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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!

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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.

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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.

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

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igotbulletproof-insomnia · 3 years

Text

Adopting Bangtan 09

01 previous

AN UNLIKELY WEDDING

You bit your lip as you stared at your phone. You had an email from Jimin and Taehyung’s mother. Song Jieun was your old coworker who you had adored, but who also tricked you into taking care of her children so that she could get married without worry. Your respect and opinion of her had gone down significantly with that move, but you… didn’t exactly understand, but you did appreciate that she gave her children to someone who could properly take care of them instead of leaving them to fend for themselves which had seemed to be her original plan.

What’s wrong?” Seokjin looked up from the video game he was playing, ignoring the cut scene he had watched a dozen times before now to focus on you. You could hear the younger boys playing in their bedroom, the sounds of legos clattering and mouth-made explosions louder than what their closed bedroom door could block off. They were sounds that had become familiar in the past six months, sounds that used to be made by one child and were nowhere near this boisterous.

“Nothing,” you shrugged while you scrolled through the email a second time and tried to sort out your feelings. Seokjin’s stare burned into your cheek and rolled your eyes. “I mean it, nothing is wrong. Just…” You could feel your face twisting into a dissatisfied expression and tried to relax it back into something more neutral. There were times when you found you could rely on the eldest of your children, and times when you thought it was better to keep things to yourself, and you weren’t sure which one this was.

“Someone emailed me,” you hedge. “I’m just trying to decide how I feel.”

“That’s your worried face,” said Seokjin. “You only make that face about work and about us. But you also whine when you’re worried about work, so it’s about us, isn’t it? Which one of the kids is failing school?”

“No one is failing school,” you laugh. “Namjoon could be doing better, but I’m certain he just doesn’t care as much as his teachers want him to. Neither does Yoongi…. You know, as a teacher myself, I should probably be more concerned.”

“You’re appropriately concerned,” Seokjin reassured you. “Why should you worry about things you can’t control? You’re just going to age faster.”

“You’re going to stop calling me old one day.”

“Lying isn’t healthy,”

“Says the kid who lied his way into adoption.”

“I took advantage of my situation. That’s not lying, that’s cunning.”

“I didn’t raise you like this,” you say, standing.

“No, but that’s kind of the point, isn’t it? I’m raising myself, six kids, and my guardian. I can’t tell if I’m doing a piss poor job or not.”

“Language, Kim Seokjin!”

“Dinner, seonsaengnim!” he shouted back. The problem was, you aren’t sure if he successfully distracted you from your concerns or if you successfully distracted him from you.

===

Song Jieun’s email bothered you intermittently throughout the week. It’s not like you forgot she existed. You’ve received a hefty sum into your bank account every month for taking care of the boys, enough to make you wonder exactly why her new husband didn’t want to take care of them when he would probably be spending a lot less money if they were under his own roof. So no, Song Jieun wasn’t someone you forgot existed unlike like you could the rest of your kids’ parents, she just… wasn’t relevant. So it bothered you that she was trying to make herself relevant now, after six months of silence.

“You’re doing the thing again,” Seokjin poked your face. You startled, unaware that he had approached, but thankfully kept your coffee mug full. “What are you so worried about?”

“Nothing,” you say for the umpteenth time that week. “I’m not worried about anything.”

“You’ve been ‘not-worried’ since last Thursday,” Seokjin argued.

“So then why do you keep asking me what’s wrong?” You didn’t have to turn to see the weighted stare he gave you, you could feel it. That was the thing about your kids, all of them. They had a way of making you feel like you were the one in trouble, you were the one being raised instead of the other way around. Some days you were convinced that they were the ones keeping you around, explicitly for financial reasons.

“If you’re just going to insist on being stubborn,” Seokjin sighed. He poured two cups of coffee, one for himself and one for Yoongi, and turned the kettle on for Namjoon. The other boys would be zombie-walking their way into the kitchen for breakfast soon, so you and Seokjin set to work preparing leftovers from dinner a few nights ago.

“Song Jieun wants to visit the boys,” after a long, silent moment, you finally admit your concern. The kettle was puffing it’s pre-whistle warning, so you turned it off, sitting the pot on its wicker table mat until Namjoon made his way to the table.

“Who’s Song Jieun?” asked Seokjin. “Which boy? Not me, right?”

“No, of course not you, silly. You won’t even tell me your parents’ names. How am I supposed to know when they come to visit?”

“Trust me, they won’t,” Seokjin’s tone left no room for discussion, just a sad or regretful sort of resentment.

“If you say so,” you shrugged off your curiosity, familiar with how closed-off this kid got when it came to his home life before you. “Song Jieun is Taehyung’s mom and Jimin’s stepmom.”

“The coworker who tricked you into adopting them?”

“That’s what you got out of that?”

“Isn’t that what happened?”

“That’s besides the point,”

“That is the point.”

“What’s what point?” Namjoon shuffled into the kitchen.

“Our guardian is trying to decide if the twins should see their mother.” Seokjin answered.

“That’s not what I said,”

“That’s what you were going to say.”

“Everyone else gets nice, obedient, adoring children,” you grumbled. “I get sassy monsters who boss me around.”

“You raised us like this,” Namjoon said absently.

“I did not, you raised yourselves.”

“Same thing,” both boys speak in unison.

“I’m giving you two away.”

“Good luck living with Yoongi without us,” Seokjin shrugged. “You’ll be begging me to come back by the end of the week.”

“Joke’s on you, this is the end of the week.”

“My point still stands.”

“Okay, I quit, I won’t win this one,” you literally throw your hands in the air.”

“Good,” Jin grins at you in that cheeky way he’s mastered, taunting you.

“So what’s this about the twin’s mom though?” asked Namjoon. “I thought she…” he trailed off, but you understood what he was saying, or rather, what he didn’t want to say. I thought she didn’t want them.

“Yes and no,” you say. “She just… it’s… not exactly complicated, not if I were in her position, but… let’s just say, some people are stupid and not everyone has the same priorities.”

“Song Jieun chose to make herself happy over taking care of her kids?” Seokjin translated. “She didn’t want to take them to live with her new husband?”

“More or less,” You agree, taking note of the bitterness in his tone.

“You’re not allowed to get married,” Namjoon mumbled from the table.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not allowed to leave us or get rid of us because you want to be married,” Namjoon repeated. He’s obviously still half asleep from the way he lays his head down in his arms, but your heart clenches just a little bit from the casual desperation he speaks with.

“If I were to get married,” you said, “my future spouse would know that they come in eighth place anyway. I’m not getting rid of you, even your original parents would have to fight me. God will have to fight me.”

“But you’re still not allowed,” said Namjoon.

“Drink your tea, you’re talking crazy,” said Seokjin. “Our guardian will have to actually date first, and we all know that won’t happen.”

“The disrespect, I tell you!”

It’s after breakfast and during the chaos of getting seven young boys dressed and prepared for school when Seokjin knocks on your bedroom door frame, wearing an anxious expression.

“... Can I talk to you for a moment?”

“What’s up?” you asked. Seokjin walked fully into the room and closed the door.

“About… the twins? I… I don’t know what you’re thinking about, and that’s valid, but… I think you should maybe let them see her?” Seokjin didn’t fidget like the rest of the kids did. He leaned against the door, arms crossed and focused his eyes fully on you. It was moments like these when you realized exactly how mature your eldest was, and you recognized that most of it wasn’t because of you. Namjoon and Yoongi were you. Seokjin had probably been raising himself for longer than he’s lived with you.

“Okay,” you said.

“I just… if it was me, I would want to know that she still cared, right? And she does, I guess. You mentioned that she sends them money, and she wrote you a letter asking forgiveness, so that has to mean something. I just don’t want them feeling abandoned like the rest of us. Not if they don’t have to.”

“I’m just worried that it will confuse them even more,” you admitted. “It took weeks before Jimin would talk to us openly. Jieun-ssi isn’t going to stay. She’ll come for an afternoon or a day, take the kids out, spoil them, and then bring them back here, and they’ll both be wondering why. And I don’t know how to answer that question.”

“With the truth, obviously,” Seokjin rolled his eyes. “You’re always straight-forward with us. Why should this be any different?” Because they’re younger than you were. Because they were given away, not abandoned. Because their parent still cares from a distance. Because I don’t like making you all cry. Because picking up pieces has never been fun.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” you said instead. “I’ll think about it.”

“Okay,” Seokjin nodded, and you can see him visibly deflate, relieved to be finished with the conversation. “That’s all I wanted to say. Don’t forget to take your lunch with you.”

“Make sure all the kids have theirs,” you countered.

“It’s funny because you thought I didn’t already do that,”

“I love you, Kim Seokjin,” was your response.

“I love you too, I guess.”

=======

Your talk with Seokjin gave you a new perspective, but you still felt apprehensive about everything. You just didn’t like the idea of hurting Jimin and Taehyung any more than they already have been. What type of guardian would you be if you just let them walk back into heartbreak? What if this was just a one-time visit and Song Jieun never came to see her children again? What do you do when the boys ask to see her again? You had been lucky that you only had to have one conversation about not being able to take the boys to see their mother in the last six months, but if Jieun could make the time and the trip to come visit, then what will be your excuse now? What if this visit was actually a prelude to taking the boys back home with her?

Oh.

Huh.

So that was the real problem then. You didn’t want the boys to leave you. As much as you groaned and complained about taking in so many kids -- usually just to yourself, but sometimes your stress got the better of you in front of the kids -- you loved them. Each one of them, you loved and adored them and the thought of any of them leaving you or being taken away hurt. Not only that, but where in the hell would any of those parents get off, what right did any of them have to come to you and even fix their mouths to ask you for “their” kid back? You had words prepared for each and every so-called “parent” of all seven of your boys, copies of your lost child police reports, drafts of parental rights transfer papers, the phone number for several NCPA lawyers, and a fist just itching to make contact.

But what if Taehyung and Jimin preferred to be with Jieun anyway? She is their mother. She raised them for years, even if she was Jimin’s stepmother. You’ve only had the “twins” as you and the older boys had taken to calling them, for six months. Why would they want to stay with you?

