a man you could see yourself marrying.

It had grown over the months of knowing him from an objective enjoyment of his features, an acceptance that he was an incredibly handsome man and kind as well, into what you could only describe as longing. The beginnings of something greater, something akin to love. Din was everything you could ever want in a prospective husband, prospective father of your future children. He was handsome, so much so that you were ashamed of the thoughts that on occasion, usually in the quiet of the night, ran through your mind. He was kind and caring, a surprisingly gentle man despite his broad shoulders, large hands, and more violent profession. Ex-bounty hunters weren’t known for their softness and yet that was the only way to describe how he treated you and the children. He was gentle in voice, never raising it around you, never shouting or yelling, he chose his words carefully. He was soft in the way that he allowed the children to sit in his lap as he told stories or helped them down from trees when they got stuck. He was kind in that he was always caring for you, whether making sure you were given adult company during the school day or ensuring you ate after a long day without stopping. He was protective, but not overbearing. Kind and soft, but not weak. He would make a wonderful husband, that is something you were utterly sure of and you knew that you were not the only unmarried woman in town who’d turned their gaze to him.

So it made you nervous to wish him a happy Valentine’s day because on a day of love, he was someone you wanted to celebrate and yet found yourself too nervous to do so. It wasn’t becoming, it wasn’t ladylike to take that first step, that first plunge into the unknown world that was love. Despite that spontaneous and daring kiss you found yourself thinking of your mother and shying away from making another attempt. Your mother, God rest her soul, had always made it a notable detail, a finer point in the plan of your life. You would be approached by a man, not the other way around, and you would ultimately make the decision as to whether you wished to be courted by him with the intent to marry or whether you did not. Despite breaking tradition in the way you taught your children, this was something you didn’t have the courage for. Not again. While Din had expressed interest in you all those months back, the time between had seen nothing but his usual friendly behaviour. It made you conscious of your behaviour and the risk of getting hurt. If Din had an interest in you as a potential spouse, a riddur as he told you once, then he would have to make the next move.

Now standing before you with one hand behind his back and the other holding his hat by his stomach he looked infinitely more nervous than you expected for simply dropping off Grogu to school. There was a hint of red to his cheeks, the tips of his ears, his deep brown eyes darted around, from the floor to your own, before looking over your shoulder. You hadn’t truly seen him like this, this nervousness was unusual for him and you could have sworn he’d combed his hair with some pomade, an attempt to neaten the unruly dark curls that you thought were quite dashing on him.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Miss Y/N,” You frown at the formality, confused as to why he isn’t calling you cabur’ika like he usually does. The formality of calling you miss had dissolved almost the moment you met him and it was strange coming from his lips after so much familiarity between you. He has only ever called you miss when talking to the children about you.

For Din, he has never felt quite as nervous as in this moment. Perhaps it’s the time that’s elapsed that does it. When he kissed you he meant it, he meant his intent to court you, but his job had become busier over the months after...and in truth, he had doubts about his worth. He was unsure if he was truly enough for you. He felt ungentlemanly, improper, too rough. For months he’d been struggling with whether or not he was good enough for you, he knew you wanted to be courted by him, but was it the right thing for you? After months of soul searching, a healthy dose of want and longing every time he saw you with the children or whenever you smiled at him, he’d decided that it was your choice to make. He wanted to be with you and maybe he wasn’t damn good enough, maybe he wasn’t the man that should get to be with you, but if you wanted him then he wasn’t strong enough or selfless enough to or cold enough to do anything but love you.

“I...I have something for you, it ain’t much but I…well…” The flush to his cheeks grows deeper, a bright beaming red that screams against his bronzed skin. From behind his back he pulls his arm, hand outstretched towards you. He knows there’s a subtle shake to his arm, nerves at bearing his heart open, however, subtly, racing through his blood. More adrenaline than he’s felt anywhere but in a gunfight.

There, clutched tight between the fingers of his left hand is a beautifully bound book, green leather cover and gilded words, tucked between the pages you can see an envelope just peeking out at the top. You gently take it from his hands with your left, the meaning of that burned into your memory from lessons with your mother. To give and receive a gift with the left hand is to recognise and accept an active interest in oneself. The weight of it has your heart pounding in your chest, almost violently so against your ribs. You read the cover, ‘The Complete Poetical Works of Walt Whitman’, the tears gather in your eyes before you have any time or thought to stop them. There’s a blind panic that fills Din’s chest, like the blaring of a ship’s foghorn in his mind, at the sight of tears collecting in your eyes. There’s a moment of genuine fear, that he’s somehow messed up, that he’s caused you to become upset.

Walt Whitman was the poet you used to read with your father every evening after he finished a long day of work, his works are some of your favourite, some of the most important to you, but you’ve never been one to spend money on yourself. You often spend your wage, what little of it you have, on items for the school, books for the children, a globe, an anatomical skeleton. You have a small copy of his works, old and worn, some pages missing. This book means more to you than you think Din knows. Afterall, Walt Whiteman is a well known poet and books are one of the few perfectly acceptable gifts to give to a woman that you are not married or engaged to. It was presumptuous to assume that the gift had any added meaning behind it. Foolish your late mother might have even said in her damning indictment of romance.

“How did you know?” You clutch the book tight to your chest, heart aching with happiness and longing, that this man had given this to you, on Valentine’s of all days. It brings burning heat to your cheeks, a stutter to your heart, a dryness to your mouth. This is a step that you had dreamed, hoped of, that move towards something more. This was confirmation that he meant it all those months back, that he intended to court you and hadn’t had a change of heart.

“You...he’s the poet you mention the most when you’re teaching the little ones, cabur’ika” You realise what this is, what this all means. He isn’t just a kind sheriff or your friend, he’s an unmarried eligible man showing you that he’s paid attention to you, that he’s interested. There’s a shift, a shift from the easy friendship to a new undercurrent of tension at the unspoken understanding between the two of you, at the prospect of courtship that he’s extending towards you. It’s not a marriage proposal, it’s not marriage, but it’s an offer to begin on the road towards that. It is confirmation that the kiss you’d shared hadn’t been a mistake, a whim, something fleeting and insubstantial.

It makes your heart flutter in your chest at the prospect that Din Djarin is putting his foot forward, extending a possibility, an opportunity, a potential future. That out of all the unmarried women in town Din was actively showing interest in you. He could have picked any number of beautiful, intelligent, eligible women to show interest in, to potentially court, but he’d chosen you. The weight is added at the prospect that he’s not just offering you a marriage, but a family, because little Grogu is part of his world, part of his life and you would never want anything less.

“Thank you, Din...I...Thank you.” You feel a little lost for words, they’re stuck in your throat, knowing that there are so many things you wish to say but so many things you can’t say.

“I should leave you to your teaching, Miss Y/N. I…” There’s a pause as he thinks over the words in his mind, and stops himself. Din is a fool for you, that he is certain, but the last thing he wants at that moment is to make a larger fool out of himself. So he places his hat back atop his head and says, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

You watch as he says a sweet goodbye to Grogu, kneeling briefly on the ground to touch his forehead to the boy’s before reminding him to ‘be good’ for you.

The envelope is a temptation, sticking out from the top of the book, it calls for you to open it in that instant. But, you don’t, smiling at Din as he walks down the street towards the sheriff’s office, you turn back to head inside, Grogu walking with you to his seat, ready for you to teach the class. Despite the nagging desire to see what letter, what words lie in that envelope, you place the book atop of your desk and begin your day of teaching. You attempt to put the letter to the back of your mind, to keep the thoughts of being courted by Din at bay so that you can effectively teach, but you know you are distracted.

The children are just as unfocused as you, the day goes both fast and slow with dramatics abound. Jonah receives at least 5 love letters, Grogu catches a frog for little Mary-Beth and your entire class takes time to gift you with a drawing by themselves of you and the entire class.

Despite a whole class to distract you, you find it hard to teach, your eyes drifting back to your desk. That unassuming little envelope poking out from beneath the pages of a little poetry book that means more to your soul than you can possibly put into any sort of words. You find yourself thinking ahead, of the future, of Din. If he did indeed wish to court you, to go down that path of potential and intended marriage, then he was truly to be part of your future, he and Grogu.

There was no doubt in your mind that you’d accept such a proposition, that you wanted him in your future. Din was your friend, something that had taken very little time in truth. From the moment you’d met him and his son, he’d managed easily to worm his way into your affections without even a thought to do so. He was kind, competent, caring. He was good with children. Respected you, your intelligence and your authority in your classroom. While he happily joined you to tell stories to the children he would always defer to you and respect your right to dictate what happened inside your school house. He helped when you needed it, but never jumped so eagerly to help that he took over when you did not need it. While he was certainly quiet, had a temper hidden beneath it all and a danger to him that you’d seen on the few occasions he felt the town or it’s occupants were in danger, he had never made you feel anything but safe and secure. He had proven himself competent the moment he stepped into town, arranging your school house to be built and demanding the respect of every inhabitant. He had done more for you in the months you’d known him than anyone else had done in years.

He, in truth, captured your attention unlike any other person you’d ever met. You had always had an abstract desire for love, marriage, a family. But, no one had ever caught your attention, no man had ever been thought of as a potential father to your children or life companion. Din from the start had you take notice, you couldn’t quite comprehend the idea that he wanted to potentially marry you of all people.

He had his fair share of admirers, in a small town like your own, he was the man that stood out the most and one of the most handsome. He had a lot of eyes on him at all times and you assumed that he knew it, some were less subtle and ladylike than others. You knew he’d received a few propositions, something your mother would have been horrified at, but he’d yet to accept a single offer. To receive one from him, meant that out of all the people lined up outside the sheriff’s office begging for his attention, he’d chosen you. Something which excited you.

It’s on your lunch break, the children running around outside, that you finally have time to pull the envelope from its resting place between pages of inked words and sit with it. When you retrieved it from between pages of poetry, you had found yourself faced with little dried and pressed flowers between the pages of Walt Whitman’s works. A little additional that made a smile crawl across your lips. You’re sitting on the front steps, watching the kids play, one eye on them, the other on the unassuming letter in your hands. Grogu has come to join you, toddling up the steps on little legs before plonking himself down next to you, leaning his chubby cheek into your arm.

“Shall we see what your buir has written, mm?” You ask the little boy, he grins up at you at the mention of his father, he’s missing a couple of his baby teeth right at the front and the gap adds to the sheer adorable nature of the boy. You don’t know how much he knows, but Grogu has always seemed to know more than he let on, to understand the world around him better than most. There was always an intelligence behind those big eyes that made you think he knew more than either you or Din.

The envelope is unassuming, just a cream coloured piece of paper, neat cursive writing along the front spelling out your name. You’ve never seen Din’s handwriting before and it speaks of someone who received a decent education, hours of being drilled on the correct way to hold a dip pen, how to form each letter. There’s a hesitation to the writing that speaks of someone who hasn’t had reason to write in a while, a little judder to the letters. You trace a fingertip over your name, how it looks in his hand, black ink stark against cream paper. It looks pretty when he’s writing it, you think.

You turn over the envelope and slide a finger underneath the lip of it, careful to open it and not tear the paper in your haste. You glance up briefly at the sound of a yell, seeing that Jerome is fine and just laughing with the others, red in the face from receiving a kiss to the cheek, you turn your gaze to the folded letter that you pull from it’s confines.

It takes everything within you to keep your composure as you read the letter. There is a girlish part of you that wishes to giddily squeal, throw the page into the air and run around in circles to express the sudden burst of energy that fills you. Instead, you sit there calmly, fingers and hands shaking as your eyes dart across the page following each line, hungry for the next.

Dearest cabur’ika, Y/N,

In truth I do not know how to write this letter to you, but it felt less forward and presumptuous to put my thoughts onto paper than to speak them to you clearly and in the open where the town gossip would get involved. I do not want you to feel forced to return my affections or embarrassed by them. While we’ve shared a kiss and i’ve expressed my intent towards you in the past, it has always been private, quiet and anything but bold. It has always left room for doubt, uncertainty and movement. You deserve surety.

I have never been nor will I ever be a poet or a writer. I am a former bounty hunter, a sheriff, a mandalorian. I was raised to fight, to defend, not to write poetry or put down my thoughts and feelings into prose. I apologise if this letter is less than you dreamed of. If it fails to live up to lofty expectations or childhood dreams.

I wish to make it plain and clear to you that I find you to be beautiful. Not just in form, or face, but in soul. You are a protector, a guardian, a caregiver and teacher. From the moment I met you you treated myself and my son with a kindness that I doubt I will ever forget. You have enchanted me in body, soul and mind. When I kissed you in the schoolhouse it was not on a whim, nor was it a false promise. I had and have every intent to court you, to one day marry you. I apologise that I have been distant or allowed room for doubt to grow.

I am eager to see but a glimpse of you in the day, to make you smile or offer you some respite. I am eager to hear your voice even as you talk about topics I have no interest in. I am eager to be in your presence, to see the kindness with which you treat each of your children and the sweetness of your smile, the fierceness of your nature when called upon to protect your class. In the words of Walt Whitman, ‘you do not know how longingly I look upon you’.You are mandokarla, built with the soul of a warrior, the kindness of a mother, and the mind of a teacher. Perhaps my words are too strong or forward, perhaps you do not share my feelings, but I wish to lay my intentions at your feet. I do not wish to presume you return these feelings, perhaps that kiss was a moment of weakness, perhaps your feelings have changed. But I cannot in good conscience go on as we have.

I wish to step out with you, I wish to court you for the town to see, to one day marry you. If you ever allowed me such an opportunity I think I might be the luckiest of men, to have you join me in equal partnership as my riddur. To wake each morning to your smile, to raise our children and Grogu with you. To help you at your weakest and stand and watch you at your strongest. I long to build a life with you.

I ask, will you allow me the great honour of courting you?

If you do not feel the same then I shall end my pursuit, I shall respect your feelings or lack thereof and we shall be friends, as we have been. But, please, consider my words. I would be blessed if you ever saw me worthy of you, you would not just be an excellent riddur, but a loving buir to Grogu. If I did not feel seriously about you I would not make this offer. But, the choice is yours and I shall respect it no matter what your decisions may be.

Yours with love and affection,

Din Djarin

The shake to your breath comes from a good dose of shock and giddiness that collide together inside of your chest like two wagons that haven’t been watching where they were going. It’s not a proposal, but it is a proposal at the same time. There is a giddiness that fills you knowing that Din wishes to step out with you, that he wishes to show the town his intention to one day marry you, that he has affection past that of friendship for you. It’s the giddiness that comes from returned affections, shared interest, you no longer feel as if you are the only one gazing at the other, that your feelings are unrequited. It feels as if all that worry, all that doubt had been for naught, simply a foolish girlish thing to do. How had you ever doubted his intentions towards you?

“Miss, it’s time for history…” It’s Annie standing in front of you, hands on her hips to remind you that you need to call the children in, that has you hastily folding the letter and pocketing it, picking Grogu up and resting him on your hip as you rise. You, as most teachers, do not have the time to be giddy or dwell on love confessions during the school day.

The day drags on in its last moments. Your desire to return home, to write a carefully crafted response, to find some sort of gift in addition, has you counting the seconds, minutes, and hours as they slowly tick by. Your children can tell you are unfocused and they become incredibly distracted as a result, but despite this you can’t find it in yourself to be frustrated or irritated, not today of all days when your patience with them has been extended by your supernaturally good mood.

When Din collects Grogu at the end of the day you give him your sweetest smile and thank him earnestly for the letter. He isn’t sure what it means. It’s not an outright rejection or acceptance and despite the burning desire in his chest to receive an answer, he knows how to be patient, tipping his hat at you and offering to walk you home as a gentleman does.