“Okay, but she didn’t say she wants to take the kids,” you told yourself against the slew of depressing thoughts. You retrieved your phone from your pocket and opened your emails. Finally pressed reply. “She just wants to visit. A visit is… safe. It’ll be okay.”

Probably.

=======

Later that day you received a new email. Song Jieun will be in town that weekend. Tomorrow.

It took a lot of effort for you not to swear and make plans to take the kids out of town.

=======

Song Jieun was pretty. She wasn’t particularly tall or “skinny” like what TV liked to portray, but she was hippy and had a cute face and short hair that she curled most days. She favored dresses with blazers or oversized sweaters and skinny jeans, with pale makeup and dark pink lipsticks. It was easy to pick her out at the cafe she asked to meet at. She sat alone off to the side, a coffee already in front of her, but two plates with fruit-decorated cakes were also placed nearby. You considered telling her that the boys weren’t allowed any sweets right now. It wouldn’t have been a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. They weren’t allowed sweet things like cakes until after dinner and only when they behaved well. Still, you decided that was just your frustration and jealousy talking. You didn’t want to punish the two boys because of their mother, so you bite your tongue and hold your bitterness and let it go.

“Jieun-ssi,” you greet uselessly, as the moment Taehyung and JImin saw her they sprinted across the room to tackle the woman in hugs. Jieun’s smile stretched across her face and she cooed and made cute noises as she greeted her sons in return. You felt something creep in your chest that felt a lot like jealousy. But you weren’t jealous. You couldn’t be. You just hugged them this morning when they tried to tickle you awake. You held both of their hands from your house to the cafe. You had nothing to be jealous of, they were your kids now.

“How have you been?” Jieun asked when you sat down across from her. Jimin and Taehyung were already seated and digging into the cakes she bought for them. You barely had a chance to answer before your chatterbox was rattling off every activity he’s done for the last six months to his mother. Jimin grinned and threw in his two-cent’s worth every few minutes, but generally let Taehyung carry the conversation for him. And you, in spite of all of the emotions pressing on your chest and clouding your judgement and making you really, really want to shake Song Jieun, you enjoy yourself. You watch your boys -- your boys -- smile and chatter and sing and show off for their mother. You wonder if they’ll be okay going home, if you’ll have tears to clean up later, or arguments to break up, or just pieces to sort out and glue, but right now the kids are happy, and right now, that’s what you’ll enjoy.

=======

Taehyung climbed into your bed that night. He should have been asleep an hour ago at least, you’re sure, but he’s seemed to have a lot on his mind since this afternoon, and you’ve been letting the kid have his own space to figure out his thoughts. As hyper as he normally is, Taehyung is also prone to moments where he just sits and fiddles and thinks and you’ve learned that it doesn’t do any good to bother him about it.

“Can’t sleep?” Taehyung shook his head as he slid across the blankets to bury his face into your shirt. You curled an arm around his shoulders and held him close.

“Mommy…” Taehyung started and trailed off. “Is Mommy happy without me?”

It felt like your heart stopped with the words of his question, but you continued to brush his hair with your fingers. It was a difficult question to answer. You wanted to be honest, but you also didn’t want to hurt him. Unfortunately, there weren’t too many ways to answer without hurting Taehyung one way or another.

“What do you mean?” Taehyung was quiet for another short moment before he spoke again.

“Mommy… didn’t seem sad. And she said she’ll see us another time. And… she got married, but she didn’t want to keep me and Jiminie… So I started wondering… is she happy now? Happier than she was before when it was just me and her and Jiminie? Did we -- I don’t think -- I --” And the kid seemed to break then, all of the tears that hadn’t been shed for six months seeming to finally culminate into an emotional outburst. You shushed him, holding him just a little more tightly, and the fingers in his hair moved down to stroke his back. This was the thing you had wanted to avoid, and while part of you felt satisfied to be right, most of you just fought your own tears. It hurt to see one of your kids so hurt. You aren’t a stranger to crying children, but this emotional distress was something that never got better. You thought that maybe Jieun had talked to the boys beforehand, maybe Taehyung had dealt with his emotions before he came to live with you and that was why he seemed so well-adjusted. Clearly, Taehyung had just been living in denial, or maybe with the belief that his mother would come back for him “later,” that you were only a temporary home.

“This isn’t your fault, Taetae,” you murmured. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Sometimes… sometimes adults make hard decisions. We think we’re doing the right thing and… sometimes it’s hard to see if we’ve made the right choice or not.” You sighed, picking through your words super carefully. “I think… I think that your mother made what she thought was the best decision for both herself and for you and Jimin. She believed she would be happy with her new husband. But she did not believe you and Jiminie would be happy. So she put you somewhere that you could be. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, but I’m still sad,” Taehyung cried harder.

“I know,” you said, “and that’s okay. I would be sad too.”

“I just want my mommy back,”

“I know.”

“I don’t want you to get married,” Taehyung said suddenly, long after his sobs had calmed down. Tears still fell, but slowly now. “I don’t want you to send me away too.”

“If you listen to your Jinnie-hyung, he says that won’t happen because I don’t date anyway.”

“Mommy didn’t date for a long time… and then she did. And then she got married.”

“I won’t get rid of you even if I did get married, Taetae,” you told him.

“You’re still not allowed to get married,” he argued. “Or date. You have to be mine forever and ever, okay?”

“No matter what, I will be yours forever and ever,” you agreed.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” Taehyung asked. “I'm comfy and you make me not sad.”

“Of course,” you said. “You’re comfy like a teddy bear, I don’t want you to go.”

=======

In the morning, Taehyung was bouncing off the walls, screaming as he chased Jungkook around the house. Jimin was curled into a corner of the sofa, giggling while he watched his brothers play and encouraging Taehyung in his antics. You could hardly tell that Taehyung had an emotional breakdown the previous night. You knew he was far from being “over” his feelings about his mother, he was only eight and the feelings were complicated. But he was happy for now and that made you happy. You’ll deal with the noise and the chaos and shout at the kids yet again about running inside where things were breakable including themselves as long as they kept smiling.

Surprisingly, it was Namjoon who came knocking at your door after bedtime that night. Similar to Taehyung, he didn’t speak or ask permission, just closed the door behind him and slid into your bed. Buried himself beneath the blankets and stuck his head beneath the pillow and tucked his gangly limbs into a ball. You were familiar with these moods, but haven’t seen one in years, not since you took in Seokjin. So you finished the chapter you had been reading, turned off the light, and sank down to lay your head on your pillows. Similar to Taehyung, Namjoon would speak when he was ready, when he found the right words to use to express his feelings.

“You really won’t get married, right?” Namjoon whispered beneath the pillow next to you. His voice was heavily muffled, but you’d been waiting for him to speak for some time. You just didn’t expect for him to continue a joke conversation from several days ago.

“What’s wrong with me getting married?” you asked.

“If you get married, you’ll have to get rid of us.”

“There is no world where I will give up any of you just to get married, Namjoon.”

“But that’s what happens, isn’t it?” said Namjoon. “Adults… if they aren’t married, but they have kids… they get rid of them so that they can date. Because kids get in the way. Because it’s stupid to take care of other people’s kids.”

“Why does it sound like you just called me stupid?” Your sarcasm probably wasn’t appropriate for the moment, but the words slipped before you thought about it.

“We’re really lucky to have you, we know that,” said Namjoon. “But that just means --”

“Namjoon, I’m going to stop you right there,” you cut him off before he finishes. You remove the pillow from his face so that he can hear you clearly, and card your fingers through his hair. “I didn’t create any of you. I didn’t ask for any of you. But I have you. And I love you. I adore you. I will tear apart skies, drain oceans, and vanquish God if it will keep you all safe and happy, okay? If your parents ever come back for you, I will press charges against them and make it so that they can never look at you, let alone hurt you ever again, do you understand me, Kim Namjoon? You and Yoongi and Jungkook and Seokjin and Hoseok and Taehyung and Jimin, you’re all mine. You’re my kids, all seven of you, and I will be damned if any lover or spouse, or anything at all, comes between me and you. I don’t say that because it sounds good -- although seriously, you have to admit that this is one of my better speeches,” -- at that, Namjoon giggled, the noise muted and soft, but a win was a win -- “but I say these things because I mean them. I will put a brick in the hospital for you, Joonie.” You hesitate, but continue anyway. “If it weren’t for you, I may have left the country at the end of that year. Teaching is fun, but I wasn’t super happy before. But then you asked me to take you home and you were so cute that I got attached almost immediately. I didn’t want to take you to the police and have them send you to your parents. I liked having someone to come home to. I liked taking care of you. Most people go get a pet or a lover when they’re feeling lonely, but here’s me, collecting kids like you’re pokemon cards.”

“No one collects pokemon cards anymore,”

“What, is Yu-Gi-Oh back in style?”

“What even is that?”

“The coolest card game ever. Period.” Namjoon laughs again, and you feel accomplished.

“It’s not that cool if I’ve never heard of it,” Namjoon argues.

“Joonie. I love you. But even I know you aren’t the coolest among your classmates.”

“I’m the coolest out of all my friends!”

“I won’t argue about that. I’m also sure that in your group of friends, ‘coolest’ means ‘knows the biggest words and has the best grades.’”

“You’re just jealous,”

“Absolutely. I wish I knew as many words as you do. Imagine how much fun I’d have fussing at you kids in Smart People language!”

“Why are you like this?”

“Please, other kids wish they had someone as cool as me taking care of them.”

Namjoon cuddled closer to you in the bed, laying his head on your shoulder and gripping your pajama shirt. You spend a few minutes massaging his scalp, a soothing gesture for you just as much as it is for him. After a few minutes, you begin drifting off, believing Namjoon is on the verge of sleep as well.

“Are you really okay?” he asks. “With taking care of all of us? You don’t… want to go back home?”

“I am home, silly,” you flick the side of his head gently. “I love you. And even if I wanted to go back to my home country, don’t think I won’t take each one of you with me. I said you’re mine. I mean it.”

“Okay.”

And it’s not that you don’t believe him, but you know your kid. You know he internalizes things and finds convoluted ways to take blame for other peoples’ problems, including your own. You know it will be a while yet before he truly accepts and believes you when you say you want to keep him and enjoy taking care of him. But you also know that he wants to believe you and he’s trying. You idly wonder if you’ll have to have some sort of discussion in the morning, an announcement over breakfast that no children will be displaced in the event of an unlikely wedding. You dismiss the thought, deciding it was more likely to incite panic and give you a headache more than anything else.

To find more of my child-bangtan fics, select the "Collecting Strays" tag at the bottom of this page ^_^

#bts #bts fan fiction #bts scenarios #kim taehyung #bts v #kim seokjin #kim namjoon #bangtan #kid bts #bts army #cross posted on ao3 #wow I just realized #kim line #reader insert #darkbalance #collecting strays

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duggardata · 3 years

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Introducing...

Lawson’s Girlfriend, Tiffany Espensen

Per their Instagrams, Lawson Bates + Tiffany Espensen are getting pretty cozy. While it’s unclear if they’re pre–courting, courting, or whatever, it’s obvious that they’re in some sort of romantic relationship, and not trying to hide it. So... It’s time for an Introduction Post!

Meet Tiffany

Tiffany Lian Espensen was born in Lianjiang, China on February 10, 1999. She is 22 Years Old, as of March 2021. At 13 Months Old (March 12, 2000), Tiffany was adopted by her parents, Dan + Robin Espensen, and moved to California. As of 2021, she still lives in the Golden State.

Career Tiffany Espensen is a professional actress, appearing in television and film. Arguably, her most–notable role to date was “Cindy Moon” in Spiderman: Homecoming (2017), which she briefly reprised in Avengers: Infinity War (2018). Before that, she had major co–starring roles on children’s television—Bucket & Skinner’s Epic Adventures (2012–2013), then Kirby Buckets (2014–2017). She’s also a voice actress, with voice credits for movies, television, and video games. She has appeared in two made–for–TV movies and one miniseries. And, she’s had one–off or minor roles on a few well–known shows, including House (2011), Lie to Me (2009), The Young & The Restless (2008), NCIS (2008), Criminal Minds (2008), and Hannah Montana (2007). Her full filmography is on IMDB, for those who are curious!

Education By junior high, Tiffany was homeschooled. (This might have been due to her acting career, rather than for religious / ideological reasons, though.) After high school, Tiffany chose to pursue a higher education, but continued to act at the same time. She enrolled with Liberty University Online in 2016. (She chose Liberty for its ‘biblical worldview,’ saying in 2017: “I genuinely really love what Liberty is doing, and what it stands for. It is so important because you don’t see many colleges today that stand for truth.”) Tiffany graduated summa cum laude in August 2019, earning a Bachelor’s Degree in Political Science.

Religious Beliefs Tiffany is clearly religious... She sought out a Christian, bible–focused college, and apparently factors her faith into her career. She claims to be “very careful” in selecting “the roles I do and auditions I go on,” since she knows her choices will “represent Christ.” She’s fairly outspoken about her religion on social media, as well... She includes scripture in, like, every Post.

Other Just a fun, weird fact... Apparently she’s best friends with Bindi Irwin, Steve Irwin’s Daughter. Unclear how they met, but their friendship appears to go back to 2014, at least!

... and Tiffany’s Family

Tiffany’s Parents are Daniel Philip + Robin L. Espensen. (Haven’t yet been able to track down Robin’s Middle or Maiden Names.) She has 1 Sibling—her Older Brother, Erik C. Espensen. (It’s unclear how old Erik is or whether he’s adopted like Tiffany.) Erik lives in West Hollywood, CA, and works as a real estate agent. (See Also.) He and Tiffany seem to be quite close.

As for Tiffany’s Parents... They are both licensed realtors. Also, it seems that they own and manage quite a few properties, mostly in Riverside County, CA. Dan is a Financial Advisor, as well. They’re very busy!

As for where they’re from... It’s sort of unclear. The Espensens seems to run the financial advising and property management businesses from Desert Hot Springs, Riverside County, CA. On Facebook, Erik lists nearby Palm Springs, CA as his “hometown.” However, they have ties outside of Palm Springs, as well... Two charter schools in Julian, CA—a town just outside of San Diego—reportedly oversaw Tiffany’s homeschool curriculum. But... On IMDB, Tiffany says she lives in Los Angeles—not San Diego or Palm Springs. (Plus, IG Pics often place her in iconic Los Angeles locations, such as Griffith Park, Staples Center, and Dodger Stadium. Plus, Disneyland / California Adventure, which are technically in nearby Orange County, but are decidedly not in San Diego.) So, yeah... They’re from Southern California. Somewhere. Seems they may have moved around some, or maybe live live in Riverside County, while self–describing as Angelenos. Very possible.

Overall Impression / Comments

Overall, Tiffany appears to be more ‘wordly’ than some of the Bates Spouses. However, she’s also very young, and there’s a fairly large age gap. (Lawson is 28, 29 in July; Tiffany just turned 22.) I’m very interested to see what happens with Tiffany’s career, if she and Lawson marry... Will he move to Los Angeles? Will she keep acting? Will she keep acting if they have children?

It’s an interesting pairing. I’m interested to see this unfold.

#introduction #tiffany espensen

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tooslowforsatan · 3 years

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I’ve been thinking a lot lately about changes. The changes I’ve made and how I would make certain decisions if I was put into the same situation again. If you could go back to any of your major life changes which one would it be? Would I have finished high school? Gone to college at an appropriate age? Would I have move to California at all? I think my biggest change and the one I regret most is my last move, from LA back to Oregon.

Realistically I had (almost) everything I could ever want when I lived in Redondo Beach. I had a stable place to live, a job that paid me more than a wage that allowed me to eat healthy food and have the resources to recreate however I chose to.

I was surrounded by everything I enjoyed, world class surfing, mountain biking, hiking, theme park, and an amazing group of friends.

What made me give it up? I was too much of a coward to shoot my shot with any of the women I was actually interested in and had convinced myself that I was on a dead end course to live and die alone.

Honestly after what this pandemic has done to me that would have been preferable. I know that sounds dramatic, and things are going to get better, but spending the last two years, the first of them working more than full time and going to school full time the first year was rough, but this pat year with constant 15+ credits while homeschooling my step-daughter who quickly found all of my buttons and took glee in grinding her heel into every single one of them has been the worst.

Imagine being stuck in a house all day with someone who’s greatest pleasure is making you miserable and having shitty Community College teachers making it necessary for you to teach yourself Calculus, Chemical engineering and electrical engineering fundamentals? Your spouse coming home and the kids whole demeanor changes and “my angel would never do that”, “you’re imagining that”, or “you think she’s actually capable of that?” while her therapist is saying all along that her behavior is all an act and she needs to be tested for major emotional disorders...

I know that most of the people I loved most and cared about before moving to Oregon were on here at one time, although I don’t know if anyone even uses tumblr anymore. I just want you to know that I think about you and the times we shared every day. It’s been almost 5 years since I moved up here and I haven’t heard from anyone since 2 weeks after I arrived. Even though most of you took a group vacation right next to where I lived and didn’t tell me so I had to find out as the pictures were posted to instagram. I know the phone works both ways and I could have reached out myself, but deep down I knew I had fucked up really early and didn’t know how to process that.

Eventually I’ll be done with school, a newly minted Civil Engineer, how fun! My fantastic wife and I are going to have a kid and I’ll be working again. Things will get better. But I had to unburden myself in a semi-private post on a platform where likely no one would see to say that it breaks my heart, fully, to not have any of you in my life any more. I wish you all the best.

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

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Stargazing

Ethan Winters x Mia Winters (Resident Evil Biohazard)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: Romance, Fluff

Summary: A year after the events that took place at the Bakers’ residence and the three years of Mia being missing, the Winters spouses have finally been healed enough to start getting back into a regular lively rhythm, nevertheless haunted by the nightmare they lived through.

Requested by Anon. Hi dear! Sorry you’ve had to wait so long for your request but here it finally is! They deserved so much better and I’ll never stop saying that! Sorry for the brief rant, still, hope you enjoy the read! Love, Vy ❤

Holding Ethan’s hand tightly, Mia follows his instructions to keep her gaze down at the ground and avoid looking up as much as possible. She’s been having a hard time containing the smile on her face, biting her bottom lip a lot to prevent it from showing. Same as she’s had a hard time keeping quiet with her guessing games of where Ethan’s taking her. The man’s unbreakable though, never once was he tempted to let her in on what he’s planned.

It’s been a year since the Baker incident and all the couple has done is switch from one coping mechanism to another. They got stuck in a sort of therapy-work-therapy cycle where they threw themselves in their work and periodically went to their psychiatric appointments, never daring to nudge the topic at home amongst themselves. It was enough that the whole night has remained as a dark cloud hanging over their heads, addressing it has simply been to painful so they’ve steered clear of the topic the best they could.

However, an important thing to note about this coping cycle they created is that it drove all the other mechanics in their lives and their relationship to become routinely and mechanic as well. There was little to no feeling in all they did - not that they ever did much together except have dinner and sometimes breakfast, both of them fully indulged in their work the rest of the day. Work became their therapy eventually, leaving little time for one another and for fixing what’s been broken between them. This conclusion bothered them both to no end but neither wanted to address it out of fear of disturbing the other.

Luckily, Ethan didn’t feel the need to bring it up before taking action.

“Here we are!“ He announces eventually, causing Mia to snap her head upwards without a second to spare, curious eyes doing the best they can to take in the dark surroundings.

Surprisingly enough, she doesn’t have any problem with the dark. What happened back in Louisiana didn’t give her a phobia of the dark or of ships as her therapist initially thought she’d develop. However, she’s got a huge fear of bugs and insects now - especially mosquitos. Count on her husband carrying anti bug spray wherever they go - now is no exception.