It isn’t unusual for Din to walk you home after the school day ends, even on nights where you stay late at school he often comes back with Grogu to walk you as the dark sets in. He has never been anything but a gentleman when it comes to making sure you get home safe even in a small town where very little happens and you know everyone. Still, you’ve always appreciated the gesture and you do now, even if wrapping your arm through his and walking side by side takes on a new tension, a new feeling.

There’s a little thought in the back of your mind, niggling, that you can’t quite get rid of. The thought that this is what your little family could look like if all goes well. That you, with your arm wrapped through Din’s, hands in the crook of his elbow, and him, with Grogu on his hip, little arms wrapped around his neck, could easily be a future image of a family. Not just the Sheriff, a single father, walking the school teacher home because he’s polite and gentlemanly.

“Thank you again, for the letter and the poetry book. I...you don’t understand how much it all means to me, Din. I...I want to respond properly, take my time….I.” The air is cold, as it always is in early February, but your entire body feels warm as you try to explain that you’re not rejecting his offer. You don’t want him to doubt for a second that you intend to say yes, but it doesn’t feel right to say it. There’s a desire to take your time, to write a heartfelt reply, to ensure that the time he took for you, you take in return.

“You ain’t gotta tell me right away. It’s okay to take your time, mesh’la.” The reassurance has your shoulders dropping, a sense of relief, the removal of pressure. Any fear you had that Din would grow impatient dissipates and you're reminded once more of how safe you feel with him. Both physically and emotionally. He is a calming, solid presence. There is nothing fickle or finicky about Din and that is a relief when so much of your social world is confusing to navigate.

“Thank you.” You tell him earnestly, drawing closer to him as you walk. Your side pressed fully into his, hip to hip, arm to arm. You cannot truly comprehend Din Djarin, the many elements that make him a better man than most, but you don’t think you have to fully comprehend him to enjoy being around him, to find comfort in him. Perhaps it will take years for you to fully understand who he is, but you like to believe you’ll get the time to do so. To learn him just as well as he seems to have learnt you.

Your home isn’t particularly large. When you first came to town the Mayor had informed you that the post of teacher came with a small lodging. It was small; a separate bedroom off of the main living area, a water closet out in the back garden, enough room in the kitchen and living area for your tub to be placed in front of the fire when you need to wash. It was, however, homey, something Din had admired from the first.

You ensured that blankets and pillows, knick knacks and trinkets covered the space. That it felt like a lived space, a place filled with love and warmth.

He’s reluctant to leave you when he reaches the top step to your door. There’s a part of him that rarely wants to part from you, that enjoys your company even if it’s silent. You are comforting and familiar, he feels like he can be himself around you. There’s an implicit trust between the two of you. He trusts you with his son, he trusts you with his safety and protection, he trusts you with himself and even his heart, something he has protected ever since the death of his parents at the hands of bandits and thieves. He would be happy so long as he is in your presence and it is that fact that makes him certain about his decision to propose courtship, there is no one he would rather spend the rest of his days with. Terrifying, overwhelming, massive, but he can sense how entirely worth it it will be.

“Goo-”

“Hav-”

The two of you go to say goodnight at the same time, stopping short and laughing under your breath. You tug at the fabric of your skirt and shift, feeling a wave of embarrassment at talking over each other, an odd feeling when neither have done anything to be embarrassed of.

Grogu shifts on his father’s hip, leaning forward a hand reaching out to wave at you. You begin to smile, waving back at the little boy, your smile only grows wider when the usually mute boy giggles out “Goodnigh’!” at you with a large smile on his face.

The boy manages to break the tension with a simple word and smile, once again you wonder if he knows more than he lets on. That this six year old is, perhaps, wise beyond his years.

“Goodnight, Grogu. Goodnight, Din.”

“Goodnight, cabur’ika” There is a pause from Din as if he wishes to say something, before stopping himself, turning and walking down your stairs. You wait there at your door, watching him leave until your eyes can no longer follow his figure as he disappears around a corner and out of sight.

Your home feels empty, unusually so, with their presence gone, but you decide to put your energy and longing into a response. The first part is your famous spiced cookies. You know that Mandalorians prize spiced foods highly, a cultural aspect that your teacher Atin’a Caivass had shared with you as a child.

The recipe was hers, one thing she gifted you, shared with you, and entrusted to you. So you get to work, mixing together flour, butter, sugar, egg. Adding spices that are one of the little luxuries you deign to spend a little extra on. They’re the sort of cookies that have a lovely mixture of sweetness and kick, they hit you in the back of the throat just enough to make your mouth tingle. The coco powder in them balances out the heat nicely,

Once the cookies are on the side cooling you hunt out your letter writing items. You haven’t had reason to write a letter since the passing of your parents many years ago. But, you know, in your organised way, where your things are. You collect your writing paper, envelopes, dip pen, ink. You find out your sealing wax, the stamps you haven’t used in years. You lay out each item on your kitchen table with care, feel a thrill go through you that you haven’t felt in years. You always enjoyed writing letters, taking your time to put thoughts and feelings into words onto paper.

You take up your pen, dip the metal nib into black ink and bring the tip to cream, clean, fresh paper and begin to write.

Dearest Sheriff Djarin, Din.

There are few words in the expanse of the dictionary that could truly describe how I felt upon reading your letter. Ever since the kiss we shared I had worried, doubted. I was scared that perhaps you had changed your mind, decided that I was not worth your time, that I was not of interest anymore. When to me you had only become further ingrained in my dreams and wants. I was scared that I had made a terrible fool of myself.

To know that those feelings are returned, that you can see a life and a future with me means the world, it means everything. Grogu and you have become an inextricable part of my life, a part I would never wish to do without. You and that sweet boy make my soul sing and as Walt Whitman once aptly put ‘I am to see to it that I do not lose you’.

You enchant me and thrill me to no end and perhaps that is not ladylike to say, perhaps I should write a quick acceptance of your offer and leave it at that, but I feel that such honest and open words should be returned in kind. I adore you.

I adore the crinkle in your brow, the blinding smile when you drop your guard. I adore the kind, gentle nature you have around children, the ease with which you cause them to smile and laugh. I adore the respect you have for me, the respect you have for my authority in the classroom. I adore the curls of your hair, the hook of your nose, the patchy beard that grows on your jaw. I find there is very little I do not adore about you, Din Djarin and that is both a terrifying concept and one that I too adore.

There was a time I thought little on marriage. I was told I should marry, but what of it? Why would I? You have, for the first time, made me truly desire marriage, a husband, children, a life of pure domesticity and family.

To put it plainly, and I hope my feelings are not off putting or too forward, I would be glad, happy, ecstatic to one day call myself your wife and to call you my husband, my riddur.

You asked if I would allow you to court me and my answer is yes, a hundred, a thousand times yes. I would love nothing more than to step out with you, to hang on your arm and begin to take steps towards a life together.

I wish to make it equally as clear that Grogu matters to me. That I understand that he is part of this, part of you, and that I would never wish for you to part from each other. If you one day saw me as worthy of becoming his mother then I would take that responsibility on with pride and with love. He is a little angel, he captured my heart from the very first day I met him, even with his mischief and I would never wish to part with the two of you or come between your aliit, only to join it. I understand that he is as much your son, your child, as any child born of your own blood.

I accept your offer of courtship and I knowingly enter into it, and all that it entails.

All my love and affection,

Y/N Y/L/N

You wait for the ink to dry, in the meantime you take some muslin and begin to wrap the cookies carefully in the fabric. The twine you wrap around you knot into a bow. Redoing it multiple times until you're happy with its shape. There’s no real need for a knot of twine to be perfect, but you want it to look perfect, to be perfect, for him.

The ink of your letter is dry and you’re careful as you go through the motions of folding the pages, slipping them into a crisp envelope and weighing down the lip. You’re selective in your choice of wax and seal, careful as you melt the wax, pour it and stamp it. There’s a quiet calm about it all, sealing your words behind wax and paper. Knowing that the next time they’re revealed the one person they’re meant for will be reading them.

You place the times together on the side with care, ready to be collected in the morning as you leave for the school house. You take a few moments to think about when it would be best to deliver them, deciding that as much as it pains you to wait, the evening, after school, is better than the morning. It would simply distract you more, you have little time to do it, and the evening gives you that time to talk, to enjoy the change in your relationship.

You go to sleep that night with thoughts of Din’s smile, the one he gives whenever he tells a story to your class, soft, gentle, filled with contentment. Thoughts of the way his hair curls over his ears and his neck moves as he swallows. Thoughts of how he had come into your little mining town of Navarro and shaken everything up in the best sort of way, put to right all the wrongs, solved problems and brought forth solutions.

When you wake the next morning you’re extra particular about what you choose to wear, how your pins look in your hair and how much rouge is on your cheeks. You know, deep down, that Din could care less about the way your hair is pinned or how much rouge is on your cheeks, but it’s something to occupy your hands and mind in the morning before you get to the school house. Once you’re teaching you know you’ll have little time to worry or think about the response you intend to pass on to Din at the Sheriff’s office that evening, but in the meantime you busy yourself with your daily routine.

The day seems to drag, your smile and good morning to Din as he drops Grogu off for school is filled with tension and unspoken words. Your lessons seem to take forever to teach and where you’d normally be enthused you find yourself more eager for the day to end than anything else.

Paz is the one to come by and collect Grogu at the end of the day. The large man had settled into town as the deputy not a month into Din’s stint as sheriff. You knew that Paz and Din were close, practically brothers, having grown up together in the covert and that had been the main reason for you warming to him so quickly. Without Din’s presence you would have likely shied away from Paz. He was large, if you’d thought Din was broad shouldered, then he had nothing on Paz, who was a veritable giant. His size and his resting scowl made him intimidating, but his interactions with the children and women of town showed his character instantly. Like another Mandalorian you knew he’d been gentle and sweet, respectful, despite his size and intimidating demeanor. You liked Paz, even if he seemed to enjoy embarrassing you around his brother.

“Hey there, Little One!” You watch Paz crouch down, arms open as the little boy barrels towards him as fast as his little legs can go. Grogu absolutely adored Paz, he was his uncle, his ba’vodu, and the little boy loved being swung about, hefted to and fro by the giant man. It was the tenderness with which Paz always encompassed Grogu in his arms, lifting him gently to his shoulders, that reminded you of the soul inside Paz. The cover of his book was intimidating, scary, tough, the face of a mercenary and bounty hunter, but his inner pages, his soul was just as soft as Din, just as caring. You were happy to call Paz a friend.

“Hello, Paz”, You smile up at the man, Grogu now sat about his shoulders, arms wrapped around the top of his head with a little smile. The man in question smiles down at you, “Good evenin’, cyar’ika”, You smile wider at the familiar endearment, happy to see your friend even if the nerves from your impending visit to Din buzz in your stomach and chest.

“Is Din working late?”

“Yeah, the kid’ll be at mine for the night, Din’s working the graveyard shift so to speak.” You’re, in truth, glad that Paz is watching Grogu for the night, that Din is working late. It gives you the privacy to give your response, without either the watchful eyes of a child or any other sort of audience.

“Well, have a good night, Paz”

“Not as good as yours i’m sure” It’s said with that teasing glint that Paz often gets in his eye and a smirk that twists the shape of his beard. It causes a sort of panic to fill you, at the thought that Paz knows, that he knows what’s going on even if it’s completely believable and acceptable that Din would tell his brother about his intentions towards you. Your body feels warm all of a sudden and you're sure there’s a look of panic in your eyes because Paz’s glint softens down to something kind and gentle as he nods a goodnight to you and walks away.

You force yourself to go about your normal routine, spending a few hours at the school house marking books, organising the next day’s lessons, tidying up and generally making sure you were ready for all your children the following morning. You may spend a little too much time rearranging the items on your desk and sharpening pencils that don’t really need to be sharpened.

It’s as the sun begins to dip low in the February sky, and people begin to light lamps in their houses or, for those with enough money, turn on their electric lights that you finally decide enough is enough and grab the parcel and letter from your desk. You march with a strange sort of determination, that hides the mess of emotions you are inside, across the street and to the Sheriff’s Office. It doesn’t matter that Din had already shared his feelings with you, you were still nervous of his reaction, had you responded well enough? Was it romantic enough? Would something in your letter be off putting for him? Was it too forward? Not clear enough?

He is leaning back in his chair, legs crossed on top of his desk, heels of his boots digging into the wood of the table. The warm light from various gas lamps bounces across Din’s features, accentuates the sharpness of his cheek bones, the curve of his hawkish nose, the shadow from the brim of his hat.

His chair makes a sharp screech across the floorboards as he rushes to stand at the sight of you, feet falling to the floor as he bounces to them. The hat is swept off his head, politely removed to show the curls of his hair as he, dare you say nervously, tugs at his waistcoat and checks his attire. It’s somewhat relaxing, the endearing nerves with which he greets you, the quick attempt to perfect himself, to show you the best of him, even if you would have happily been greeted by him even if he were covered head to toe in mud.

“Cabur’ika…” He’s a little breathless and it causes a flush to reach his cheeks. He’s embarrassed that he sounds like a school aged kid, that he isn’t standing before you behaving like a man, an adult. But, you take the breath out of him. You’re frazzled looking after a long day teaching, the hair of your up-do frizzy and falling out in places, chalk across your cheeks and skirt, wrinkles in your clothes that he was sure weren’t there that morning, but you still looking breathtaking, you still make his heart jump a beat.

“Din…” You’re breathless yourself, it feels like your nerves have a hand around your throat, a tight grip keeping the breath from leaving your lungs. You fumble a little as you step towards him, tripping on a loose floorboard but catching yourself. Your hands nearly drop the precious cargo they’re carrying and you clutch tighter in response.

“I...uh...Here.” You had the parcel and letter to him, as he reaches for the envelope first you panickedly say, “The parcel! Open...open the parcel first?” He can see the nerves in you, the way you twist your fingers and bite at your bottom lip, in an effort to ease them he nods with a smile and puts the envelope on his desk, focusing on the package of muslin and string.

He’s careful as he opens it on his desk, pulling apart the perfect bow you’d tied and unravelling the package with careful hands. His fingers are too delicate in that moment for such large hands, for hands that have choked men unconscious and lassoed bounties, that have held guns. It’s odd for him, how easily he has fitted into the domesticity of town, odd, but not unwelcome.

The wrappings fall away and he’s greeted by the sight of warm brown cookies, irregularly shaped, although somewhat circular. They’re delicious looking, but what gets him the most is the smell, it reminds him of winter nights in the covert, of his adopted parents and warm cookies and milk, spices that he’s almost forgotten about. He should really ask before grabbing one and tucking in, but he can’t resist the urge to find out if the spices are the ones he remembers from his childhood.

The cookie is moist and soft as it crumbles away easily onto his tongue, he can’t resist closing his eyes at the taste. He recognises the spices, the taste taking him back to fond memories and warmth, a familial bond between him and those who had taken him in, protected him, given him a purpose, a life. He finishes the whole thing without really realising it.

You watch on, anxious to see if he likes them. It had been a risk, spicing the cookies, you hoped the significance to his culture was a good thing and not bad. You found yourself second guessing your decision as his brow furrowed, eyes closing, but then he took the next bite, and the next, until the cookie was no more and Din’s chocolate coloured eyes opened and blinked over at you with the lightest sheen of tears.

“How did you know?”

“I...I had a mandalorian teacher, remember? She...she always liked spiced cookies, I…are they okay? Was...should I not have?” You feel the worry bounce through you, at the thought that you’d crossed some invisible line, some sort of boundary not meant to be crossed.

“No, no! They’re lovely, thank you. They...they remind me of home, Mesh’la.” He’s quick to reassure you, a warm hand reaching out to give one of your own a quick squeeze, just long enough to comfort you, but no longer than appropriate.

You watch him turn back to the envelope, picking it up with care before glancing between the seal and you, eyes darting back and forth as if he is unsure if he is allowed to open it, to read it. “Open it.” You force the words from your throat, nervous for him to read your words, your thoughts and feelings put to paper, but knowing that the relief once he has done so will outweigh your current anxiety.

You stand and watch, a lump in your throat, your hands twisting into your skirt as he opens the envelope. A careful finger pulling the seal free and gently easing the pages of your letter from it’s confines. You wait and you watch, eyes intent on his features as his own carefully trace across the curvature of your words.

He can feel his heart pounding in his ears, feel the tears well in his eyes as he reads further throughout your letter. It is not just your open acceptance of his offer that has his emotions rising within his chest, but the clear admiration of him and the openness with which you accept his son. Grogu was his child, you were right, as much as any child of his own blood would be, and he had, in truth, stupidly worried that you might not accept the boy as your own. Your excitement at the prospect of one day being a mother to him causes his heart to ache in the best sort of way.

Din was purposeful as he placed the letter down and strode up to you, the toes of his boots touching the hem of your skirt. He invades your personal space in a way that sets your skin aflame, yet it is not uncomfortable. You welcome his presence as much as it causes your heart to beat rapidly and your throat to swallow.

“May I kiss you?” He asks, his voice soft and gentle, the southern twang just under the surface. He’s so close you can feel the warmth from his skin. You nod, letting out a shaky breath as his hands come up to cup your cheeks. So large they enclose you so well, make you feel secure even as your heart tries to stutter out of your chest. It matters little that you’ve kissed before, that was quick, this was slow, your attention undivided, your thoughts completely encapsulated by him and his entire being. His hands are warm against your cheeks, thumbs brushing back and forth in gentle strokes as he gages your reaction, eyes focused on your own. He’s slow as he moves forward, as if giving you time to back out, to pull away, but you don’t.

He tastes like spices and sugar, the cookie lingering on his tongue long after it had melted away. He is soft, but not so gentle, the gentle, delicate nature of your last kiss is replaced by depth of emotion, passion and fire. His lips firm against yours, a large hand cupping the back of your neck to pull you closer, while the other falls to your waist. His beard scratches against your skin pleasantly and you think you could happily grow used to this. You think little of propriety, of politeness, when you open your lips to his and meld yourselves closer together, think little of it as you clutch at his shoulders and breathe him in, as your fingers come up to tangle in those chocolate curls and tug incessantly, as his tongue tangles with your own. There is no fear of it going too far, of Din pushing you for more, of demanding more because you both know the lines that must not be crossed, because you trust him implicitly and because you know he respects you enough to not risk your reputation or livelihood for something carnal or baser, even if he desires it. Even if you desire it.

The lack of fear is what allows you to get swept up in the kiss, in the feeling of his hands and lips on you, the warmth of his skin, the smell of his soap. It allows you to forget that the world outside exists, that you are not in your own private world, but in the easily accessible space that is the Sheriff’s Office.

The spell is broken by the sound of the door slamming open and heavy, booted footfalls on the floorboards. You pull apart with a gasp and Din is quick to stand in front of you, as if to protect you from view, scowling at his deputy in the doorway. Not even the little boy on Paz’s shoulder can take the frustration from Din, he is frustrated at the interruption, embarrassed for you, that you were caught in a compromising position, and irritated by the smirk that’s heavy on Vizsla’s lips.

Paz hadn’t meant to interrupt, in truth he hadn’t expected to find you there, lips locked to his brother, but Grogu was being fussy. Refusing to eat his dinner and then outright refusing to be put to bed. Paz had decided the kid just needed to see his buir, he hadn’t expected Din to be...in the middle of something.

“Am I interrupting something, Djarin?” He’s teasing and he feels a little sorry when he sees how embarrassed you look, but it’s worth it for the glare he gets from Din. His smirk widens as Din practically growls at him, teeth clenched tight.

“Vizsla, don’t make me shove my boot where the sun don’t shine. Ne shab’rud’ni.” He softens a little at Grogu grinning at the two of you, but he still wishes the interruption had never come. He knows it was inevitable, he has a young son, the chances of romance going uninterrupted are slim, still…

“We’ll be outside, Vod. Don’t take too long” Paz says it, still with that smirk attached to his face. He’s gracious enough to give Din a little more time with you, before demanding the man take his son home and tuck him in bed.

The door closes softly behind him, the moment he’s out of sight Din turns back to you, sighing out an apology, “I’m sorry, cyare…”

He presses his forehead to your own, hands smoothing across your waist and back in gentle motions. As if trying to soothe the embarrassment from you, bring you back to a sense of peace that had since been disrupted.

You push your forehead back into his and nudge his nose with your own, “Don’t be. He’s your son.” You mean it. As embarrassing as being interrupted is, as frustrating as it may be, you understand. His son is massively important, and he’s young, there are bound to be interruptions. It’s okay.

“So, we’re really doin’ this, huh? Haven’t changed your mind yet, Mesh’la?”

“Not at all…” You press forward, a soft, sweet little kiss to lips before pulling back, “You should go...Grogu needs you. Wish him a goodnight for me?” You pull away slowly, untangling yourself from his arms despite your own reluctance. You want to stay there, warm and safe forever, but Grogu needs his father and you do not have the heart to deprive him.

“Always.”

Din doesn’t want to leave you, but you make the decision for him, grabbing his hat and carefully plopping in atop his head before ushering him out the door. You watch as he takes Grogu from Paz, putting the boy onto his shoulders and walking with the man down the street.

He can’t help but look back.

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

All Works Taglist

@charradelange @belfry-bat @gabile18 @beccaboo929

Putting Down Roots Taglist

@trasheater @roxypeanut @reader-without-a-story

#din djarin x reader #din djarin / reader #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian reader insert #reader insert #readerinsert #western au #putting down roots #din djarinxreader #din djarin/reader #female reader #female identifying reader

172 notes · View notes

pacific-rimbaud · 3 years

Note

hi!!! so. for the first sentence game:

She had learned touch typing on a blue, electric Smith Corona a year before Hogwarts.

Touch Type

Pairing: Sirius Black x Marlene McKinnon

Rated M

1,000 words

Also on AO3

She had learned touch typing on a blue, electric Smith Corona a year before Hogwarts.

asdf jkl; ffdd ffss ffaa asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj jjkk jjll jj;;

“You’re doing very well.”

The typing teacher tacked a gold foil star to the upper right-hand corner of her paper.

Marlene knew children weren’t meant to agree with adults when they said that sort of thing.

“Yes, I am.”

It’s just that she didn’t care.

When she got home, Marlene’s mother fixed the paper to their refrigerator.

At dinner, as Marlene’s father passed the potatoes, an owl flew through the open kitchen window carrying a letter.

Little things were lost to her, straight away: toaster ovens; radios; typewriters; yellow-painted Number 2 pencils.

And large ones: Queen; all of science; ballet; Shakespeare.

They'd given her a wand instead.

ffjj ddkk ssll aa;;

lad lad fad fad add add

asks asks dad dad all all

“What are you doing?”

He whispered like no one else she'd ever known, the tips of his t's and d's shivering down her nape.

He knew he was doing it, just like he knew his off-kilter tie looked illicit.

An unusual amount of power for a thirteen year-old.

“I don’t feel like telling you."

The sun glaring through the south-facing windows in the Charms classroom struck Marlene’s neck above her stiff white collar.

ask afford ajar adapt ate art awe

“Are you playing the piano?”

“I am not.”

“What are you doing, Marlene?”

“Mr. Black!” Flitwick’s chalk stalled. “Pray tell, what is so fascinating about Miss McKinnon’s half of the desk that you are not seated properly at yours?”

“Nothing, Professor.”

Marlene continued striking her imaginary typewriter keys.

aught apt award among aztec ant

boy black brazen braggadocio bye bye bye

The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.

Escaping to the balcony from the overheated Great Hall, Marlene tapped the railing.

“You’re a dog,” she said.

“Am I?”

Elbows propped on the balcony rail, Sirius took a long pull from a flask, Adam’s apple rising and falling.

“Peter is a rat,” she said.

“That’s not very nice, Marlene.”

He didn’t need to whisper anymore to make the vellus hair on her arms rise.

A troubling amount of power for a fifteen year-old.

“James is a stag,” she went on.

“And Remus?”

His eyes gleamed.

Sphinx of black quartz, judge my vow.

“Someone very fortunate in his friends. You’ve left your date inside, and she looks unhappy. If you didn’t want to be here with her, you shouldn’t have asked her to the dance.”

He drew himself up to his full height and tucked the flask in his back pocket.

“Why are you mean to me, Marlene?”

“I’m not mean. I’m direct. There’s a difference.”

He shifted towards her, slowly, and their shoulders met.

Waltz, bad nymph, for quick jigs vex.

Then he leaned down, hand traveling along the railing, until it slid beneath her fingers.

She struck imagined letters into the soft skin on the underside of his forearm.

ffjj ddkk ssll aa;;

“And if I were direct?”

Marlene closed her eyes.

black dog black dog lazy dog bad dog

“I would directly tell you no.”

The summer she turned sixteen, on a long Italian holiday, she inoculated herself. Any beautiful Italian boy with a kind face would do, so she chose one at a disco in Rome. Within three weeks, she had debauched herself to her own satisfaction.

At school, she typed poems into the wood of the common room table, whatever came to mind: Pablo Neruda, Walt Whitman, Adrienne Rich.

I had questions but you would not answer

I had answers but you could not use them

He took any girl he wanted to his bed and into empty classrooms. Boys, on occasion.

A frightening amount of power for a seventeen year-old.

When he walked past, hand in hand with someone else, she felt his stare as a physical act, as though he could, through relentless pestering perception, make her look up from the table, a book, a parchment, from the poetry in her fingers.

Dark river beds down which the eternal thirst is flowing

He seemed allergic to silencing spells.

He didn’t know how easily Marlene could tuck herself inside the memory of a low breathless voice in her ear saying, “Guardami. Guardami.”

ffjj ddkk ssll aa;;

look at me look at me

mi fai impazzire

you make me crazy

For her eighteenth birthday, she bought herself a blue, electric Smith Corona typewriter. Defying every forced dichotomy, she placed it before the wide front window of her newly let London flat.

She never agreed to be halved.

Now, when she typed, whole stories appeared on pages, entirely of her own invention.

She wrote messages to magicians in Muggle ink on a Muggle typewriter, rolled Muggle papers and handed them to magical owls.

James and Lily,

I’m extremely pleased to accept the invitation. My warmest congratulations.

Skin hugged tight in red silk satin, Marlene tapped her fingertips on the kitchen counter at Grimmauld Place while she waited for another drink.

asdf jkl; ffdd ffss ffaa asdf

i take you for better for worse to love till death my vow

i take you to have to cherish

death do us take

solemn vow i cherish

Sirius’s arm slid along the counter’s edge, until she typed against the bare pale skin of his forearm.

He was drunk, in a white tuxedo and red tie, jacket long since lost, flush with philia, with agape, with philautia, radiant with incandescent eros.

An insurmountable amount of power for a nineteen year-old.

The ache between her legs was torturous.

asdf jkl; ffdd ffss ffaa asdf

boy boy black black bad bad best

His arm that was her typewriter folded around her middle as he slipped into the space between her body and the counter.

“You are kind,” he said.

“I am.”

“And you are direct.”

“Yes.”

His chin dropped. “And if I promised, directly, to be very kind?”

He fucked her on the typewriter table in her front window, her dress around her waist, his hand over her breast, panting in her ear.

“Why did you make me wait?”

She gasped, tightening her fist in the fabric of his waistcoat.

“Because you didn’t think you would have to.”

She jolted under the force of his hips, her left hand smashed against the unplugged typewriter’s silent keyboard.

“Marlene…”

to have have have

“Yes?”

i take i take i take

“I am so fucking—”

to hold to want

to want to love

“I know.”

#Sirius Black #marlene mckinnon #sirius x marlene #hp rarepair #first sentence ask #ficlet #my fic

45 notes · View notes

fic-for-fic-sake · 4 years

Text

Stupid Cupid

Pairing: Steve x reader

Description: Just a short little drabble for Valentine’s day, yes the title is inspired by that song from The Princess Diaries.

Cupid, or Eros as you knew him, was really a jerk. You’re a demigod, daughter of Apollo, and you had insisted that you were better at archery than the god of love. It was in your blood after all, er- Ichor. Anyway, you boasted your skills and challenged Eros to a friendly competition, but being the spoil sport he is, and gods being gods, he decided not to show up, which was fine by you.

You were hanging around the Avengers compound about a week after the competition having purged all thoughts of it from your mind. You were reading a book in your room when you felt the telltale sting of an arrow in your forearm.

“What the hell?” You questioned, looking up from your book only to find a red shimmering arrow protruding from your left arm with a note attached to it. ‘We’ll see who’s the better shot now...have fun.’ Eros. Damnit, you knew it was a love arrow. Unsure of whether or not there would be any wild boars around for you to fall madly in love with you grabbed a scarf from your dresser and tied it over your eyes. You knew most of your fellow Avengers were out of the facility today but you weren’t taking any risks.

You were okay for the first hour, you listened to your favorite podcast, Lore, and found yourself forgetting you had the blindfold on altogether. The trouble only started when you could feel yourself getting hungry. You internally cursed yourself as you exited your room and felt your way towards the kitchen. You couldn’t hear any noise so you figured you were in the clear.

Hesitantly, you lifted up your blindfold to make yourself a sandwich, not risking slicing your hand open on an avocado. It would be fine, in and out in ten minutes tops. If someone came in you could just slip on the scarf and no harm would be done.

Rummaging around in the fridge and humming to yourself you missed the soft footsteps of Steve Rogers as he came into the kitchen from the gym. Instead of making his presence known he just enjoyed watching you by yourself, he thought it was funny how you acted when no one else was around.

Meanwhile you continued humming as you piled your arms high with ingredients, so much so that you couldn’t see over the plastic tubs of food. Closing the fridge with your foot you placed everything down on the counter and cursed yourself as your precariously placed stack fell. Before you could even think about picking it up your eyes landed on the super soldier in front of you. Shit. Your heart started hammering so hard in your chest you thought it would pop right out and your mouth went dry. You could feel heat rising up to your cheeks and a thousand butterflies flap in your stomach.

“H-hi Steve.” Your words caught in your mouth, positively tongue tied over him. Had he always been this gorgeous? Beautiful sandy blond hair that sparkled thanks to the natural lighting of the floor to ceiling windows. Sparkling blue eyes that looked just like the Mediterranean during the peak of a summer afternoon. Beautifully sculpted arms that you longed to throw yourself into, he was heaven.

“Hi yourself.” He teased back, amused by your change in demeanor. “Whatcha makin?”

“Um, just, just some lunch.” You breathed back, toying with a stray strand of hair, pulling it around and around your finger as you fluttered your eyelashes at him. God, he was really something else wasn’t he? “Do you want some?” You questioned eagerly, desperate to keep him with you.

“Yeah sure, I’ll have whatever you’re having.” He smiled, wondering what had gotten into you. You were never this flirty with him, not that he minded. It was funny to see such a different side of you, you were usually more witty with him, spewing biting retorts like it was your job.

“Okay.” You giggled as you started preparing his lunch too. Your teeth sank into your bottom lip in 30% concentration but 70% because you thought it looked hot and would impress Steve. When you were done you walked around the island to his side of the counter and put his plate in front of him. As you passed behind him to take the seat next to him you trailed your index finger along his shoulder blades in what you hoped was a suggestive gesture. “Hope you enjoy.”