As her eyes slowly adjust to the darkness of their surroundings, it doesn’t take her a while to realize they’re in an open yet secluded field. She’s not the slightest bit surprised by where he’s taken her, in fact, she recognizes it immediately. It’s the spot of their first official date.

“Who knew going to that dorm party would be the best thing I’d do in my life.“ He mumbles under his breath, admiring the sparkles in her eyes as she takes in the beautiful field bit by bit, letting the reel of memories play back, taking her all the way back to that first year of college, that fateful night when they met, followed by the night they came to this field.

“Who knew overcoming my fear of heights at an early age would’ve helped me find the man I’d eventually marry.“ She replies, turning to look at him, their gazes locking in place, both of them no reminiscing on those events they hadn’t recalled in a very long time.

2006

The humidity doesn’t suggest that the summer months have already ended. In fact, the air is still as unbreathable as it was in July and August, making the students who have to return to their studies super conflicted, longing for those beach days with little to no responsibilities. Given that no one is ready for the school year to start, the professors included, the first few weeks of college have been rather stress-free for Ethan. Well, that is if you don’t include the agony of moving into college as a freshman from an entirely different state.

Why he chose to go to college in Texas is a question he still doesn’t have a proper answer to. It was an impulsive, basically overnight decision, one that rattled his parents to no end when he announced it. However, having his own income and savings for college purposes, they couldn’t really do much in stopping him but they didn’t support him either. They kept trying to change his mind until the very last day but alas he stood his ground and now here he is, in his college dorm, trying to read a book while there’s a raging party going on just two floors above. The music is so loud though that is sounds more like it’s taking place in his closet instead.

His roommate went up to help set the party up, only putting mild effort into getting his Cali-boy roommate to tag along and join the shenanigans which Ethan appreciated. Parties have never really been his scene so he knew he would’ve kept refusing no matter how much he tried getting him up there.

Finding the read hopeless due to the distractions, Ethan ditches the book and lays back on his bed staring at the ceiling, feeling like a fish out of water, ready to suffocate any minute. The AC in the dorm is faulty so it’s not serving its purpose properly, leaving the air at the same temperature as it would be had the device not been turned on at all. He’s stranded on things to do, feeling awfully caged in this new environment without any proper entertainment, going even as far as to second-guess if his parents were maybe right all along.

Fortunately for him, just then, his roommate bursts in, humming along to the song that’s currently being played at the party, never missing a tune even in his clearly intoxicated state.

“Hey Winters, aren’t you Californians supposed to know of a good time? You’re disappointing me right now.“ Jared slurs, laughing a bit as he leans against the wall to keep himself to his feet.

Ethan can’t help but scoff, “Thought I’d be a party animal? Sorry for the letdown.”

Jared laughs, shaking his head, “Come on, Cali. You have two semesters to be sulking around, it’s too early to start. Listen, one beer and thirty minutes, that’s all I’m asking you for. If you like it you can stick around. If not, feel free to leave. Just please give it a shot. How else are you supposed to make friends?”

Ethan stops to contemplate for a second, weighing his options. Jared takes this as a hopeful sign, seeing as how his offer wasn’t immediately turned down as it was the first time. Finally, the blond sighs in defeat: “Ok, but thirty minutes only.“ He says as he slides off the bed, briefly looking at himself in the mirror and deeming his appearance decent enough for a dorm party. As a very new student, he’d like to make a good first impression on his classmates but given that they’re all probably wasted, he’s not stressing too much over his looks at the moment.

Following Jared up to the floor of the party, he’s immediately handed a beer which he accepts with little hesitation. His roommate goes around introducing him to a few people before he disappears with some girl he claims has been his on-again-off-again girlfriend since sophomore year of high school - Sarah. Ethan, of course, doesn’t stop him despite hating the ide of finding himself stuck alone in a crowd of people he’s seeing for the first time in his life. Still, he sticks to the deal: thirty minutes and a beer...ok, two beers, but they’ve done nothing to make him enjoy this party.

So, off he goes to search for Jared to tell him he’s leaving. Thinking he saw the dark haired girl he went off with going up the stairs to the roof, he quickly follows.

Little does he know, that’s not the dark haired girl he’s looking for. That’s Mia

Mia, the rowdy, outgoing Texas tomboy who, unlike Ethan, thoroughly enjoys going to parties and having a good time with her friends and a few drinks. However, even a party animal such as herself sometimes needs to take a breather especially when people are smoking cigarettes as though they’re inhaling air and she’s never tried a cigarette in her life and is actually quite against the idea. She found this rooftop to be her prefect hideaway whenever she felt like her surroundings would suffocate her. Students were strictly instructed that climbing up there would earn them a penalty but that didn’t bother her in the slightest - She’s been frequenting the roof already and it’s been barely a week of her fresh start in college. Luckily, she got over her fear of heights at the tender age of twelve so this journey to quite a high point doesn’t pose as much stress as it would’ve about a decade ago.

As she lies on the floor, looking up at the starry night sky above, she nearly jumps out of her skin when another voice calls out to her presumably though it’s not using the correct name.

“Hey, um, S-Sarah? Have you seen Jared?“

Mia turns her head as she sits up, one eyebrow raised as she takes a good look at the silhouette which this voice belongs to. It’s pretty dark so even if she knew him, she wouldn’t be able to recognize him but judging by the voice, this is not someone she’s familiar with. And judging by the accent, this guy is not from around here.

“I’m not Sarah, but if you’re looking for Jared Letterwood, I can guarantee he’s in Sarah’s dorm.“ Mia chuckles, “I’d know. Sarah’s my roommate.“

Ethan cringes at the thought, “Yikes, you’ve got it rough. I mean, Jared’s my roommate but so far I haven’t had to leave the dorm for him to...you know. Hope I never have to.” Suddenly, an idea strikes him, “Wait, where are you gonna sleep tonight?”

She laughs, lying back down with her arms folded behind her head, “Right here.” She drags out the words as she adjusts her position a little, eyes fluttering closed. “Stargazing helps me fall asleep. The whole ambience up here is just...perfect, you know. Jared and Sarah are really doing me a favor.”

Ethan can’t help but scoff, “Call me crazy, but I’ve never stargazed in my life. I don’t know, never really saw the whole appeal. Sure, it’s cool to see in a movie or whatever, but it’s got no real purpose in real life. Not that I’m trying to bash your hobby or anything...”

Before the clueless blond could finish his statement, Mia’s already snapped up in a sitting position, giving him a narrow-eyed glare he can’t really see in the darkness. Her hand taps the spot next to her, “Don’t knock until you try it, Cali boy. Come’ere, see what you’re missing out on.”

Though reluctant, Ethan takes a few steps forward, stopping for a second to ask: “Wait, how’d you know I’m Californian?” Regardless of his confusion, he sits his ass down as he was told, awkwardly laying down so that there’s half a foot or less between their bodies so he doesn’t accidentally touch her and run the risk of freaking her out.

“I know a lot of things, Cali. Unfortunately, your name isn’t one of them. That being said, either you tell me it, or I’ll have to keep calling you Cali.“ She says teasingly.

“Ethan. My name’s Ethan.“ He says through a sigh, unable to contain the smile that spreads across his face.

A smile mimicking his appears on her face as well, “Nice to meet you, Ethan. The name’s Mia.“

Needless to say, the following morning Ethan woke up still on the roof, and surprisingly and terrifyingly enough, with the girl he barely met the night prior in his arms. Under the light of the newly rising day he could examine her features better, taking in her absolute beauty, her pale features contrasting her dark as the night hair. She’s still asleep so he can’t see her eyes but he has no doubt they are as beautiful as she is. Everything about her looks so delicate yet sharp simultaneously. And he’s simply in awe.

To avoid any awkwardness in case she wakes up, he falls back asleep, not even trying to remove his arms from around her body, silently hoping she won’t kick his ass for it. The next time he wakes up, an undecided amount of time later, he’s alone on the rooftop. Alone with a note that says: ‘Did you like it? If yes, I got a better stargazing spot to show ya. You know where to find me

~ M‘

“And boy, was I missing out on something.“ Ethan whispers, gently running his fingers through his wife’s hair as they lay in that same field she was referring to in her note to him, gazing up at the stars, limbs intertwined, bodies completely collided.

“Told ya. Stargazing is incredible, ain’t it?“ Mia replies, snuggling closer though that’s simply impossible.

Her husband chuckles, his chest rumbling with the noise, “That’s not really what I meant.”

Her brows furrow but she doesn’t look at him, “Oh? Then what did you mean?”

With a content sigh, he replies, “I was missing out on having you in my arms, falling asleep and waking up by your side.“ He says, his lips planting a gentle kiss at the top of her head that has her melting in his embrace.

Mia’s not the romantic nor cheesy half of this relationship, quite the opposite, but she feels emotions to a way deeper level than Ethan would imagine her feeling. So, thankful to the darkness, Mia allows her eyes to gloss over with emotional tears as she rises up to collide her lips with his in a soft and tender kiss.

“I missed you so much, Mia.“ Ethan whispers when they pull away, foreheads resting against each other.

“I promise to never make you miss me again, baby.“ She replies in a tone as hushed as his. As though they are both afraid someone would overhear this vow of theirs and try to force them to break it.

“That’s impossible.“ He says with a soft chuckle, “I always miss you at least a little.“

Mia hums in response, “Well, right now, you don’t have to miss me at all. I’m all yours. You’re the only thing on my mind, Mr. Winters.“

Even in the dark, she sees the grin that lights up his face, “As you are the only thing on mine, Mrs. Winters.” With that, their lips reestablish their contact, this time maintaining it longer, making it more passionate than before.

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ollieofthebeholder · 3 years

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leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

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Chapter 24: Helen Richardson

It’s been almost five hours that Helen has been making the rounds of this particular house. It’s a Grade II listed building, which means that on top of the usual bankers, executives, dentists, and barristers traipsing through, she has a few people she’s fairly certain can’t afford the building but who are clearly interested in what a historic home that can be lived in might look like, despite the fact that the interior has been redone several times. She’s a little more brusque with them than the others—nothing that can be complained about, of course, just on the off-chance they are actually able and, more importantly, willing to buy it, but there’s no point in wasting her time on someone she won’t earn a commission from.