Steve almost choked on his lunch he couldn’t believe how forward you were being. He could feel his face turn as red as his shield. He reached out and placed his palm on your forehead, checking your temperature. “Are you feeling okay?”

You leaned into his palm, loving the feel of his skin on yours. “Mhm, just fine Stevie.” You assured him with big puppy dog eyes. He tried to pull his hand away from you but you protested and grabbed for his hand, lacing his fingers with your own. Much better. Suddenly you didn’t care about your lunch, you just cared about Steve, only Steve. You paid no mind to your growling stomach or full plate, you just moved your chair closer to his and rested your head on his broad shoulder as you kept your hand entwined with his.

“You’re not gonna eat anything? I thought you were hungry.” Steve commented, looking down at you resting on his shoulder, feeling equal parts of adoration and confusion.

“Nope.” You said, popping the ‘p’, “I just wanna be with you, as long as you’ll let me.” You said dreamily. You took your other hand and dragged it up and down Steve’s arm, appreciating the muscle definition. “Has anyone ever told you that you have the best arms?” You questioned, using the opportunity to wrap his arm around your shoulder and nuzzle your head into his side.

“N-no.” He replied, choking slightly on his food. Seriously, what was happening with you? Sure he had flirted with you but he never thought that you got the hint, maybe he had been wrong.

You spent the rest of the day with Steve acting like a deranged schoolgirl in love. You hardly ate or drank anything unless Steve absolutely insisted.

“Doll, you haven’t eaten all day, I’m worried.” He would say, nervousness lacing his words.

“Hm, doll,” you began, rolling your mouth over the ‘o’ and sticking your tongue out to accentuate the ‘l’, “I like it when you call me that. Makes me feel special.” You said, looking at Steve as if he hung the moon and stars, which, he totally did.

Later that night when he tried to leave you to go sleep in his own room you practically threw a tantrum.

“Where are you going?” You whined, pulling his arm so that he would stay in your room, with you.

“Doll, I’m going to sleep, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Don’t leave me Stevie, please?” You questioned, wrapping your arms around his thick neck muscles and lacing your hands behind his head, trying to make yourself as irresistible as possible.

“Are you sure? You wouldn’t feel more comfortable here by yourself?” Steve asked, a slight blush working its way onto his facial features. He didn’t want to push you to do anything you didn’t want to.

“I won’t make a move, scouts honor.” You promised, holding your hand in a mock boy scout gesture, “I just wanna be with you, just hold me.” The way you said it, the sheer innocence in your voice made him weak in the knees. He had wanted to do just that for so long so how could he say no? He followed you into bed and let you adjust so that you were using his chest as a pillow. “G’night Stevie.” You yawned into his shirt.

“Goodnight sweetheart.” Steve replied, placing a soft kiss to the crown of your head and watching as your eyelids fluttered shut and you drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

The next morning you woke up from a wonderful sleep, the best sleep you had in awhile. You tried to turn on your other side but there was something slung across your stomach holding you down. The more you woke up the more you felt the presence. It was behind you as well, radiating a comforting warmth. You almost fell back asleep until you felt a gentle breath fan across your head, what the hell? Waking up fully now you realized that there was another person in bed with you. Fuck.

Yesterday came back to you in a sobering tidal wave of memories. The arrow, seeing Steve, spending all day with Steve, acting like a complete idiot around Steve, asking Steve to spend the night. Shit. Tentatively you tried to move yourself out of the soldiers grasp but he shifted under your touch, pulling you back against his warmth.

“Don’t go, not yet.” He said, voice rough in the early morning hours. Oh. Even though the love spell had worn off that was still incredibly attractive.

“Bathroom.” You whispered out to him, hoping he would let you go for that. Luckily, you were right. You quickly darted out from under Steve’s arm and went to the bathroom, gingerly shutting the door behind you.

You splashed water on your face and were about to go back outside and deal with the man in your bed when something caught your eye. A piece of golden paper pinned to the wall with an arrow through it.

Hope you enjoyed my arrow, next time you challenge me it’ll be longer than 24 hours. P.S. The arrow doesn’t make something out of nothing, it amplifies feelings that are already there. Have fun with the soldier cuz.

#steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #valentines day drabble #valentines day fanfic #reader insert #mcu fanfic #cupid arrow

80 notes · View notes

a-heart-inscribed · 5 years

Text

Operation Eros - Part 2

Word Count: 1754

Steve Rogers x Reader

It’s a few months later that you find yourself in the shop alone, approaching midnight, with just a small light on behind the bar where you are working diligently on your latest project. The bell ringing at the front draws your attention.

Steve strolls in wearily, exhaustion showing in his posture and concern on his face. He runs his hand through his freshly showered, still wet, hair. As he moves you take note that the sinfully tight t-shirt he has on under his leather jacket should be illegal and someone should alert the federal government of his offense.

“Hey,” his voice is soft as he picks up a barstool and moves it to just across from you to take a seat at the counter, “You shouldn’t leave the door unlocked so late after closing. Not with that light advertising someone is probably here still.”

You straightened up and over exaggerated a smile up at him. “Well thank you, Captain,” you winked at him and when he shook his head and smirked, you grinned earnestly at him, “But, I was waiting for you. It’s only been unlocked for about ten minutes.”

“You knew I was going to be back to the tower tonight? And that I’d come over?” He folds his arms on the counter and leans in, raising an eyebrow in astonishment.

“Tony texted me. Gave me an ETA, right down to ‘and he’ll probably take his post mission shower as soon as we land.’ He was pretty spot on.”

Steve rolled his eyes and blushed a little before then furrowing his brows. “But how’d you know I’d come by?”

You shrugged. “Tony said you could use a drink and someone to talk to. He didn’t tell you to swing by?”

“No. When I was getting back I, uh,” Steve clears his throat, “I noticed the light on. When it was still on after the shower I decided to swing by and check in out.”

You nod. That’s strange. How did Tony know Steve would notice the light and come over if he hadn’t told him? “Well it’s a good thing you noticed then. I could have been waiting for a while. So, what can I get you?”

After making his drink you sat back down across from him, absent mindedly picking up the graphite pencil laying across your work and tapped it against your lip, watching him.

He took a long sip of his drink while watching you watch him, then smiled a half smile at you. “What?”

“Nothing.” You blush a bit. “You just have nice hair.”

He laughed for a second, eyes landing on the pencil you twirled in your fingers. “What are you working on?”

“Oh!” You look down at the papers on the counter and start to gather them together. “Um, well, it’s nothing…”

Damn, was he fast. Steve was around the counter and stilling your busy shifting of papers with a hand on your arm in seconds. He stood half behind you, looking down over your shoulder and tilted his head to the side for a moment. “These aren’t nothing. You’re really good.” Reaching forward he picked up the drawing on top of the pile, one of a little older lady, who had been in the shop earlier that day. “I didn’t know you drew.”

“Yeah… I took it up when I was younger as a way to pass my alone time. I like watching people so it’s fun. It’s not anything I do seriously.”

He turned slightly to look at you, giving you another smile, and oh man he was so close to you. You could smell the soap and shampoo he had used not long ago and you had to fight not to close your eyes and breathe it in.

“Still,” He turns back to your work and starts to spread out the pages to see, “you are really good.” His voice gets quiet and soft, almost timid, as he goes on. “I draw too, you know.”

“Really?” Excitement sparkled behind your eyes and it wasn’t long before the two of you were going through each other’s’ sketch books, him having ran back to get his from the tower, and picking favorites the others had done. You’d thought you’d die of embarrassment when he’d found the page of your sketches of him in the shop on different days until he had silently produced a lovely drawing of you at the coffee bar from his work to reassure you it was alright. You guys only pack up when he realized you will only get about an hour sleep by the time you get home in order to be back at work in the morning.

“So…” He trails off as you lock the shop behind you guys.

“Yeah?” Turning to him you pocket your keys and find him running a hand over the back of his neck.

“Instead of Tony being… well Tony… and sending you my ETA, would it be alright if I sent you it once and a while?”

“Oh,” You know you beam up at him. “Of course! That would be cool.” Watching him you wait as he looks at you, clearly waiting for something you haven’t figured out.

Finally, he blushes and stumbles his words out quickly “Um, I… well I’d need your number to do that…”

Your eyes go wide and round. “Oh! Oh God! I’m an idiot, I just assumed you had it!” shuffling your stuff around you pull out your phone to hand to him. “I mean the others-“

“No problem, doll. I didn’t want to ask the others for it, thought that might be weird.” Quickly he punches in his number and hands it back. “Text me when you get home?” He turns his head away a little and you think that means he is blushing even though you can’t tell in the low light, “That way I have your number and I know you made it back safely. I mean, its late…”

He cuts off when you move in to give him a half hug, the best you guys can manage with arms full of sketch books, coffee cups, and your bag. “Yeah. I’ll text you. Thanks for looking out for me, Captain.”

His smile is breath taking as he looks down his nose at you. “Any time, Doll.”

A few weeks later your phone chirps where it is laying on the coffee bar. ‘ETA, 3 minutes?’ flashes across your screen from Steve. He’d stopped by most times the team returned from missions, no matter the time of day. If it was late, he would always text you just before closing to see if you were alright with waiting around for him, which tonight had been the case.

After texting him back that you’d see him soon, you set about starting his coffee. You were just grabbing a cup from the stack when the door chimed softly. “Come on in Steve and take a seat…” you trailed off as you got a glimpse of him, moving slowly into the shop. He was clad in his stealth suit, which you had never seen in person, and was sporting a few days’ worth of stubble. Maybe you were staring but you couldn’t help it, he moved so fluidly and smiled tiredly at you. “Son of a b-!” the words died in your mouth as you pulled the hand you had just doused is hot coffee to your chest. “Holy shit, that’s hot!”

Steve was at your side again faster than you thought possible, he had a habit of doing that. Gently he took your hand slowly from your chest and looked at it. “Huh, it doesn’t look too bad, but let’s get some ice on that hand, just in case.”

Looking him over you fully take him in. He must have just come from a mission as he was covered in soot and grime, a little blood trailing from a cut over his left eye, a bruise forming on his jaw and cheek, and he smelled strongly of dirt, oil, and something metallic. “Looks like you’re one to talk mister. What happened?” Since you had set the coffee down when he took your hand you let the now free one go to his face. Applying gentle pressure to a place on his jaw that wasn’t bruised you turned his face a little to get a better look. “That looks painful, Steve.”

At your touch he closes his eyes and lets out a long breath and his hands flex just slightly around your fingers. Slowly he opens his eyes again and meets yours. “It’s not so bad. It’ll be gone in no time. You know, being a super solider and all.”

“Still, what happened?”

He never let go of your hand as he gave you a brief rundown of the mission, how it had ended, how everyone was doing, and that he came straight there. While he was talking you had slowly pulled your hand from his and grabbed a napkin to wipe some of the blood from his face. He gave you a warm half smile when he finished, and you couldn’t help the heat rising in your cheeks.

“Wait… so you all just got back? After two full days? When was the last time any of you ate anything?”

“Um, well maybe around yesterday morning?” he shrugged a little.

“Oh man, okay no. You all need to eat.” You take your hand back from where it had found its way to his again and turn to fix up some switches, turning on several of the machines and another kitchen light. When you move to wash your hands, you catch Steve staring and smiling at you. “What?” You ask razing a brow and scrubbing your hands.

“Oh, nothing. Nothing.” You notice the slight blush under the grime on his face.

“Okay. Then get over here and wash your hands. I could use the help, so this doesn’t take forever.” The two of you make quick work of the situation, working together easily. Before long you are locking the shop behind you as you and Steve carry bags of hot food and a few drink carries full of coffees out.

When you get across the street to the tower Steve shifts things around so he can place a thumb on the pad at the door. A feminine voice rings out. “Print identification accepted. Hello Captain Rogers. Voice confirmation please.”

Steve glances at you and sighs, a little blush coloring his cheeks again.

Tag List:

@georgialeighc13

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #captain america #captain america x reader #the avengers #avengers #fanfic

35 notes · View notes

manjuhitorie · 5 years

Text

Hitorie’s various antics + bonus bursts of trivia - Mid June-July 2019

I’ll begin this long digest with news of ygarshy’s recent involvements! Because he has been dipping his toes into a few pools of waters and his bass is *chef’s kiss* precious.

It’s been disclosed that he played for the song ‘Shadow Tag’ on Ken Kamikita’s new album! Kamikita is a singer songwriter, also once known as KK, who belches out vivid vocals from his diaphragm while the substructure of skilled technique is there as instrumentals, holding it together sturdy. His songs are very thought-provoking alone, yet music isn’t his only reign as he writes scripts for his shows, he puts careful consideration into his visuals: and abracadabra! ygarshy is continuing to be supporting Wasureranne yo with concerts for the summer.Concurrent reports consist of ygarshy smiling, poker facing to hide his smile, yet his smile seeping out because of Shibata’s noble passion for music. Shibata will do risqué shouts or gatling release the word "sex" out of his mouth, when which yg will subtly sip his water in a means to dodge, or just knifesharp glare at him. I love these drunken bards. Wasureranee yo's twitter posts clips of them performing after ever show also!

Also Wasurerannee yo with The 50 Kaitenz↑ good. June 8th was the Kankaku Pierrot x Hitorie concert, which was originally meant to be a joint show for their tour, yet was now turned into a jamboree of respects and thunder... Rie themselves were unable to attend yet Kan-ero nevertheless performed a cover of Ao, Polaris, and clenched a spiritual presence...! The cover of Ao is a tear trenchcoat I'm a trench of water... Kan-ero so good...

I was finally able to tell Shinoda-san that “These lyrics are way too long.”. For the sake of today I had to spend the whole week sleeping on the couch, as my bed is practically buried by all the alphabet He wrote, yet still I simply want to thank him for leaving us with so many words. They’re really all so cool. I’m sorry for being unable to sing them well. Let’s meet up again soon. The photo shows a large cloth-covered bed-like surface strewn with printout papers of World End Dancehall, Montage Girl, Imperfection, and Senseless Wonder lyrics.... Because..... The setlist for Village Man’s Store’s concert on 6/13 went like this. 1. Senseless Wonder 5. Montage Girl 7. Imperfection 13. Ao Encore 1: World’s End Dancehall

Thanks for coming to our show, “The Holy Land Pilgrimage - Village Man’s Store VS Hitorie”! Utmost love and gratitude goes out to Hitorie and all of you who made this day possible. P.S. Hitorie, cheers to doing even more with you in the future. From vocalist: Mizuno Gii. Mizugi “I sent Shinoda-san a LINE message reading “I'm going to be playing this song and this song and this song and~~... at the next show”. And normally right, you’d think someone’d reply “Sorry ‘bout making you do this” right? Yet Shinoda replied “Why’re you doin’ that many lololol” Han (drummer): “He laughed at you" After all is said and done, have y'all properly purchased 'Tsuiraku, Kurushiku wa Lucky Strike’ yet or what. It’s fire isn’t it

youtube

((I hate(love) how Mizugi has (14 years old pun) in his profile, (63 years old) in this MV while dressing up as a slanky old man, and is actually 31 years old.)

When is the rain going to stoppp

youtube

There's a lot of people who dislike Weezer's Green Album but I like Green Album Is it cause the music takes such a different turn? Reply from Saito Shinya, the vocalist and producer of ONIGAWARA: The drums suddenly neatened up so it hit by surprise. Also Matt Sharp left. SND: Ahhh so it’s because of Matt Saito: Fans of their first-second album’s more squishy sound went into denial I think

I can’t believe 'Sayonara Dake ga Jinsei da' isn’t here *The late 90's band 'Eastern Youth’ has uploaded the majority of their discography unto music streaming sites. Except for the niche EP which SND is fond of, but all their albums are cool so zipper your lips and open your eyes shuuush!