She checks her list. She has one last viewing scheduled for the afternoon, and she frowns slightly at the entry. She’s not certain how to pronounce the last name, which instantly puts her on edge, and she’s a little bit annoyed that whoever put together her appointment schedule didn’t proofread it before they printed it.

It’s only when she answers the door that she realizes that her list is actually meant to say Dr. and Mr. Walter Koskiewicz.

“Ms. Richardson?” one of the two men says. His voice is far more polished and refined than she would have expected. He’s neatly dressed in a pearl-grey button-down, tailored black pants, and a discreet but expensive-looking watch. His bearing is assured and confident, and despite the warm smile on his face, he moves like a man accustomed to obedience, respect, and wielding a decent amount of power.

Still, Helen is hard-pressed to keep her distaste from showing. The man’s silver-streaked dark hair is longer than she thinks is decent for someone in a position of authority and worn in a style more appropriate to a twenty-something entrepreneur running an experimental tech start-up than the middle-aged academic he appears (she guesses the “doctor” title is more in the nature of a Ph.D. than a medical degree). He’s also covered in scars, round and slightly ridged, pale against his brown skin, and she can’t even begin to guess where they came from, but it’s probably not something she wants to even think about, let alone know about.

And then there’s his…husband?

They’re an odd-looking couple, to be sure. The second man is at least a head taller than the first and decidedly fatter—Helen thinks uncharitably of an illustration in the book of nursery rhymes she had as a child depicting Jack Spratt and his wife—with blue eyes and fair skin dusted with freckles. His hair is short and curly, a mix of caramel and white, which is the only clue that he’s probably around the same age as the other man. He doesn’t hold himself with the same assurance and authority; while he’s smiling as well, he actually seems more than a little nervous. He’s dressed just as neatly and professionally as the first man, but he’s clinging to the first man’s arm very tightly. She can’t tell if it’s out of nerves or possessiveness or what, and she almost wants to tell him that she’s not interested in his man.

Instead, she schools her expression as best as she can. “Yes, I’m Helen Richardson.” Normally she would ask if they are the last name on her list, but she doesn’t really want to try and pronounce it, so she simply waits.

“I’m Dr. Walter Koskiewicz,” the first man says smoothly, holding out his hand. It bears the same round scars as his face, with the addition of what looks like the remains of a severe burn on his hand, which makes Helen extremely reluctant to touch it. “This is my husband Kieran. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Charmed,” Helen says. She accepts his hand for a perfunctory shake and keeps her professional smile on her face despite the somewhat unpleasant feel of the thing. She ought to offer her hand to the other as well, but frankly she just wants to get this over. “Shall we begin the tour?”

“Of course.” Is it her imagination, or does Dr. Koskiewicz sound slightly disappointed?

Helen launches into the by-now familiar script as she begins showing the two men around the house. Dr. Koskiewicz makes several remarks that seem rather banal to her regarding the decor, and she finds herself wondering what his field is. She can’t place what Mr. Koskiewicz does for a living, either. She’d almost suspect he was simply arm candy if he was younger and fitter, but unless he’s let himself go to seed a great deal, there has to be a reason beyond that they married. And in her experience, most men whose trophy wives no longer meet a certain standard of attractiveness obtain divorces and trade in for a newer model. It may be different for gay men, though—how would she know? Of course, Dr. Koskiewicz isn’t exactly a beauty prize himself, and considering this house is on the lower end of the pricing spectrum for the sorts of places Helen usually shows, he likely isn’t as well-off as all that, comparatively. So it’s entirely possible he simply doesn’t want to rid himself of an old spouse until he’s lined up a new one.

It’s also possible that they’re actually in love, but Helen wouldn’t know about that either.

As they approach the kitchen, she begins mentally wagering with herself on whether or not they are actually interested in purchasing the house. Usually the kitchen is where the distinction comes in. It’s had all modern appliances and new counters and cabinets put in, so generally speaking, the people who are only there for curiosity’s sake start asking questions about when it was renovated and how permission was obtained and what it looked like before (Helen has no idea; the renovations were done some years ago, per the specs, and she wasn’t even working for Wolverton Kendrick then) and, often, rant about destroying the historical significance of the house, even though it’s only a Grade II. At least it enables her to weed them out as having an intent to buy before they see what’s been done to the upstairs. The serious buyers will peer in but not usually show much interest in it, considering most of them have someone to do the cooking for them, or else comment on the colors or the brand of the appliances.

She doesn’t tell the two men this, of course, only gives them the standard patter about the timing of the upgrades as she leads them in to show them the door to the back garden. Dr. Koskiewicz checks in the doorway and turns to his husband. “It’s a bit narrow. Do you want to go first?”

“You go ahead,” Mr. Koskiewicz says. It’s the first thing he’s said since he came into the house, and his voice definitely isn’t as polished as the doctor’s. Helen wonders if he’s an academic as well, just not as highly distinguished a one—a librarian, maybe? He also has a faint accent she can’t quite place. She can’t tell if they’re both foreign and Dr. Koskiewicz just had better teachers, or if, odd as it may seem, Dr. Koskiewicz chose to take his less-impressive husband’s surname rather than whatever name he had before. “Just warn me before you stop.”

“Of course.” Dr. Koskiewicz kisses him on the cheek, then moves forward to follow Helen.

She watches Mr. Koskiewicz for a moment, and then it hits her all of a sudden. He’s blind. She didn’t notice at first because of his glasses—clear glass, not sunglasses—and his eyes look, well, normal, not cloudy or scarred like she might have expected. The fact that he can pass himself off as a normal person bothers her, for some reason. However, the couple appears to be in the class of being able to afford the house, so she’s not going to risk saying something that might offend him, or his husband. She merely continues with her spiel.

“What are the schools like in the area?” Mr. Koskiewicz asks as they come back in from the back garden. The question makes Helen miss a step. The sorts of people who usually buy homes from Wolverton Kendrick normally have their children taught at home, and the older ones tend to get sent away to boarding school. It’s so unheard-of for her to get that question that she hasn’t even bothered to familiarize herself with the answer.

“How old are your children?” she asks, to buy herself a bit of time while she sneaks a quick glance at the folder. Surely there’s something in there about area schools. Surely.

“Oh, we don’t have any yet,” Dr. Koskiewicz says. “At the moment, it’s only the two of us and the cat. We’ve begun the application process to adopt, though, and we’re hoping to be matched soon. It’s why we’re looking at homes. Our current living situation is spacious enough, I suppose, but…not necessarily somewhere you’d want to raise a child. Or children, as the case may be. We’re hoping for more than one, at some point.”

“Well, then, you’ll have time to select the right schools.” Helen manages to find the data on local primary schools and reads off the statistics in her file. She tries to make it sound like she already knew the information, but the steady look Dr. Koskiewicz gives her makes her suspect he knows she was unprepared for it, which makes her tense and a little angry. It’s not her fault they chose to ask about something so unusual.

As they head up the stairs, she decides to fish about a bit for some information. The problem is that she still isn’t confident that she’ll pronounce their name properly, and the last thing she wants is to be condescended to. That’s the way with these academic types, she’s often found; they have a little bit of power and wield it like a weapon, especially over a woman or someone they perceive to be beneath them. So in order to get the information she wants, she’ll need to come at it sideways.

“Are you at Kings College?” she asks, casually, trying to sound as if she doesn’t care one way or another if he does.

“No, I work in Chelsea,” Dr. Koskiewicz replies. At first she thinks that’s all she’s going to get, but after a moment, he adds, “I don’t know if you’re familiar with the Magnus Institute?”

Helen isn’t, not really, but she’ll chew off her own arm before she admits that. It never goes over well with clients when you profess ignorance of their profession; they always get offended if they think you should have heard of them, or at least what they do, and you haven’t. Besides, she doesn’t want to wind up in the middle of a history lesson on a non-profit or a think tank or whatever the Magnus Institute qualifies as. Best to hedge her bets. “Quite a prestigious institution,” she says in as neutral a voice as she can.

“You might say it’s outstanding in its field,” Mr. Koskiewicz says. His voice is almost as bland and neutral as Helen’s.

“It’s where we met,” Dr. Koskiewicz informs Helen. She glances over his shoulder to see him smile at Mr. Koskiewicz in a way that makes her stomach turn over. “I was hired as a researcher, he was in the library.”

Helen feels a slight stab of vindication—she was right about Mr. Koskiewicz—but it’s layered with a veneer of disgust about the whole situation. This isn’t the sort of neighborhood that would normally welcome people like them, she doesn’t think. Some of these high-end neighborhoods are getting a bit more diverse, but these two are a bit much all at once. She’ll admit that Mr. Koskiewicz seems normal enough, at least to all outward appearances, but he’s very clearly the less powerful of the two, and his blindness is definitely a point against him.

Upstairs in the home are four rooms designated as bedrooms, and used as such by the current owners, but which can also be studies or something similar if need be. She delivers the usual speech extolling the virtues of the rooms. Mr. Koskiewicz is listening rather intently, but to her surprise and slight annoyance, Dr. Koskiewicz seems distracted. He keeps examining every door intently, peering into the spaces in between, like he’s looking for evidence of woodworm or wants to see the details of the construction. There’s something a bit unsettling about it.

“Calm down, serce, you’re going to give me a headache,” Mr. Koskiewicz murmurs. “It’s okay.”

“I know, it’s—” Dr. Koskiewicz sighs and squeezes his husband’s hand before turning to Helen. “Ms. Richardson. Have you ever noticed…something unusual in this house? Or any house you were showing? Like…a door that shouldn’t be there?”

“I’m…sorry?” Helen says cautiously. She’s had some weird questions asked before. She’s been asked about whether or not a basement can be made watertight (not waterproof, the client had insisted, he wanted to fill the basement with water and have a subterranean swimming pool and wanted to know if it was possible). She’s been asked about a room’s suitability for rituals to the Old Gods and about whether it contained enough space for an exorcism. She’s been asked if homes are haunted, if any murders have taken place in them, and if they might have secret tunnels used by robbers or counterfeiters. But being asked if she’s ever seen a door that shouldn’t be there? That’s new.