Is Tanktop Shoutai's new video out yet They're a posse of blurred out faces with burlesque bases. Their current series is one where they dress up as Yugioh characters, roleplay them with accurate voices and cult-like enthusiasm, before the instigation of the series’ famous ~Shadow Games~ together. Which are all uhh, epic card games, yeah, like tabletop Jenga or or Mariomaker or electric Russian roulette, pick them up like they’re Kuribos. It’s a riot.

I’m sure I’ve said this for the umpteenth time now but, my favorite album from syrup16g is “delayed" syrup16g are an indie band who began in 1993 and keep resurging again to pop off. With performances in Budoukan and high Oricon points on their back. This pivotal album of theres is mellow with whimpering instruments and ephemeral sounding visuals and it's really nice, thank you SND.

Media outlets have been making misleading headlines like “A manga opposing the legalization of euthanasia”, and I bet there’s a lot of people are blindly dissing Death Harassment now Death Harassment is a comic written by Yoshida Yori, challenging the problems which could come with euthanasia, and a society which might pressure departure unto the unwilling. Euthanasia has been becoming a uproarious subject in Japan, ever since a woman fled to Sweden because she suffered brain diseases, and wanted to die while still preserving her sanity and dignity. People are now starting to welcome the prospect and yearn for a mercy fate but, please consider the demerits and the demoralization also, is the message. I translated the comic for fun also here.

This evening as I was eating soba alone, in front of me were a middle-aged couple throwing curses at each other with sullied mouths, but by the time I finished my soba they were smiling together. I think that’s perfectly peachy. That reminds me, I ate 4 whole eggs today. I think I ate too much.

My habit of getting the urge to play with people only at this time of the day, is really bad. Posted at 3 AM JST.

Yumao, also at 3~ AM JST. Bubble milk tea for sensible people has been gaining traction on twitter but, the fact that it's not Chinese tea milk tea is the nonsense to me. There was a post about purchasing uncooked tapioca pearls at a Seijou Ishii (an exotic super market chain), and putting them inside of a convenience store bought bottle of cheap tea. Budget bubble tea. In regards to Yumao’s comment, the Chinese oolong tea is such a standard I’m assuming he’s referring to that. Is this more flavor wars, the civil wars over various flavors of integrated foods from equal or same brands is rampant throughout Japan’s domestic history. It’s kinoko VS. takenoko etc. Why such fervor over flavor YUMA

I gotta buy toothpaste I can’t sleep whatsoever so I thought if I drank I would get sleepy but I drank and it’s somehow backfired by revitalizing me so now I got no idea what the fuck to do, I’m screwed I’m screwed I know that feeling when your stomach is in a frenzy, too well

I haven’t heard the term “moe” used in a while I kinda want to go heavy on it now Replies: "Shinoda you’re moe” “Shimoeda” “Your expression when you got kicked was so moe" (He was kicked by yg during SLEEPWALK ref: the 6/1 report)” “The term moe technically d- (*The definition copypasta-ed from wikipedia*).” Within a split second replies have already turned into hell so I’m putting the lid back on moe, please forgive me Damn it’s hot.

I saw Tokyo Syoki Syodo in concert for my first time today. It was the best. I seriously thought I was gonna burst into tears. It might be a long time since I was last this excited to see a band live - it's been a long time since I even saw a concert live but still,,, I was surprised by how much of the lyrics to Saisei Button I subconsciously remembered. It just shows that Tokyo Syoki Syodo's songs are that good. They are a group who indulge in the typicality of cutesy culture, instagram filters, sparkling make-up, and all while flexing the power to whack you with whamming hard rock. He mentioned them again in his June 9th twitcast also, calling them natural and epiphanic to how bands can just be just as they are. I have no doubts that this is my top-played song these past few months. This is my anthem. -Saisei Rock, their most recent music video, check it out! I don’t even know how many years I’ve lived at this point but it’s not commonplace to find a song this great.

This example will only be understood by super like-minded folk, but I haven’t felt this way since I got obsessed with Sakasama Cider.

He’s expressed countless times how much he likes this song and the artist, Gucha Gucha's, Though the story behind SND’s partiality may be ultimately uncertain, it can be easily understood from one listen. The guitarist and cofounder of the Gucha Gucha’s, Shimoyaka, borrowed Shinoda’s guitar for their first live. Chikyuu Monogatari chapter 3 uses Shimoyaka as a model. Shimoyaka has posted porn on forums, getting banned from youtube, he was on a team with infamous Shotacon Kurage, here’s SND’s cover of Sakasama Cider playing over the team, nowadays he does retro~modern gaming livestreams or his own cooking episodes because he got kicked off a cooking show, he slipped at the Niconico Douga Game Party, he’s videos are quite civil now though Shinoda even joined him for a stream and is watching them often. Shinoda on the July 9th live said not verbatim “When I heard Sakasama Cider and ‘Sad Delay-chan’’ live, I was amazed by Shimoyaka that he can actually make good songs. Justice doesn’t have to be one-sided~ Gucha Gucha’s are unrefined and shitty and helpless, but then they bounce back up with a sudden good song and it’s irresistible. I’m always yearning to meet those sort of exciting experiences.

We are people who clench our fists until our palms are red with blood, and we keep going on singing. Though we tend to forget it

Happy birthday ygarshy!! ygarshy's birthday is on June 17th and I hope you celebrated. SND’s birthday is also on June 6th. And I Hope. If not they can still be celebrated 365/24. Because even SND had proceeded to tweet these words of celebration at…. 12 o’ clock AM June 18th. Right when the clock changed!!

Look at this simultaneous trickery. Then Yumao RT-ed them both. I love you Rie… I love you so much...

I liked when Brocken Jr. was hit by Prisman's rainbow shower and super fucking glowed. (Timestamp 1:38) Also Mariposa’s victory pose was freakish-, ly cool (Timestamp 3:14) Kinnikuman is branded as Ultimate Muscle foreignly, if you recognize it! This youtube video is is a short promo reel celebrating the 40th anniversary of the series, Yudetamago has been in it for the long haul and is well honored by the lords of the wrestlers.

Wooooooooooah

I wanna eat a negitoro bowl Raw tuna and scallions plomped on top of a bowl of rice The special issue of Kinnikuman, I didn’t think it would put me on the verge of tears like this. Chairman takes way too many goods to the table. Plus everyone is cheerfully chit-chatting about how absolutely maniacal of a character Robin Mask is. Robin Mask really is one loony mister. Most characters are weirdos on thin ice but Robin Mask is in a whole different league of weirdo so,,, Also for the 40th anniversary, an original episode was spotlighted in the 29th issue of Shounen Jump magazine. and taken for another spin! Chairman, AKA Harabote Muscle, had an emotional arc in it too. Robin Mask I'm guessing is as rambunctiously malicious as ever in it.

The final episode of Sarazanmai had me bawling like a baby.

A photo of the possession of Kinnikuman -Supermen Dictionary-.

futurrrrrrrreee funnnnnnnnnnnk

I spent about 4 hours dancing alone in the club I am a party person Party people(パリピ is just ENG articulated into JP)* is a slang which means just that. It’s believed to have been originally popularized by a song called Let’s Party People from Illmania. Since then it’s curved to hold different nuances for all kinds of different people also. It can indicate ‘avid partygoers' or ’normies’ or it can just be for people who’re having a good time.

Puuuuuuussssshhhh! An issue of 100M, an upcoming shounen manga by the author Uoto. It's bout a runner who’s world revolves around his sport and nothing other, who then meets a boy who runs only to forget the troubles of the rest of the world. The story spurts off from there. 笑顔いっぱい！ https://youtu.be/QXuGweSMxUI @YouTubeさんからときめきメモリアル　キャラソング【おサカナになりたい～1000wに願いを～】～虹野沙希～（TokimekiMemorial music） https://youtu.be/rV16KgKKUi8 @YouTubeさんから YUNG BAE - Fly With Me https://youtu.be/BWgQvj0Nd_U @YouTubeさんから TenmaTenma - September https://youtu.be/6VsJgk5Qw6s @YouTubeさんから ~~~A slew of various song recommendations~~~

People that're posting pics of ramen while talking about being on a vegan diet, and people who gang up on them both, aren't they all becoming a clusterfuck of boringness without even heed to their actions

People who were peacefully posting their favorite music until suddenly bursting blustery onto the net, ain’t that the definition of emotional instability SND are you heeding your own actions Seven-eleven when are you gonna sell microwavable mugimeshi (rice with boiled barley mixed in) Task-san (a trusty companion of all of Rie’s, and an even more lovable animator who runs most of Minaken): *Replied to SND with a photo of Seveneleven brand microwavable mugimeshi* SND: So they do have it

As I was frying some fried eggs, it hit me, people who heedlessly throw heavy words at other people tend not to let anyone else complain about the heavy weights they themselves may put onto other people huh.. But actually that’s not necessarily true so whatever

I just recently caught up with Murata-sensei’s version of One-Punch Man but, thanks to the insanity of the quality level, Tatsumaki has gotten so sexy I burst out laughing See: ONE VS. Yusuke Murata

Clever folks, I’m positive you could figure out who my favorite One Punch Man characters are. There’s two of them. The answer is King and Unlicensed Rider Oops there’s Zombieman too

I’ve noticed that washing ashtrays squeaky clean seems to put me in a better mood The Marías - Cariño youtu.be/QHVp9xiUr9U @YouTubeさんから The Marias are soo good The 3 monkies game, the host is so cockeyed that I’m laughing out loud I think he’s talking about サルヂエ(Sarudie), a quiz show about 3 people donned in hyper-realistic monkey attire, overseeing the “homo sapiens” as they try to solve unique questions. Which are usually twists on daily life concepts, find the difference, or digesting puns on pop culture. The word Sarudie(猿知恵) itself refers to something which seems profound but is actually simple and shallow, like monkey business etc, and the hosts are spoofs of The Three Wise Monkeys, while they hooked in a lot of famous figures to be the quiz undertakers. I want the DVDs. Though if SND is talking about a different 3 monkey game then I’m oopsie-doopsie. I heard a voice for the first time in a while

I can feel my manga-artist muscles crippling

nico.ms/sm35308083?ref… #sm35308083 #ニコニコ動画 It’s here!!!!!!!!!! Ref his tweet from earlier 'Is Tanktop Shoutai's new video out yet’. So if any youtuber works with a band on a music video then everyone’s going to assume they’re Starmie next I guess A recent cause of discourse was the twitter account A Starmie Who Wants to Quit My Band(@shhf9kr)*. It originally was suspected of being the side-account of KANA-BOOM's bassist, Meshida, due to the timing of the account's appearance and the unsettling content. Meshida had gone missing for about a week’s time, much to relief he’s returned home, but upon return he’s now taking a break from the band to heal from pressure/anxiety… Which is a huge worry in itself (On top of Alexandros’ drummer going on hiatus because of physical issues and then MONGOL800.....) though for now we only have the power ease his soul.. BUT ANYWAY - This Starmie twitter account tweeted “I’m so far gone with band work that I’ve devolved into a Starmie. ~~~~ I feel so disgusting.” on the exact same date as the dilemma. As the situation progressed the details Starmie revealed about financial problems and wage didn’t match up with KANA-BOOM, so they’ve continued to suspected to be SEKAI NO OWARI, now signing salient as someone named Ishihidari from BASEMENT TIMES, the writer of a snazzy sassy J-Rock blog and band of that same name. Shinoda here is a direct reaction to Starmie’s recent tweet under the lines of “I hate having to work with a youtuber.” Yeah SND you're 100% right, it's now on the radars of us curious critters. Why is the J-rock scene such a pain hoho. I bought new shorts but it’s chilly out today so I’m in a sort of pickle

I tried out lo-fi hiphop style for a change of pace and I ended up making songs I get to feel like I’ve done good work as easy as fast-food, lo-fi hiphop is good Maybe this is fine, we have flowers here (The word in the insta video means "to hide from the rain")

I don’t wanna add screentones

He used a southern accent on this, unlike his usual slurry casual city boy tone. I notice that southern JP seems to simplify the connotation of tone by omitting certain sounds or replacing them with vowels and then they’ll proceed to make the whole phrase more musical, it’s like ending your sentences with a “~” but it’s a whole accent done that way~ vowels are cute, gimme more~ Or maybe not idk It’s a hardship to even work on my manga because of my back pains, people who’ve actually wrecked their back must go through serious hell Kobayashi Doumu (*ref: later in this post): *sends SND a photo of himself hospitalized with crutches and bandages for his back* I was watching Kura-kyun’s stream but, does that guy actually still live in Aichi…? This seems like a rabbit hole I don’t want to dip my toes so I’ll take a step back but… Shotacon Kurage is a long time streamer who seems to get up to a lot of unfavorable antics. のどちんこって呼び名、いくらなんでもメチャクチャ過ぎないか No matter how you put it, isn’t the nickname “throat schlong” just a little too messed up Kids super often call the uvula part of the mouth by that nickname I don’t like the rain because I can’t go out drinking

View this post on Instagram

ボディメンテナンス怠るべからず

A post shared by シノダ (@snd_vs_snd) on Jun 27, 2019 at 11:14pm PDT

One mustn’t slack off on their self-care The drawing says “Shoulder pains”.

シノダ「地球物語 35話 – BABYBABYの夢 – 」 | MEETIA After a 2 month break period, the 35th issue has been topped off. It’s full of all the ideas and memes I’ve accumulated over the whole 2 month span, so please if you may, take it easy on me. And please give it a read. Shinoda “Chikyuu Monogatari: Chapter 35 - Dreams of BABYBABY - meetia.net/manga/shinoda-… #meetia

Shiohigari, fantastic artist of 1 panel light-heavyhearted gags, girls who share their feelings and a Picasso-esque mascot named after himself. He also happens to share many interests with SND and a decade-long historic friendship with him: That part there, that’s the Robin Mask moment! During the Survivor Match for the Kinniku Throne Arc, the match against Kinnikuman Zebra and Parthenon! SND: I’ve been exposed Trivia: ●The title "Dreams of BABYBABY” is a reference to the song by TANUKI of the same name. SND’s interest in future funk grows. ●The Chikyuu Monogatari chapter has a parallel to a Kinnikuman scene. When that manga went on hiatus for 3 months due to an illness of the author's, right in the middle of a fight scene's cliffhanger, he returned and doubled-down on it. By making the characters do this:

And SND’s comic has this parallel:

“Wake up!” “Please excuse me. How could I not get sleepy after being left here for 2 months….”“Are we allowed to say this stuff, I’m sorry Yudetamago-sensei.” ●Please keep having fun Shinoda-sensei.

I made 10 lo-fi hiphop songs *They’re magnificent and they’re incoming, check his Instagram for the ongoing bonanza! https://www.instagram.com/snd_vs_snd/ Laundry is so draining Harassment sentences are going to such extremes that now it’s as if they’re the one’s doing the harassment meow, said the kitten who’s sleeping next to me There’s not actually any kitten sleeping next to me: it’s the imaginary friends in my head

What an article. Don’t be releasing things like this into the world. Do they have no dignity, mishandling words while trying to write about the subject of words. Emo, in terms of usage and genre, has especially been through a lot of change. But upholding only the era you lived in and then proceeding to feel nostalgia and begrudging the next generation for being different is amazing in itself, not to mention their absolute subjectivity combined with presumptuous usage of “Us”.

Or, so had spoke the kitten sleeping next to me... In reference to his retweet of this article: https://letters-to-you.life/emoi It’s a petty, convoluted text rebuking the masses for a simplicity and resisting the implacable evolution of language. The word “emoi” in Japan (which is super equivalent to the English "emo") is transforming from not only the emo band subculture or a descriptive of emotional experiences, but also to mean the likes of an adjective for any emotion-evoker and the author is uhhh conservative. Let us get emotional over things!! wowawa lived through all the evolution also and he’s still an enthusiastic user of all definitions of “emo” too...

I’ve been cooking nukaduke at home recently and all I have to say is that home-cooked nukaduke is the best.

Trivia: Yumao lives together with his super duper saikou cool mother, Yurika.

My nukaduke paste is getting better and better, and the pickles I’m making are amazing. I need to consider cutting back on the salt a bit though.

Ah nukaduke is emo

Yumao has nowset his location to nukaduke, hunger ensues

Kobayashi Doom congrats on a good run & Congrats on the new issue #SupportForLet’sMeal

The picture shown is SND’s face was drawn in the background of Meshi ni Shimashou(Let’s have some food!), a manga by Kobayashi Doom. It’s a story which digs into the lives of a a manga artist and her assistant, who bask in the dying embryos of production and then cook meals with crazy twists or gimmicks to restore their “MP”. There’s an official sneak-peak preview of it here! It’s only available in JP though… If you like the look of it please feel free to yell at your local manga provider to officially translate it, Kobayashi Doom is someone SND is so undeniably influenced by. Especially their series Negi nee-san. A webcomic about a surreal girl drowned in surreal antics. It’s usually rooted in nonsense and that’s the grandest appeal. The visuals consist of copy-pasted collages, intricate professional art dynamics, cute girls, to stoic jokes such as “’seven eleven is an integer so seven & I is a complex number” and mostly references to mathematics or science or Jojo. The most parroted one is “Yes” “Not yes”. Also worthy of mention is that things resembling Negi-neesan’s various nameless beasts will show up as backdrop etc. in SND’s manga Chikyuu Monogatari. And most importantly here, there’s even a comic about Shinoda on that link, with the Let’s Meal characters! It reads: Madare ”Who's that?" Omega "From the band 'Hitorie',His name is Shinoda and he seems to be a zealous fan of mine, (sign reads: zealous whatever food hall) He told me he wants me to experience his recent works so he sent me the mp3"Madare “Ooh Isn’t Hitorie that [insert amazing praise here]“. Omega “Look, he’s even wearing a Negi-T (Negi-nee-san’s surreal brand) in this video” (Reference: In the Talkie Dance MV he wears this one) Woah　Click-click Omega “So now, I’ve listened to it 100 times but in sheer honesty I don’t know anything about rock besides the band Ningen Isu so I thought I’d use this comic as an equivalent of an answer to him, a sort of "guess my feelings" quiz. Madare “I see you're popping your conman skill again. (You’ve even beaten me with that skill before )” “I’ve been eavesdropping. Time to cook a meal and get together with him” Omega “I like it." *The chorus lyrics to Hitorie's NAI from ai/SOlate are written on the top left corner, Kobayashi Doumu on the right, and the beastly text written next to the youkai-looking Shinoda in slide one I believe is an feisty ateji encrypting ‘For Shinoda’. SND replied to that comic too! Saying “Even insane miracles can happen huh, Doom-sensei thank you so much!! No this is seriously sick, wtf…." Q.E.D. Kobayashi Doom is strangely important for SND’s character development.

This isn’t specifically concurrent with my current feelings but The text on the video reads “I like you I like you!l I snuck a glance at myself in the mirror and my back has a hunch far worse than I even imagined SND’s RT: ONE BY ONE RECORDS, the indies label, is hanging up the hat after 12 years of service…. Ahhhh… Congrats and good luck on future ventures oh employees.. Key to this article is the band, JONNY. A Weezer cover/original group of which, a certain familiar chestnut-headed rock hero played for. I’ll save the stories of the explorations into that beloved dark past dungeon for another day but, yes, click that link and you’ll see, that glasses fella is a young Shinoda in the flesh. I woke up in the middle of the night. Have a listen to this if you plan to go to bed anytime soon. instagram.com/p/BzV23p6HpRl/… Written on the drawing is “Poyashimi”, which simply means “Oyasumi (Good night)". It was originally just a misspell due to “O” and “P” being so close on standard keyboards but, it’s cute so it’s been adopted in it’s own rights. Can been paired with “Pokita (= Okita = I just woke up)” in the morning. Cute. I wanna go to the beach instagram.com/p/BzawsWGHaGg/…

I wrote MUNEYAKE but I myself don’t have any muneyake heartburn, that’s all there is to it I couldn’t make the bubble tea visible without making the emblem on the hat invisible, and just fought a weird-ass battle with this https://www.instagram.com/p/Bzh7fqRnkBQ/?igshid=1hmx49pswt6ns … “Yasumi" means like “take a breather"

I recorded drums for Sasaki Sayaka’s song, the ending theme for 'Ultraman Taiga’. I used a big and powerful setup for this. The broadcasts start on 7/6. I can’t wait. Also Taro's son is crazy. Ultraman Taro's son is the main character of this new spinoff tokusatsu series! The ending song is called “Hitotsubishi” and will premiere along the first episode, I’ll update this if an official video arrives later, so we can listen to it! I watched the first episode of Taiga, I’m think I’m gonna cry.

This morning a drunken me slipped while walking down the stairs, and turned into the Kinnikuman side of the Kinniku-Buster. My butt hurts. Smack down on the floor, legs aflight.

colormal’s concert was downright fantastic, everybody listen to colormal https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gJ83BZ_BIHA&feature=youtu.be

colormal, a galvanized nerd who turned his hobby into a hopping constitution for his livelihood, his quest for the alternative rock. He makes music alone and he’s namely even inspired by Shinoda’s past solo project “cakebox”. He’s bound to mention a cakebox song in his interviews, on top of a whopping list of other western or indie bands. His music itself has flows of climaxes into unfluctuating concord and it’s either guitar or guitar with pretty effects and I enjoy it SND. His filling bassist, Matsuyama, was even thrilled! https://twitter.com/mtymJb/status/1147537998898069504

My body isn’t able to finish even the small size ramen with full toppings. “Mashi” is a trademark menu option of the chain Ramen Jiro. It’s under the lines of “Pile it up”. You can choose to pile up a bit of everything like Shinoda seems to, or you can choose from specific topping such as veggies or meats. If you ever go into such a ramen shop, try shouting “yasai mashi mashi!” or “buta mashi mashi!” for a heap of piggie.

Tokyo Shoegazer are definite They’re an indies band who had a concert in Shinjuku that day! One of their most recent tweets draws my attention 👀 The wheat and grated yam beef meal at Yoshinoya is delectable but, the sign says the large rice portion and refills are given for free until 11 PM, but when I go there’s a fee on the large portion, how am I supposed to interpret this Reply: I work at Yoshinoya but the free portions and refills is a recent offer, the menus just haven’t been reprinted to represent it… The meal packages generally all have free refills and large rice portions. Shinoda: Thank you. Ref: their ENG menu. Feel free to use this information if you ever get the chance to go to a Yoshidora!!(?) SWEET https://www.instagram.com/p/Bznm6DTH-Gs/ I want to see Siamese Cats live They’re a definite J-rock band who have tinges of psychedelic and a sort of 80’s pop style to their music. They had an outdoor show the day before SND tweeted this, but they also have a 10th Year Anniversary Celebration concert this December. SND GO! Siamese Cats - Escape Eve (Official Video) 2018　　シャムキャッツ - 逃亡前夜 https://youtu.be/5Jtd5nmI0Fc

salad days was on Amazon Prime so I gave it a gander but it was really fucking good. The walking alone Straight Edge scene or at the beginning when everyone was partying together until strange people starting flooding in one by one and the safety of the concert went downhill Or how the terminology “emocore” doesn’t resonate at all with people who were directly associated with it at the outset.

The fact that controversy which we’re still having today has existed since the 80’s is an astonishment  Also once the Smells Like~ MV wrought the knowledge of crowd-surfing (stage-diving) upon the world, and then the crowd became a flood of stage-divers so much that Fugazi lost his temper, that scene was so good

The joint show with Trouble Funk, when they were reflecting on what became the final Minor Threat show, everyone was vocalizing the horrors, the turmoil of it, yet I laughed when only Ian said it wasn’t that bad

Not disregarding how these types of issues really did exist those days, ultimately the concerts and their music really are awesome, the energy and thrill everyone held was amazing

Formidable figures such as Thurston Moore and Dave Grohl are shown looking back on the past, and then pops in J Mascis with such batshit indifference that I laughed again  Why does Ian MacKaye not have a Japanese wiki page If it draws your attention here’s the link!:https://www.amazon.com/Salad-Days-Fred-Armisen/dp/B01MAV0YAH I’m not specifically feeling emo https://www.instagram.com/p/BzqVd4wnaOX/?igshid=nhnyzm9vipdi …“emoi”

#ヒトリエ #hitorie #long post #Shinoda played violin in the twitcast yesterday how do I report on this #SHINODA VIOLIN

7 notes · View notes

storytimefromthecreed · 5 years

Text

You Might Not Like Me

Mini Dodds. (Y/N) rolled her eyes. Liv looked between (Y/N), Mini Dodds, and Dodds Senior before nodding. “Yeah. Dodds, uh go with Carisi to the hotel. (Y/N), hold down the fort.” She was seething, glaring at the back of Dodd’s head as the team walked to the elevator and she hung around Carisi’s desk. With a cross of her arms, she sat in the chair, and waited for them to return. She answered phone calls, filed, cleaned, basically anything to pass the time until they returned.

"In situations like these, we have to go slow.” Sonny’s voice echoed into the bullpen, and (Y/N) perked up.

“He’s a good friend of my father’s.” Dodds’s voice sounded behind his, and (Y/N) growled. Mini Dodds!

“Hey, (Y/N)!” Sonny bound in, all smiles. She rose from his desk and handed him a file.

“This should help. I got the records from the-”

“There’s no need.” Dodds cut her off. Puffing up his chest, he said, “My father was able to get us the tapes.” Dodds spotted Liv in her office, grabbed the pen and file out of her hands, and headed that way. Sonny and (Y/N) stared at one another.

“Don’t make that face.” Sonny began. “You’re glaring.”

“He’s been here, what? A day? He’s already so annoying.”

“He’s not that bad.” Sonny said, but (Y/N) glaring up at him made him bite his tongue. “But what do I know? Hey. Did it get cleaner in here?”

....

“Good work, (Y/N).” Olivia gave her a smile. “You did good work out there.”

“Thanks, Lui.” (Y/N) walked out of the office and headed towards Amanda’s desk. Amanda, Dodds, and Sonny were gathered there. Dodds stood with his back to her.

“I mean, it wasn’t that hard. If my father hadn’t opened the door, we wouldn’t have gotten anywhere.”

“Aye! The ‘ero!” Sonny opened his arms wide, a bright expression on his face. “Good work.”

Amanda whirled around, her face just as excited. “I hear you did great work. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks guys.” (Y/N) grinned. She was finally spreading her wings in SVU, and she was proud of the work she’d done.

“You did good.” Dodds checked his phone. “For a rookie. Hey!” He waved at his dad and looked back at his phone. “Gotta go. Hey, can I borrow this?” Dodds grabbed the pen out of her hand without waiting for an answer, and followed his father who had just walked into the bullpen.

“(Y/N),” Sonny cautioned. “Your face.”

“I’m going to kill him, Sonny.” (Y/N) muttered. Amanda chuckled. “Amanda, hold me back.”

....

“(Y/N) would make a good UC for this.” (Y/N) could hear Liv when she walked past her office. Yes! Liv was trusting her with more cases!

“Uh- I’m not sure, Lieutenant. All due respect, but she’s a little...” Dodds trailed off. “Besides, I’m sure Carisi and I have it handled. I also know some cadets. I could make some calls.”

“Whatever you need to close this case.”

(Y/N) stormed off, fueled by the fire burning in her gut. Mini Dodds strikes again! Making a beeline to Sonny’s desk, she pulled out the file tucked under her arm. “Fin said you needed this.” (Y/N) handed Sonny a pen. “I need this signed, like yesterday.” (Y/N)’s eyes went to Amanda’s empty desk and she frowned. “Any word?”

“Not yet.” Sonny said, “Thanks for saving my tail on these. I always forget.”

“You shouldn’t be doing those for Carisi.” Dodds walked in, and the pair stopped and stared at him. He looked undisturbed by their expressions. “What? It’s common knowledge that you do Carisi’s files and he does your timecard. Just don’t be so open about it.” Dodds continued on his way, his nose buried in his notes. “Can I borrow this?” He reached for her pen and she handed it without a retort. “Thanks.” Then he was gone.

“(Y/N), ya face. Will you?”

“It’s my face, Sonny. I’ll control it if I want to.”

....

“The food just got here.” Fin rubbed his hands together in delight. “Hey, Carisi. Do me a favor and get this to the kitchen. I gotta sign these.” Fin looked at her and she dug her hands into her pocket. Drawing up empty, Fin shook his head in mock disappointment. He dug into his own pockets, came up empty, and took one of the crappy ones off the front desk. “Come on man, you have one job here.”

“I know Fin!” (Y/N) growled and stalked into the kitchen. Sonny was opening up the plates and silverware. Alarm crossed his face when she entered, and he leaned against the counter, watching the exchange.

“I’m kidding, (Y/N). You know we value you.” Fin said calmly, but (Y/N) was already fired up.

“No, Fin! It’s not that! It’s Dodds!” Both men just watched her rant, wide eyed, casting a look to one another before staring at her. She probably looked crazy, but she didn’t care. “He butts me out of the cases, he won’t pair up with me, and he’s always talking like he’s better than everyone! Oh my God, if I hear him talk about ‘his father” one more time! Come on, dude! Construct a thought of your own! I mean, I know you daddy got you this job, but at least act like you want to be here rather than this being a rung on the ladder of success you’ve already got access to! And my pens! MY GOD DAMN PENS! He’s always stealing them, and I never see them again! I know he gets paid more than I do, WHY CAN’T HE BUY HIS OWN PENS?!”

She pulled out the chair, sat violently, and pulled the bag of food towards her. Slowly, as to not bring her attention to them, Fin and Sonny sat across from her and ate silently.

....

“Merry Christmas!” Sonny wore a goofy Santa hat and red tie. Fin was dressed in his “good” shirt. Liv was spending the holiday at home with her son. “The food is set up, you’re late! Go put your Secret Santa gift over there,” he pointed to the front desk. “and can you please wear a hat too? Fin said we both would but-”

“Carisi, you know this is my good shirt. I can’t cheap it down with a tacky hat.”

“Fine, go get me a hat, Sonny.” Sonny grinned and headed away. With his body no longer obstructing her view, (Y/N) could see her desk. Moreover, the gift on her desk. A silver bag with green tissure paper and a green bow on it. She looked at Fin and he shrugged and went to the kitchen.

(Y/N) made her way to the bag. No card. No name. If must be for her, she thought. Afterall, it was on her desk. Green was her favorite color. She dug into the bag and found-

“Aren’t we supposed to open gifts later?” Dodds’s voice made her jump. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Sargeant!” Her hand went over her heart. It was hammering in her chest. “You just- I was just-” She looked at the bag again and noticed that Dodds stood taller and straighter than normal. He was waiting for her to do something. Open it.

“Well, aren’t you going to open it?” His voice quivered with nerves.

“Did you- is this?” She composed herself, disbelief colored her tone and face. “How do I know this is mine?”