“It’s not a trick question, Ms. Richardson. Have you ever encountered a door in a place you weren’t expecting—yellow, perhaps?”

Okay, this is definitely weird. And a yellow door? Why is he being so emphatic about it? Her smile is slipping. The worst of it is that Helen doesn’t know the right answer. The truth, of course, is that she has no idea what he’s talking about. Of course she hasn’t seen any appearing or disappearing doors. She deals firmly in reality. She’s never seen a ghost, never spotted a UFO, never met anyone possessed by a demon. She doesn’t believe in magic, or have much truck with religion—she goes to church services with her mother on Christmas and Easter, but that’s about it, and she’s not sure how much of it she actually buys into. Certainly she’s never seen a door that wasn’t exactly where the house plan said it should be.

But she’s also usually fairly good at judging why a client is asking about such things. Some of the people who ask about murders or hauntings are fearful. Others are hopeful. The answer is almost always actually no, especially if it’s about the supernatural, but when she senses a client who will pay extra to be haunted or to be able to claim a salacious history to their new home, she’ll make something up, then jot it down after the client leaves just in case someone else asks before the first client commits to the sale. Very, very occasionally, there is an actual alleged haunting attached to the house—and once she really did have a house on the market that may have been lived in by a serial killer during the height of his crimes—but she’s good at spinning the story properly whether it’s something the owners disclosed to her or she made it up on the spot. The trouble is that she doesn’t know if Dr. Koskiewicz wants this alleged door to be there or not.

After a heartbeat, she decides on honesty. Frankly, she doubts they’re actually going to buy the house, regardless of what she says. At least this way she doesn’t have to pretend to have seen an unexpected door, be asked to describe it, and get caught out in a lie. That won’t do much for her credibility, or her commissions. You never know what kind of influence people actually have and they might spread around that she can’t be trusted.

“I can’t say that I have, Dr…” She trails off as she realizes she still doesn’t know how to pronounce his name properly.

“Koskiewicz,” Mr. Koskiewicz supplies. He’s studying Helen intently, making her wonder if she was wrong about him being blind…but no, he’s just looking in her direction, but seeming to focus on a point slightly to the left of her. It’s actually more than a little creepy and she wishes he would stop. “That’s a good thing, Ms. Richardson. A very good thing.”

“Please, allow me to explain,” Dr. Koskiewicz says, sliding his arm around Mr. Koskiewicz’s waist. “We at the Magnus Institute study the paranormal and the supernatural. One of the phenomena I have been studying involves this…door that keeps turning up unexpectedly. You might say it’s a rather persistent haunting. And it’s dangerous. Very dangerous.”

“I see,” Helen says politely. She hopes he’s not about to lecture her. There is nothing she finds less enjoyable than an academic explaining his pet project or particular area of study to her. She would, in complete honesty, rather jam a sharp stick into her eardrums. And the paranormal? Definitely not an area she has any interest in. The historians she can just about tolerate, as she occasionally learns something worth sharing about a house she’s showing that can bump up the price if the right party hears it. But she really isn’t sure she can sell a haunted door as a feature. Unless this mysterious door comes with a ghost of some kind, but really, that seems a bit ludicrous. And there’s no guarantee it would be tied to any one particular house. There’s no resale value in it.

“But you haven’t seen anything like that,” Dr. Koskiewicz says. “You’re certain?”

“Very,” Helen says firmly. “I would remember.”

Dr. Koskiewicz studies her, then nods. “Good. Very good. I’d hate to raise a child in a house with that hanging about.” He laughs and adds, “I’m not altogether certain the Professor would be all that thrilled with it, either.”

Helen raises an eyebrow before she can catch herself. “Ah, if you have an adult housemate, this room right here also has an en-suite bathroom. Not as grand as the master suite, of course, but certainly private and well-appointed.”

“The Professor is our cat,” Mr. Koskiewicz says with a smile. “I doubt he needs a whole room to himself, but we do appreciate your point. Perhaps a room for an oldest child.”

“Perhaps,” Dr. Koskiewicz agrees, the corners of his eyes crinkling upwards. “Someday.”

Unbelievably, there’s still a chance Helen can make this sale. She still isn’t sure she wants to, but there’s a chance. She slips back into the familiar patter, rattling off the specs and amenities of the house and neighborhood. Now that they’ve dealt with the ridiculous question about an unexpected yellow door, it’s a lot easier.

She winds down the spiel as they head down the steps. Dr. Koskiewicz asks several questions, more normal ones than asking about the supernatural or the paranormal, and from the sorts of things he asks, she thinks she gleans a bit more information about the pair of them. Certainly enough to tailor her closing speech properly, anyway. It’s something she prides herself on. She tends to get the bigger commissions from her employers because she can sell houses most people have given up on, at a higher price than the seller is asking, by targeting specific things about the potential buyers—either something they’ve shown interest in regarding the house, or something they’ve let slip about themselves that she can exploit. Admittedly, she’s prone to occasionally exaggerating a teeny bit, and sometimes downplaying things she can be sure won’t show up as a hit on a pre-sale inspection, but nobody’s ever come back to complain about it. As long as the company does well out of it, nobody really cares.

She delivers the closing remarks, highlighting those things she thinks they’ll be drawn to, and talks up the amenities. She decides not to mention her concerns about how well-received they would be in the neighborhood, since neither of them looks like they belong; if they buy the house and find out their neighbors are going to make their lives miserable, well, that’s not really on her, and maybe she’ll get the listing if they decide to resell. Not that she’s necessarily hoping for that, but hey, a commission is a commission.

“Contact me if you decide you want to buy,” she finally says, handing Dr. Koskiewicz her card. He studies it for a moment, then pulls out a leather wallet and tucks the card inside. “I understand you’ll need to think this over, but if you’re interested, you may want to hurry. There was a couple in this morning willing to put in an offer.”

It’s a lie, of course; these two are the most intent viewers she’s shown the house to yet, and nobody’s made an offer. The house also hasn’t been on the market very long. But she’s learned that dangling that bit of bait often gets people to put in a higher offer. The owners want two and a quarter million, but she wonders if she can get these two to go to two and a half or maybe even more. She might even be able to get them up to three, which of course means a bonus for her.

“I can assure you that you’ll be the first to know, once we’ve talked it over,” Dr. Koskiewicz says. He holds out his hand. “Thank you very much, Ms. Richardson.”

“Of course.” Helen gives him her most professional smile and accepts his hand, trying not to wince at the feel of the scar tissue against her palm. She means to give it another quick shake and move on, but he tightens his grip slightly, holding her still, and stares at her intensely. It’s extremely uncomfortable.

“Please be careful,” he says quietly. “And if you do run into…anything unusual…I urge you to come to the Institute. You’ve been so kind to us. It’s the least we can do.”

Helen has no idea what he means, or what she should be worried about. And she doesn’t feel like she’s been especially kind, unless the other real estate agents they’ve dealt with have been more openly hostile about their foreignness and their homosexuality and his scars and his husband’s disability. But she’s not stupid enough to say that out loud.

“I assure you,” she says, fighting to keep her smile in place. “If anything unusual happens, you will be the first to know.”

“Thank you.” Dr. Koskiewicz releases her hand, but he keeps staring at her intently.

Mr. Koskiewicz holds out his hand uncertainly in her direction. “Thank you for being so helpful and direct. It’s refreshing to not feel…misled.”

Helen accepts his hand uncertainly, but honestly, after the doctor’s, it’s a relief—soft and fleshy to be sure, but he doesn’t grip overly hard, and it’s not as dry or, well, corrupted. Still, she’s a little unnerved by his statement, or more accurately by the way he says it, like it’s some sort of joke she doesn’t get. “Certainly. I wouldn’t be very good at my job if I wasn’t.” She takes a half-step back and manages another smile. “Have a nice evening.”

“You as well.” Dr. Koskiewicz takes Mr. Koskiewicz’ arm and leads him to the door.

Helen, as is her habit, walks them to the door and watches them head down the path. Then, unable to stand it, she quickly hurries after them and peeps through a gap in the privacy fence sheltering the front garden. She doesn’t know much about cars and isn’t sure what she’s expecting, but the battered, ancient Ford Escort isn’t it.

She stares, utterly gobsmacked, as Dr. Koskiewicz opens the door for Mr. Koskiewicz, then goes around to get in the driver’s seat. The engine coughs and chokes for a moment before it catches and the car pulls away. It somehow doesn’t fit with the image she cultivated of the two of them. Either they have less money than she thought, or they have as much money as they do because they don’t spend a lot of money on new vehicles.

Either way, she thinks, glancing at her watch, her appointments are over for the day. She’s free until eight o’clock tomorrow morning and can go get something to eat, and she decides then and there that she is going to have a martini. Maybe two.

She rather thinks she’s earned them. Even if she doesn’t make a commission off of this one.

#ollie writes fanfic #leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#the magnus archives #tma #jonmartin #homophobia cw #racism cw #xenophobia cw #ableism cw #classism cw #general bigotry cw #(all more implied than anything but still)#I'm sorry but I've never thought OG Helen was all that nice

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deadmomjokes · 4 years

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Hey, I was wondering if you'd be willing to share how you came to the decision to have a kid? I'm struggling with it a lot since having kids has been expected of me my whole life and now that I'm married it feels even more like an expectation than a choice of my own to make with my spouse. I guess I'm trying to understand others' reasons for their decision to help me come up with one for myself. Sorry if this is a bother!

Not a bother at all!

For me, it was kind of a slow process. As a kid, it was assumed folks just grew up and would have kids, and at first I just went along with it. Then when I got old enough to realize the amount of responsibility involved, and that it involved *gasp* kissing boys, I was all kinds of NOPE. But I didn’t tell anyone that. I just inwardly figured I’d be the Fun Aunt who never got married, never had kids, and lived with a bunch of dogs and maybe a horse.