“Open it and find out.”

“What if it’s not?”

“You think too much.” Dodds gingerly swiped the bag from her desk and put it in her hands. “It’s yours. From me.” He smiled, “You’ve been nothing but nice to me, showing me the ropes, helping me out.” This was a flat out lie. She’s never worked a case with him and barely spoke to him when he was around her. It wasn’t until his eyes widened and he blushed that she realized she had spoken aloud.

“Wow.”

“I’m sorry, Sargeant. I- it was kind of you to get me anything.” (Y/N) looked at his shoes. He wasn’t wearing his work ones.

“Please. Call me Mike.” He smiled. “Open it. I hope you like it. If you don’t, I’ll just get you something else.” Mike smiled at her, nodded, and then headed to the party. (Y/N) looked at the bag in her hands, and set it on the table. Beneath the green wrapping was an opal ring, a cute wallet which was handy since she had lost hers during a case, a candle, and a thick package of pens. Her favorite brand.

“What’s wrong with your face?” Sonny asked, holding out the red and white hat. They were standing alone in the bullpen. The party could be heard. “What is that? Disgust? Shock?” He gestured to her face, confused. Sonny’s voice dropped, and he grew serious. “Were you threatened?”

(Y/N)’s mouth gapped, open and shut, attempting to form the words. But what could she say. “I think- I think I was wrong.” She couldn’t understand the flutter of butterfly wings expanding and taking flight in her chest, but she wanted to. (Y/N) looked in the kitchen and could see Mike looking at her. He had watched her open the gift, and for the first time since he had joined, (Y/N) smiled at him.

#mike dodds #My writing #law and order svu #sonny carisi #amanda rollins #You Might Not Like Me

13 notes · View notes

hartvigsenheller0-blog · 5 years

Text

The American Sports Reporter.

Over see here , Davenport would certainly take place to have one of the best tennis careers in current history. And just what the world requires, he says, is an international system for stabilizing economies, a Worldwide Surplus Redistribution Device (GSRM) ie a device which keeps the flow of excess from the future to the present, from the city centres to the rural areas, from the created areas to the less established ones. Your kiddo may enjoy kicking a ball around the lawn as well as riding bikes in the driveway, however that does not imply he is ready for sports. I wanted to be the kind of ambassador the twist world needed: someone that was healthy and also happy as well as simply happened to like being tied up as well as beaten. Legalists identify that a world government is not likely in the future, but they think that legislation without federal government can nonetheless address international issues. The situation was created for Lloyds by the Anglia Ruskin College team with the British Foreign Office's UK/US Job Force on Resilience of the International Food Supply Chain to Extreme Events. Naturally http://e-frumuseteintine.info/unde-sa-cumpere-erogan-si-care-este-pretul/ need the proper centers and also devices to play, yet without the essential experienced mentorship and mentoring sporting activity for advancement provides, youngsters won't acquire the full benefits that have actually been revealed to put them on the path toward scholastic success. The various other significant city papers of the day quickly adhered to Pulitzer's lead and also produced sports departments that ultimately would include sports reporters. The top 9 females golf enthusiasts are all going to Rio, in spite of the better wellness threats from Zika. There's absolutely nothing conventional concerning a government that protects against a female from making her very own health care decisions. Due to the custom and popularity developed by the likes of Hamm and Brandi Chastain, there is even more opportunity associated with the ladies's nationwide soccer team than other women's sport. So the idea behind the even more dishes method was that if you ate more frequently, you would additionally burn even more calories throughout the day. It appears our capacity to experience eros when it involves sport is in many ways connected to our cultural history and also location. Contented in the charity version of healthcare, the worldwide health neighborhood timidly looks for just to provide the poor quality care paid for by the castoffs of the abundant as opposed to cast doubt on the structural violence that maintains the bad in destitution. Regardless of a large amount of romance surrounding international star professional athletes, the huge majority of transnational sporting activity migrants - gamers, reporters, coaches, managers and medical personnel - labor away from the spotlight. There is considerable political intricacy in the resistance to UHC in the United States, often led by medical service as well as fed by ideologues who want the federal government to be from our lives", and also in the organized farming of a deep uncertainty of any kind of type of nationwide wellness solution, as is common in Europe (socialised medication" is currently a regard to horror in the United States). Smarr's rule is that these examinations and tools will certainly assist individuals take personal responsibility for their own health. Due to the fact that Barker includes concrete examples of the different commercial companies of tv in multiple nations, the message truly beams in the first part of the book. One such foray into the previous finished with me doing some research study on American sports writers. To someone that is not accustomed to the NCAA, the option of an athlete to give up these rights in order to compete under a large firm that restricts athletes' flexibilities and also monetary incentives may appear silly, specifically when there is an incredibly little margin of individuals that ever obtain the chance to end up being expert at their sporting activity and complete for loan. If a follow-up examination locates that it did not remedy all deficiencies, an extra fine of as much as $3.6 million can be imposed on Wellness Net. In a paper entitled Making sense of the early-2000s warming slowdown released in Nature Environment Modification, the scientists, rather declared that worldwide warming decreased during a period that saw a rise in the quantity of greenhouse gas exhausts. Commentator Cris Collinsworth narrates this program, which looks at a few of the greatest names in modern sporting activities. Environment modification is a significant and also expanding threat to worldwide food safety and security", stated the record, warning that it can increase the worldwide populace living in severe poverty by in between 35 and 122 million by 2030, with farming areas in sub-Saharan Africa amongst the hardest hit. If these second body organs are gotten rid of, the wellness does not boost but you have handled to silence for life one of the body's alarms. The six-month research study was gone for Barts Health NHS Count on by the Institute of Global Wellness Technology at Imperial University London, the Division of Wellness as well as the Behavioural Insights Team, called the Push Unit" which is component had by Government. This likewise supplies a foundation for additional involvement in sport as the kid ages, keeps in mind the American Academy of Pediatrics' web site. One more inquiry I had was concerning the structural physical violence presently carried out by huge biomedical gadget business that take over as well as commonly monopsonize the health care industry for durable clinical devices, palatable medical products, and also drugs.

1 note · View note

abstr-akts · 6 years

Photo

mostbeautifulswissbooks ”Into your Solar Plexus” is one of the 24 Most Beautiful Swiss Books published in 2016, awarded in 2017. Editor: Donatella Bernardi, Zürich. Authors: various. Design: Noémie Gygax, Neuchâtel. Printing: Musumeci S.p.A., Quart (IT). Publisher: Humboldt Books, Milano (IT). ISBN: 978-88-99385-09-5. Dimensions in mm: 258 × 173 × 11. Repros: Simon Schmid.

A catalogue from the Kunsthalle Bern compellingly transposes a group exhibition conceived as a work in progress into the medium of the book. Bracketing the volume thematically at its beginning and end is an image section comprising a photographer's travel slides from the 1970s, in various formats and set within a strict pattern but with each composition of images filling an entire page. The middle section, printed on light-grey paper, contains a highly condensed presentation of the exhibition activities in chronological order: murals, performances, lectures, workshops, guided tours and so on. A timescale running across the top of the page divides each double page into six days or columns, and the images and texts are fitted into this frame as full-page spreads. Long entries extending over a number of columns combine with variable image and font sizes to create a diverse array of layouts. Arrangements comprising different types of images relating to an event often enable individual readings independent of the text. The design both unites the heterogeneous material and explores new connections and contexts.

#book

62 notes · View notes

zestyperiwinkle · 6 years

Note

all of them (or just like, the first 5 if youd rather)

A big thanks to you @sonyalone! I never get to do these so I’m going to just do all of them haha

Aphrodite: what do you love most about yourself? Definitely my boobsApollo: do you have any talents? Yeah, I’m good at writing papersAres: what small thing makes you angry? People ignorantly hating catsArtemis: what are you hunting for in life? Being the parent to a happy childAthena: what is/was your best school subject? In high school it was literature, in college it’s any linguistics courseDemeter: do you miss anyone? I have emotional impermanence so not reallyDionysus: Do you drink alcohol? If so, what’s your beverage of choice? I do, tequila is good when I’m sick but rum is better at all other timesEros: how do you define your sexuality? Poorly, for the most partGaia: what’s your favorite place in the world? The stairwell in Waggner at UT. One time I stood there for 3 hours hahaHades: have you ever had a near-death experience? Yes, kind of! One night I was driving to Austin from Houston and one of my tires blew out while I was going 80. I swerved hard onto the grass on both sides of the highway and I was lucky there weren’t any other cars nearby because I would have hit them and perished!Hecate: what do you think of magic? Well, fairies are real, so jot that down. Other than that I don’t do magic so I don’t really care about itHelios: do you sunburn easily? Not particularlyHephaestus: what’s the coolest thing you ever made or built? I made my brother a Ravenclaw bracelet one timeHera: are you the jealous type? I’m alexithymic so I’ve only identified it in myself one time. Essentially no.Hermes: have you ever stolen anything? Do library books count? I still have Agatha Christie biographies from 10 years agoHestia: where’s your home away from home? Corpus Christi, solely because it reminds me of my science Olympiad daysHyperion: do you prefer sunrises or sunsets? SunrisesHypnos: what was your most recent dream about? I can’t remember because this morning my brother wouldn’t let me tell him about it lolIris: what’s your favorite color palate? Coral, apricot, peach, sea green and/or mint greenKronos: what’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever eaten? I ate some hand sanitizer TWICE because I forgot that it tasted bad the first time aroundNemesis: what’s a time you helped deliver justice? What does this mean??? One time I was the tie-breaker for deciding if a goal counted or not in a soccer matchNike: what’s your most recent accomplishment? I finally finished the essay that was due 3 days ago :DNyx: what’s your favorite nighttime activity? You know ;) ……….. sleep………..Pan: what do you do for fun? I neuronarrate, which is playing through stories in elaborate settings and worlds entirely in my headPersephone: what’s your favorite season of the year? Fall! At least, fall not adjusting for climate change. The cool air is just the right temperature!Poseidon: what’s your favorite sea creature? Easy: sea turtles!!!!!!Rhea: what’s your favorite type of nature? Not sure what this means either??? Rhea is not a nature goddess so I assume this means personality? I guess I like honest naturesSelene: what’s your favorite phase of the moon? Ahh tough one!! I love them all but waxing crescent is beautiful 💕⛼Tartarus: what’s your own personal hell? Not having time to read for pleasure, people hating me and not telling me whyThanatos: is there anyone you just really, really hate? No one I know, not really (there was a girl in my Greek org I hated for no good reason but she left so I have no feelings toward her anymore)Uranus: what are your zodiac signs? Sun Leo, moon Virgo, ascending Pisces, Venus and Mars CancerZeus: what do you think about thunderstorms? I love falling asleep to them, and being indoors all day drawing or reading with one in the background

Thanks again! P.S. Marco says hi

2 notes · View notes

luciasculati · 5 years

Text

Day 7

Today was busy!! I woke up, went on my phone for longer than I should have, ate the usual for breakfast, and did some packing for the day. I picked up a shift at work that was supposed to start at 4:30, but I asked my manager if I could come in at 5 instead, because my lecture went until 4:25. I packed my work clothes and two meals, all of which I ended up carrying in a brown paper bag throughout the day. I didn’t mention this on Sunday, but I dropped my modern fiction class! Woohoo! When I met with my advisor, she said I had room in my schedule to take a class I wanted for fun, so I signed up for “Intimate Relationships”. My freshman year roommate who took it told me all about the class, and I read her textbook for fun, so I was super excited to be able to take this class.

The lecture was two hours long, but it went by really quick! I loved it. Basically a two hour long TED talk. It made me realize that it enjoying the class and doing it for fun really makes a difference in retention. I was eager to take notes and take in everything. Today we learned about the basics of the class, and different love styles.

Here is a link for the different love styles: https://www.yourtango.com/experts/rik-foote/6-love-styles-ways-show-love-relationships

My love styles in order of most present-least are:

Eros

Storge

Agape

Ludus tied with Pragma

Mania

After lecture, I walked to work and changed into my work clothes. The shift was good! The catering was for a group that I won’t name because I’m not sure if that’s a violation of privacy or not, but I’m intrigued by what they do! From my understanding of it, they’re a web-based service that allows their employees to have unlimited time off and also work remotely. I was reading a book a bit ago, which I have yet to finish, called the four hour work week, and the author talked about the importance between absolute and relative income. To summarize, absolute income is how much a person makes per year on a monetary basis. Person A makes $100,000/year and person B makes $50,000/year. When looking at absolute income, Person A is richer. But person A works 80 hours a week in a job they dislike, and Person B works 10 hours a week and is able to work from remote locations, making them richer in relative income. Personally, I don’t give a shit about absolute income. I want to and will live an exciting life.

After work I walked home, and facetimed Gabriel on the way back to a) hear about his day and b) not get snatched by an attacker. I consumed lots about his day. When I got back home I changed, showered, and went right to bed!

0 notes

cielizzydefencesquad · 7 years

Text

Alexis Leon Midford headcanons

Requested by Anonymous :)

- After graduating from Weston in 1870, Alexis’s father—Lord Alexander Midford—sent his son to Landau, Germany to serve under Crown Prince Frederick of Prussia in the Franco-Prussian War (1870-71)**. For nine months, Alexis disregarded finery and instead ate, trained, and fought alongside his fellow soldiers despite his elevated status as a quasi-English “ambassador.”

- In September 1870, Alexis participated in the Battle of Sedan. There, Alexis not only showed unfailing courage and resolve but also prudence, control, and a sort of level-headed cool that inspired praise from the crown prince himself. While under heavy artillery fire, Alexis deftly outmaneuvered the Army of Châlons’ cavalry to drag two of his comrades—and a wounded French solider—to safety. (“In war there are casualties, yes, but there is also human decency, mutual respect, and the constant reminder that civilization must not crumble in the face of gunfire. I have never found it necessary to kick a man while he’s down and, in any case, how did that old saying go? You can learn more from your enemy while he’s alive than when he’s six feet under.”)

- Even though Francis defeated Alexis at the national fencing championship, she fell in love with his valor, bravery, and staunch, infallible sense of honor and human decency. He was so unlike her own family who, while loving, were Machiavellian consorts of the cruelest kind.

- Alexis loved having tea parties with Lizzy and her various “guests” (AKA, porcelain-faced dolls that cost a small fortune). He would always greet Lizzy and all her ladies with a bow and a compliment, pulling out their chairs and going along with whatever story Lizzy felt like telling.

- Beneath that stern British knight veneer, Alexis is just one big softie—he’s a huge fan of arts and crafts, particularly glassblowing. When he first began courting Francis, he left her these elaborate and extremely beautiful glass figurines—a rose colored Juliet leaning against her balcony; Eros escorting Psyche to Olympus; Paris and Helen embracing. Vincent eventually got so curious he asked Francis where she was ordering these figurines from but, when she refused to tell him (because Vincent was being a nosy big brother), he decided to investigate himself. Imagine Vincent’s surprise when he discovered it was actually Alexis who was crafting these sculptures from the east wing of Midford Castle.

- Alexis personally taught Edward lessons in tactical warfare and international diplomacy. (To help him learn, Alexis would set up extremely elaborate games of capture the flag using the Midford servants and his old military buddies, including high ranking major generals and renowned diplomats. Needless to say, Edward learned from the best.)

- Alexis is a very talented gardner. His office is decorated with succulent plants, apple blossoms, and white gardenias. (Francis’s favorite flower.)