Then, after my mom died (I was about 17), something weird happened. Idk if you’re the kind of person who believes in spirits, the afterlife, the before-life, souls, etc, but I started feeling two things very strongly: 1, I somehow felt/knew my mom was looking after my kids until they could come to earth, and 2, I felt a very specific presence that I realized was my first daughter, whom I now have the pleasure of having irl.

Obviously, not everyone is going to have that kind of experience, but for me, it was a big “OH” moment, and I realized that what I didn’t like was the expectation of it all, and also, what teenager/kid is really ready for or ready to accept the responsibilities and realities of having kids? Of course I didn’t want kids, I was too young, and that’s how it should have been!

When I ended up meeting and marrying my now husband, we talked about kids, and we both knew we were waiting on at least our first daughter (fun story: we both independently “realized” her name way before we were ever married. her name is Ivy Marie, and it kind of just came really strongly to both of us. this girl, I tell ya, she’s had some serious Opinions even before she was born, and she wanted to make dang sure we knew what her name was going to be.). But we figured we’d start having kids years down the line, after enjoying just being us.

Then, randomly and totally by chance, I ended up doing my academic internship in Early Childhood Development and Parental Education, and about that same time I started feeling like “maybe I should have a baby?”. It was super weird. I can’t really describe how I knew, except as a “should do” that came from beyond and yet inside me. But it wasn’t one of those, “Oh, everyone says I should have kids or should start having them now” kind of things, it was this really unshakeable feeling that I missed my children. Like I knew them already, and was waiting for them. And that now (then) was the time to go ahead and see what I could do about meeting them, whether that was having a baby naturally, adopting, fostering, etc.

It’s all really nebulous to describe, but for me, it was a real, almost tangible thing. I knew, just like knowing you’re hungry or thirsty or sleepy, that I wanted kids, MY kids, and that I wanted to find a way to get them into my family.

Not everyone feels that way. For some folks, it’s more like a weighing of pros and cons. Or it’s like flipping a coin and suddenly realizing in the air which side you hope it lands on, and there’s your answer. For others, it’s something you pray about (I also did that), something you study (lots of cool parenting classes out there!), something you even practice at (babysitting! so helpful, but also not at all representative, for good or ill).

And the best part is, it’s not a once-and-for-all decision! You can think on it now and decide with your spouse that it’s not something you want right now, and then in a few years you think on it again and realize “oh hey, now we want kids!”

But ultimately, there are some questions that must be asked and answered re:having babies/kids.

Why do I want to have a child/children? This seems obvious, and like the whole question you asked me, but it’s a bit more specific and more complicated than that. This is about the “selfish” reasons, the reasons that tie back to your desires for yourself. In my case, I answer this with “I feel like I’m incomplete/missing family without my child/children” among a few others (but that’s the big one). If your answer to this question involves other people-- because my parents want grandkids, because I should, because my spouse does-- then you need to do some more soul searching.

Why do I want to be a parent? This is about what you want to give to your child/children. This is the “unselfish” version of the previous question. What do you hope your children get from you, and not in a physical sense. My answer to this one is “I want to help my child/children be part of the good in the world, break generational/societal hurts and problems, and give them both the good things I got and the things I never did.”

Are you prepared for a child? I’m not trying to say that you have to be a parenting expert making 6 figures a year with your own home and two cars to have kids. I’m saying there are times and places and situations that would be very detrimental to you and/or your child. You should also have some grasp of the permanence of parenthood, and what it takes to have and raise a baby/child. Practice budgeting, look into how schools work, watch some birthing videos, look up parenting resources. Basically, just learn a bit before you decide, but also, IMPORTANT NOTE don’t let all the info you find scare you off completely. 18+ years always seems insurmountable and impossible when you try to cram it all into a 2am google search. I’m just suggesting you have some idea of the nitty-gritty before you get handed a tiny person and get told to keep it alive forever.

Are you healthy enough to have kids? Not to say that disabled or chronically ill folks can’t/shouldn’t have kids, but that some people might be at serious risk of death or other irreparable harm by having kids (usually talking about birthing them). This includes mental illness. Do not try adding a child to your family-- one of the hugest life changes you’ll ever make-- while you’re in an uncontrolled spiral or dealing with unmanaged mental or physical illness.

Are you prepared to love your child no matter what? It’s easy to say that about a cute little squishy potato child who only wants to be held all day, but I’m talking about the whole child. The baby up through the adult. Are you prepared to love as a conscious choice even when your child is making bad decisions or ‘disappointing’ you? Are you prepared to love your child through toddler tantrums that never end? Are you prepared to love your gay child, your disabled child, your nonverbal child, your catatonic child? Are you prepared to give the same love to your transgender child as to your cisgender one? Are you prepared to love your Down Syndrome child as an adult, or your autistic child as a hormonal teenager who is struggling? Are you prepared to love the child who struggles in school, or who doesn’t care at all just as much as your straight-A’s bookworm who never gets in trouble? The delinquent, not just the angel? The aspiring screamo even when you’re a church-choir mouse? You should never bank on “well my child will never....” It’s not fair to your child. And ultimately, it’s not about you. Yes, parenthood should be fulfilling for you, but it’s really about loving another person so much that you’re willing to dedicate your life to theirs.

I realize this is way long, but I have a ton of feelings about kids and parenthood/parenting. So I apologize for the rant, and hope that something in here has been helpful or has come close to your original question.

Ultimately, this is a choice only you and your spouse can make, and screw societal/family/religious expectations. This is about you and your family, the one you choose to make. You get that choice, and if you choose not to have kids (or not have them right now), you may get flak for it, but just like nobody can tell you what to do with your limbs, nobody can tell you what to do with your life, and the lives you choose to make or influence.

And a tl;dr version, I chose to have kids because I felt like they were a part of me waiting to be “let in,” if that makes sense. It was something my spouse and I both talked about, then thought about individually for a long time, then came together and discussed for a long time. We wanted parenthood, and we wanted to raise children to be part of the good in the world, and we want to be that good for even a few little people. (And also, our daughter was like “BRUH, I’m waiting for you guys to get a move on, I’m gonna be the best thing in your lives. Also here’s my name don’t wear it out.” She was never, nor is she now, subtle.)

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priorireverte · 3 years

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Congratulations Ashley!

Your application for Andromeda Tonks has been accepted. She’s going to have a lot to deal with. At least it looks like her spouse is on the horizon soon! Unless that just causes more problems.

Please look to the checklist for the next steps and reach out if you have any questions!

OUT OF CHARACTER

NAME & PRONOUNS: Ashley / she/her

TIMEZONE: EST

ACTIVITY LEVEL: I would consider myself to be fairly active! I work a full-time job which is 3 12 hour shifts per week, so I’m usually not around on those days other than mobile. However, I’m usually always around on discord if needed. On my days off, I’m always active unless something else comes up!

ANYTHING ELSE: N/A to triggers! I’ve been writing and roleplaying since 2006 aka the days of myspace. I’ve been roleplaying on tumblr and in the Harry Potter community since 2009. Also ! My rp partner is applying for Ted and we’ve discussed their background together and are a cohesive unit, LOL!

CHARACTER DETAILS

NAME: Andromeda Dorea Tonks (nee Black)

BIRTHDATE: 12 February, 1954

DEATHDATE: N/A

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Cisfemale, she/her, pansexual

BLOOD STATUS: Pureblood

HOUSE ALUMNI: Slytherin

OCCUPATION: Healer at St. Mungo’s. After the deaths of her husband and her daughter, Andromeda only remained on as part time staff due to her commitment to raising her grandson. With her son-in-law back from the dead and expecting his son, Andromeda has picked up more shifts to distract herself from her mixed bag of feelings.

FACECLAIM: Rachel Weisz

CHARACTER BACKGROUND

POSTBELLUM

War is ruinous. It’s evil and endless. It’s something that Andromeda has learned. Now, she’s lived through two wars and managed to lose almost everything. During the first war, Andromeda refused to choose a side. She remained strictly neutral. Supporting the Death Eaters was what her family expected from her. However, she didn’t share the same beliefs. Supporting the Order, however, felt like the ultimate betrayal. Something that she couldn’t explain. So, she remained neutral. When the second war began to brew, she supported the Order because of her daughter’s involvement as an auror. She and Ted were never official members of the Order, but they helped where they could. This later led to the both of them being tortured for information by Death Eaters. The two were shaken, but otherwise okay, thankfully. Andromeda didn’t turn her back on the Order after this. If anything, it only made her support stronger.

When Nymphadora learned that she was pregnant, Andromeda was overjoyed, but afraid just the same. Edward went on the run due to the persecution of muggleborns and Andromeda had never been so afraid in her life. Ted was the only family that she’d had. The only person that she’d relied on for years. When the news of Edward’s death came, Andromeda tried her best to keep a brave face in front of others. She knew that the war was far from over and she couldn’t bear to upset her pregnant daughter.

Nymphadora gave birth to a bouncing baby boy and everything seemed right, if only for a moment. They honored Edward in the name and he had equal parts of her daughter and son-in-law. Andromeda begged Nymphadora to stay home, to not go to the Battle of Hogwarts, but she went anyways. The news of her daughter’s death at her sister’s hands broke Andromeda completely. She had a newborn, now, that she was responsible for and in the first few months of his life, she wasn’t sure who cried more.

If it weren’t for Teddy, Andromeda doesn’t know if she would have been able to go on. Her grandson gave her life purpose. She had reminders of the two people that she loved most and Teddy became the third. She’s taken to part time at the hospital while she’s cared for him the past couple of years.

The news of the dead coming back is all the rage and Andromeda is skeptical. Despite the skepticism, she was also hopeful for a very brief second. Then, she was disappointed and then her anger took another turn. She hoped for her husband. For her daughter. For her cousin. So far, she’s gotten none of them. The news of Remus being back has placed a pit inside her stomach that she can’t handle. She wants to be happy, but she also abhors the thought of losing her only link to her daughter, to her husband. She doesn’t know how she’s going to cope.