- He is perfectly aware of the Phantomhive family heritage and their job as the Queen’s Watchdog. —> Before Vincent gave his consent, he sent Alexis on a wild goose chase, leaving cryptic clues and messages to see if his future brother-in-law was capable of keeping up with his sister’s quick intellect. He was mildly impressed by Alexis’s success—as well as Alexis’s strangely jovial and jocose personality. (“I’ve never encountered a man so…cheerful and optimistic. Tell me, is that a Midford thing?” — Vincent, describing his brother-in-law Alexis)

- Alexis observes (and is aware of) many things. He just chooses not to give voice to it.

- Alexis likes to snack on sunflower seeds. He once fell asleep with an open bag of them near his desk; Lizzy climbed up, sat in her father’s lap, and began gluing them to a piece of paper. Alexis awoke to find a sunflower seed portrait of the Midford crest glued to a piece of paper that turned out to be a letter from the prime minister. But rather than being upset, Alexis kept it as a testament of his daughter’s “innate sense of creativity” and, to this day, still keeps it in the topmost drawer of his desk.

- Alexis used to give Edward piggyback rides around his playroom while his son pretended to be Arthur Wellesley, the man who defeated Napoleon at the Battle of Waterloo in 1815.

- At one point, Alexis dreamed of becoming a pirate but then realized pirates disobeyed the British crown so instead, he become a military officer.

- Alexis’s favorite food is shepherd’s pie. Unlike his wife and daughter, he doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth.

- Alexis’s penmanship is absolutely beautiful—so beautiful, in fact, that her majesty wanted to make him her personal secretary. (He declined as he didn’t want to spend so much time at court and away from his family. Ironically, while Victoria is wily and underhanded, she actually admires Alexis’s morals and valiant sense of honor.)

- Alexis was so proud when Edward was born that “it was definitely worth Francis nearly dislocating my hand from my wrist.” When Lizzy was born, Alexis called her “my most angelic miracle.”

- Alexis knows how hard Lizzy works to try and make Ciel happy and he’s always there for her, supporting his daughter and giving her words of encouragement.

- How Alexis deals with insults/slander. Insult him:

“Well, that’s just how some people are, I suppose!” *smiles cheerfully and goes about his merry way*

Insult his wife:

“You see, while I have always been of the opinion that one should state their thoughts freely and without judgement, I will now rescind that belief in favor of removing your head from your shoulders.”

Insult his son:

“Dear sir, I must give you my greatest sympathies and condolences—it must be absolutely wretched to live life as an idiot.”

Insult his daughter:

Alexis: “I’m afraid that appointment of yours has now been cancelled.”

“What do you mean?”

Alexis: “Her majesty does not converse with dead and decaying corpses. En garde!”

**The royal family (during the Victorian era) was actually more German than English. Queen Victoria’s mother was a German born princess and Victoria’s husband, Prince Albert, was also German. Furthermore, Victoria’s eldest daughter (also named Victoria) married Crown Prince Frederick of Prussia so this headcanon of Alexis going to study under German generals during the Franco-Prussian War fits in with the international relations of the Victorian era.

#alexis leon midford #francis midford #edward midford #elizabeth midford #vincent phantomhive #ciel phantomhive #black butler #kuroshitsuji #headcanons

126 notes · View notes

maggiewritesthings-blog · 7 years

Text

Metamorphosis: Stage 1

It was strange. The world had started over, kept turning and growing and living, yet she felt like a ghost in its wake. Bionis was dead, for all intents and purposes, and Mechonis had gone with it. The Gods that she had prayed to and so revered were gone now-- they had not even been the same Gods she thought they were, yet still, she felt like they had been stolen from her.

Just like her mother.

Just like her father.

Just like her brother.

Just like her people.

Melia couldn’t remember when she had laid down on her bed, or how long it had been since. She drifted in and out of sleep so many times. With the world put back together and the fighting finally over, the emptiness had caught up to her. She had run out of smiles to give to her friends within minutes, and retreated to the empty shell of a palace that used to be her home.

She did not know how many days she stayed there alone, while the remnants of the High Entia still lingered with the homs. They were waiting for someone to tell them that their city was safe again.

Melia was waiting for someone to tell her that she was still alive.

It was strange to wake up and find herself not-alone. Alone had become so normal, so natural, for a ghost like her. When Melia was finally found, she didn’t know what to say.

“Melly! Has Melly eaten? Melly looks sick--” Riki was quick to fill the silence, waddling over to her quickly and jumping onto her bed. His larger second hands took her chin, turning her face back and forth. She was gaunt, pale, her eyes gone grey and cloudy, and her wings were limp with thinning feathers. But how strange it was, to be touched.

“I’m... fine...” she muttered, her voice was hoarse. “Go home, Riki.”

“Hero-pon must never leave friend who is sick,” he insisted, patting her cheek with one massive furry palm. Melia flinched, pulling away.

“Stop it, I’m fine, just let me sleep, if you please.”

Riki ignored her, and as he hopped off of her bed, Melia realized that he was not alone. In the doorway of her bedchamber, a mass of pink peeked inside. She whispered to Riki as he hurried back to her.

“How is she, Riki?”

“Melly needs food. All will be good after she eats,” he nodded.

Melia squinted, feeling patronized by their words. Why had Riki brought his wife to Alcamoth?

Oka waved one of her own large hands at Melia from the other side of the room, her eyes growing big with a toothy little smile. “Good morning, Miss Queen!”

Queen...

That’s right.

Kallain had dubbed her queen, to become Empress in one year’s time.

Melia hugged her knees into her chest, her head falling to rest upon them as she shuddered. What kind of queen had no kingdom? No family, no friends, no p--

“Papa! Papa, is Queen Bird ok?”

“Can we play with her?

“No, littlepons, Melly needs food, we must cook good foods for her,” Riki chided, shooing away children from the bedroom door.

Melia looking back up, her eyes staining pink with the tears she wanted to shed. His children too? He had brought his entire family?

Oka waved her hand again and said, “Go back to sleep, Miss Queen! Oka promise, she will make something very good for you. You will feel better soon.”

Melia wasn’t so sure about that, but she laid back down anyway and buried her head into her pillows.

In the end, Melia ate, though she did not taste much. When thirteen faced stared at her until she took a bite, she had precious few options. Eating made her feel nauseous, but having done nothing for as long as she had, she knew that it must be from malnutrition.

Oka smiled as Melia ate, and she seemed so proud of herself. The pink Nopon who had traveled so far from home, fixing supper for then High Entian Queen. A grandiose day dream for Oka.

A rather melancholic evening for Melia.

“Melly, Melly,” Riki nudged her as he ate more than his share of the fish stew. “Is Melly feeling better?”

“I’m not sick, Riki,” she muttered, but did not even try to smile for him. “You don’t have to hover, I assure you.”

Once again, the Nopon ignored her and continued to speak, “Riki take Oka and littlepons on trip! We want littlepons to see world, meet all kinds of not-pons. Maybe they be merchants someday, need to know people outside Makna. Or maybe they become heropons like Riki.”

Melia sighed, moving around some pieces of salmon and carrot in her bowl. Stews were an odd dish to High Entia, they tended to eat much lighter meals than this.

“But so few Entia in city, Riki not know what to do! How can littlepons meet all people, when all people not here?”

Melia closed her eyes, clenching them shut as tightly as she could.

“Riki think we stay here a bit. Littlepons want to meet Melly so much, after Riki tells them how pretty she is.”

Her eyes opened again and she looked down at the creature of yellow and orange fur. “Stay? Riki, that is... unprecidented, no one simply comes to the palace of Alcamoth and demands to be accommodated--”

“Riki knows!” he chirped and looked up at her before, once again, patting her face with his large extra hand. “But Melly sick. So Riki will stay.”

In the proceeding weeks, Melia had come to assume that anyone who did not eat at least six meals a day was ‘sick’ in the eyes of the Nopon. Oka cooked giant meals every day in the palace kitchens, and the smell of it had filled the entire royal chambers with scents of spice and warmth. It was different than Melia was used to. Usually, the palace smelled of clean marble and cool air, and the distinct lack of dust.

Now, it smelled like children and stews and a very distinct presence of dust.

As Riki coaxed her out of bed every day, Melia found it marginally easier to think about the state of Alcamoth and her people. They were scattered to the winds now, but not impossible to find. Those who had already returned were cleaning the city as best they could. Rebuilding fountains and houses, making lists of those who might have died. Some of the returning came to the palace and hesitantly sought her audience, but without a full staff, Melia could be hard to find in the many halls.

It was strange to be here without the formalities. They used to be the backbone of High Entian culture, and yet without them, everything still stood in place.

“Make new fountain to Riki, Heropon!” Riki had suggested as MElia sat and looked over some of the ideas her people had proposed for repairing the city center. “Right here!”

Melia’s mouth skewed to one side. “As tempting as it is, I think we should focus our efforts on a memorial garden. So many were--” turned into Telethia “-- lost from us. It may do good for the people to have a place to put their prayers.”

Not that prayers meant anything anymore, but it was a difficult habit to break.

“Fine fine, garden. But then, fountain of Heropon,” he suggested, nudging her side as he did.

“I’ll consider it,” Melia agreed, though her voice lacked the humor to carry such a statement. She was trying to go through the motions, for Riki’s sake if not her own, but her eyes were still glassy, her pallor still drawn. She did not look hollow anymore, but she was a far and away shadow of who she had once been.

Riki watched her as she stared at the papers. He noted the exact moment that her mind drifted away from the material in front of her, turning to the ghosts that lingered in her mind. When her eyes stared through the sheets, when her shoulders drooped ever so slightly, when her wings closed inward, she was thinking of her brother. Her father.

What would Kallian say?

What would the Emperor say?

What, even, would her mother say, who had died so long ago when Mellia was just a child?

She was snapped out of her revery by Riki’s soft hand on her cheek, patting it three times.

“Is ok if Melly wants to make Brother-Bird fountain instead,” he offered.

She pinched the bridge of her nose hard in a vain attempt to prevent tears. But still the proposal blueprints were quickly freckled with water marks.

After three years, Alcamoth began to feel like home again. Most of the High Entie who had fled returned, and with open borders instated, Mechons and Homs began to filter in too. Piece by piece, the city filled up with noise and trade and traffic. Melia was able to hire a palace staff again, and begin trade treaties with the Homs colonies.

Riki encouraged the others to visit, writing letters to Reyn and Sharla and Dunban when Melia wasn’t looking. The guests always showed up, with encouraging smiles and questions and hugs.

They recognized the statue in the memorial garden, and offered her belated condolensces when they could.

Shulk did not come. Reyn said that he didn’t come to much these days, and often spent time traveling the wilds.

Melia suspected he wouldn’t be satisfied with the world until he had observed every corner of it for himself.

“Don’t worry,” Fiora had assured her the week before, when they had all come for the most recent visit. “He’ll be fine. I think he’ll be comforted the most if we just keep going on without him. Shulk has never had a problem catching up.”

Melia sighed, reaching up one hand to stroke one of her wings, making sure each feather was in place. Her wings were starting to fill out again, thicken up and soften. Her hair did the same. Even her eyes had started to look a little less grey these days.

“Melly! Melly Melly Melly Melly--” Her name was repeated in a large chorus as eight of the littlepons came bounding up to her. She sat on a balcony, looking down at the City of Alcamoth from above and admiring the way it lit up at night-- just like she remembered.

“Yes?” she asked them all. By now, she had learned all of their names. Riki had to recite them for her for months in the beginning (Tema, Usa, Oki, Lulu, Ero, Beba, Niki, Weki, Quino, Resa, and Bo), but once she started paying attention, they were all very easy to tell apart. Currently, Usa, Lulu, Ero, Beba, Weki, Quino, Resa, and Bo were the ones gathering around her in excited hops.

“Melly, Papa says is almost time for dinner! Come come come, we hungry, not allowed to eat without you!” Ero bounced, waving his little arms as if they were wings-- like hers-- and he could fly.

“Tema made supper, very good,” Bo interjected. “Tema says she make super for now, because Mama too tired.” In the three years that Riki and his family had been living with her, Melia had not been surprised when Oka announced whe was pregnant. Again. Having eleven children was a feat in itself, but apparently the affection that the Nopon woman pretended to withhold was actually quite strong. In moments when they thought they were alone, Melia had seen Oka preening and cuddling her husband as if he were the most handsome prince in a fairy tale.

“Well, then we best not keep Tema waiting,” Melia agreed, pulling herself up from her seat on the balcong. “Maybe you all can find some nice ways to help your mother too? I know she will need it soon.”

“Of course we help Mama, we are good pons!” Weki insisted with pride. As they all walked towards the dining room, the littlepons walked with their extra hands held up and back, not hugging their bellies like most Nopons. They kept their little hands splayed out like feathers.

“Will Melly carry me, if I ask nice?” Lulu peeped at Melia’s feet. She battered her big marble eyes endearingly.

“Perhaps, if you are very polite,” Melia answered with the tip of her head.

“Pretty pretty pleasey pleaaaaase?” Lulu begged, flapping her hand-wings excitedly.

Melia paused, leaving some sense of dramatic suspense for the littlepon. But then she leaned down and scooped the buncle of strawberry tinted fur into the crook of her arm. “Yes, I will, Lulu. Now what do we say?”

“Thank you, Miss Melly!” Lulu squealed, her little feet kicking playfully.

When they reached the dining room-- which had become a strange mixture of formal table-and-chair seating, and floor-pillows for fmaily circles, over the years-- Melia saw Riki and his wife sitting side-by-side and muttering to one another. Riki had one big hand on Oka’s tummy, which was getting even rounder than usual these days, and his other fixed her bow for her.

“Papa! Papa Papa Papa, Mama Mama Mama--” the littlepons announced, bounding to their parents in hops and leaps.

Lulu wriggled in Melia’s arms until she was put down, then she bound to her parents too as Tema emerged from the kitchen, Oki and Niki helping, with a large pot of yet another type of Nopon fish stew.

Melia sat beside Riki on her neatly folded legs, and she accepted a bowl gratefully. “Tema, this smells absolutely divine.”

“Thank you, Miss Melly!”

Riki grinned up at Melia, “Riki’s littlepons make best food! All because of their good Papa-pon.”

“I have no doubts,” Melia said, bemused. She sipped a spoonful of the thick stew, and it tasted like oregano, apples, and cream. Warm and inviting to her palette, if not a bit rustic for the High Entia Queen. “Very good.”

“Riki knows. Riki is proud.”

The rest of the dinner went as it usually did. The littlepons babbled about their days, the people they had met, the things they had learned. Oka mentioned something about ‘proper nesting’ for the new baby. Riki re-told an exploit of his days as the Hero-pon, and Melia did not correct him when he got the facts wrong.

At the end of it all, Riki reaching up his big hand and patted her face gently. He smiled a soft smile, knowing in his own strange way.

“Melly does not look so sick anymore.”

“Don’t I? I’ve been sick by your standard for years, Riki.”

“Yes, but not anymore. Melly better now.”

She laughed and shrugged her shoulders. “You truly are a mystery, Riki. I’ve insisted on my own wellness for three years, and you only now believe me?”

“Only now has Riki heard you laugh.”

Melia paused, staring at the Nopon before her eyes moved to every other ‘pon in the room. All thirteen of them lookd back, with little smiles and nods of approval. When she looked at the children-- the brothers and sisters sharing their plates and pestering one another and immitating her wings-- she thought of how much Kallian would laugh, not how much is hurt to be without him.

She shook her head, smiling as she did, and placed one of her own hands on Riki’s face in return. “My hero-pon.”

#melia #riki #xenoblade #xenoblade chronicles 3d #xenoblade chronicles #gangstapantsu #HERE YOU GO GRACE THIS IS GOR YOU #YOU WANTED XENOBLOOPS YOU GOT THEM

17 notes · View notes