PERSONALITY

(+) Ambitious: Andromeda excels at anything she puts her mind to and more. Failure is not an option for her. It is a trait that she learned from her father.

(+) Eloquent: Growing up in one of the pureblood elitist families, Andromeda was taught how to be very persuasive. She knows how to use this trait and although she doesn’t use it much, it is always in her back pocket when she needs it.

(-) Stubborn: Andromeda’s stubbornness will one day more than likely get her into trouble. When she decides on something, it is rare that she changes her mind. She does not like to admit that she is wrong and rarely does so.

(-) Conflicted: Andromeda knew that befriending muggleborns would upset her family. It was against the beliefs that she had always been taught. Since her Hogwarts days, she was always incredibly conflicted. She felt a strong sense of duty to her family, but felt unable to meet their demands. When she fell in love with Ted, she knew it was the final nail in her coffin. Andromeda no longer struggles with the choices that she made. She sticks with them. However, she will always be conflicted over the bond she still feels towards her family.

ENFJ – The Giver - “Popular and sensitive, with outstanding people skills. Externally focused, with real concern for how others think and feel. Usually, dislike being alone. They see everything from the human angle, and dislike impersonal analysis. Interested in serving others, and probably place the needs of others over their own needs.”

Andromeda has the fatal flaw in which she decides that others needs are more important than her own. It was only magnified when she became a mother herself. Her people skills were groomed to perfection when she was forced to attend the numerous pureblood galas as a teenager. As a healer, she enjoys being able to put back together the hurt and heal those that are harmed by those closest to her blood relations.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY

Andromeda Dorea Tonks nee Black is the original family disappointment. Cygnus and Druella prayed for a boy the second time around and when Andromeda came out a girl, it was where the disappointment started. Growing up, she always felt like the odd one out. She wasn’t strong and fiercely loyal like Bellatrix. She wasn’t graceful and beautiful like Narcissa. She was the middle child through and through. Despite the disappointment and the short comings that she could not prevent, Andromeda’s loyalty was to her family. The Black family had a strong name within society. They were revered. A part of the sacred 28. Any child of the Black family would act like they were one.

She grew up with pureblood beliefs force-fed to her and being taught to believe nothing else, she actually thought that they were the only way of life. Andromeda was sorely mistaken, however, and she didn’t realize how much so until she met Ted Tonks. Edward Tonks changed everything for her. Ted Tonks was a muggleborn boy and although she didn’t want to admit it, she was smitten. Her resolve faded during their years at Hogwarts and eventually, she couldn’t deny the chemistry anymore. The rest of their years at Hogwarts were filled with letters written in invisible ink, heated meetings in empty classrooms, and plenty of sneaking around.

She struggled with her feelings for Ted and her loyalty to her family for years, until one day she chose Ted. She found out that she was pregnant and she knew it’d be the final nail in her coffin. Andromeda chose Edward and their unborn daughter and she was promptly burned from the Black family tree. Family is important to Andromeda; however, she’s learned over the years that chosen family can be more important than blood relatives.

Despite all of this, she still feels a sense of loyalty to Narcissa. A feeling like reconciliation wouldn’t be so bad. Bellatrix – however – she knows they’ll never repair their relationship. Not after what was done to Nymphadora.

After losing her husband and her daughter, Andromeda clings to her grandson. A reminder of what she’s lost – in the likeness and the name. The idea that she’s going to lose him too is killing her inside.

HISTORY

What was their life before the end of the war in ‘98 or before their death? What was important and formative for them?

Hogwarts: Andromeda’s early life was filled with piano lessons, ballet lessons, and etiquette training. She was to be the perfect pureblood daughter, even if she was a disappointment. Her parents spoke of their beliefs and taught them to their daughters, accepting no questions. Until Andromeda went to Hogwarts, the pureblood beliefs were all that she knew. She knew that she was above everyone else because she had pure blood and that she should never question it. The moment that she was sent to Hogwarts; everything changed. The things that her parents had taught her to believe – they simply weren’t true. The muggleborns and the halfbloods weren’t different than she was. In fact, there were some that were truly brilliant.

For the first few months of her education, she kept her nose up in the air because she knew her older sister was watching her every move. Andromeda pretended like she wasn’t curious to know more. Like she didn’t have questions. It was only the moment that Bellatrix looked away that she discovered everything she knew to be a lie.

Edward Tonks: When she met Edward Tonks for the first time, Andromeda didn’t give him a second thought. It was only after months of studying and tutoring that things began to shift. She began to think about him moreso than she’d like to admit. Their gazes would meet over the school books because neither of them was paying attention to their texts. Soon, the two began to sneak around, knowing the dangers that this posed for the both of them if they were to be caught. Thankfully, they weren’t caught until Andromeda chose Ted. She chose him over her family and never looked back.

Ted changed everything for Andromeda and she doesn’t deny a moment of it to this day.

Healing: Despite the arguments from her family, Andromeda chose to take a healing internship at St. Mungo’s after she graduated from Hogwarts. Her parents were not pleased and that was putting it lightly. Why should she work when all she needed to be good for was a quiet, proper pureblood wife and mother? Her parents had the perfect pureblood for her to marry, but Andromeda didn’t want any part of it. She decided to do what she loved and being a healer was everything that she needed. She needed to do some good in the world to cancel out all of the bad that was happening around them.

Nymphadora: Finding out that she was pregnant with her daughter was the final nail in her coffin. It was the final sign that she’d never be welcome on the Black family tree again. The moment that she found out that she was pregnant, Andromeda was terrified. She didn’t have a great relationship with her mother when she was growing up. She didn’t know how to be a mother. How could she take care of a child? Despite her fear, she told Ted and she’s not sure she’s ever seen him so happy before. Andromeda is fearful her entire pregnancy. She despises herself for it. It’s something that she hides. However, the first time that her daughter is placed in her arms, it’s something that comes naturally. Her love for her daughter is something that she can’t explain, but she knows that Nymphadora is the person that she loves the most in the world. Her new favorite job is being a mother.

All of her life, Andromeda tries to protect her daughter. From the evil things in the world. She tries to shield her from the things that will hurt her. The Black family. The war. When Nymphadora decides that she wants to be an auror, Andromeda supports her, but knows that she can’t protect her baby from everything. Inevitably, she’s unable to.

OOC EXPLORATION

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO? I love the idea of this roleplay and bringing back the dead. I think it’s an amazing idea and I cannot wait to interact with others and see the interactions that will play out. I love the passion that everyone seems to have for writing and I’m excited to possibly join the fun.

ANYTHING ELSE? Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/sortoutherpriorities/she-walks-in-beauty-andromeda-black-tonks/ Boggart: As a child and a teenager, Andromeda’s boggart was failing her parents. As it ultimately came true, Andromeda’s boggart eventually changed to the loss of Ted and Nymphadora, which also came true. When she became the primary caregiver of her grandson, her boggart changed once again to the loss of Teddy.

#andromeda tonks #prioriacceptance

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magicflowershop · 4 years

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one day kitty; Kita version

《inspired by movie A Whisker Away》

✿✿ you wished to be with the person you like and wish granted. whiskers, button nose, tail, four legs and ears on top of the head; you turned into a cat. with this, you are given the opportunity to be with the person you want to express your affections to. but as a cat. and only in one day.

― haikyuu characters x cat!reader imagines!

❀ masterlist ❀

the wheel of names have spoken.

kita was having a good time by himself in his grandmother’s rice fields, feeling the breeze like the precious farm boi he is,,, when he saw a cat sleeping on a wet patch in the middle of the field

gathering concern for the little cat, he brought him home and decided to clean it up

then you woke up

you felt something scrubbing your back when you open your eyes you see a guy aiming a hose at you

you scream bc obv, but that scream translated into a screech leaving your mouth and you see your hand

homie that was a paw

why do u have a paw?????

"stay still, you might hurt yourself”

and why is there a Kita Shinsuke spraying water at you lmao

you see that he’s kinda annoyed that you’re moving so much while he’s trying to clean you up but at the same time you arent sure since he isnt easy to read and that don’t know him too well rip so you let yourself be cleaned for free ig

but yo what the hell??? so you’re a cat now????

you try to remember what happened before all this and how in the world you suddenly turned into a cat and magically wake up in Kita’s place

you dont know the exact location of his place so you have no idea how to get back home from here

Kita pulled the cat closer to him, and wiping the wet fur with a towel as generously as he could that the cat soon found comfort from his gentle caresses

okay maybe you could stay for a while yk huehue

“you’re having fun”

you hear a familiar voice from a mile away, you look back and see a fat, creepy cat standing on two of its hind feet

o wait

you saw that cat last night when you were watching the shooting star outside,,, you thought it’d be cute if you suddenly wished for something so you did then that thing appeared outta nowhere promising you that he can make your wish come true than compared to a stupid star

so he forced the wish outta you

that you wished to be closer to a guy you admired,, and you had a lot of crushes in your school ykyk,,, just that Kita takes the entire cake

“you have until midnight to remain as a cat. be sure to leisurely fulfill your desires, y/n.”

and so he vanished

while knowing full well you’re basically Cinderella now, you take consideration of your leisure time with Kita-sama

do you stay or do you go home first to check on your household

“oh what do we have here?”

Kita’s grandma entered the scene and you think that okay maybe this development is a little too quick since you weren’t ready to face his relatives yet

“i found this cat in the fields. it looked like it could get sick so i cleaned it”

o yea you were a damn cat

also Kita calls you freakin “it”

pennywise who

you chose to stay in Kita’s place bc grandma thought it’d be lovely to let you stay there for a while,, and that you looked like you were starving when you saw the food on the table

thank goodness you were a cat bc jesus were you actually drooling

so you spent time in Kita’s place big deal

but his place isn’t what you’re aimed for no?

“i’m leaving”

Kita says putting on his shoes, ready to leave and he’s wearing casual clothes,, you don’t think he’s going to school for volleyball practice

IS HE GOING ON A DATE????????????

lmao

as if thats actually true cmon Kita doesn’t even hang out with girls that much,,, even though he prolly has a bunch of admirers like the other Inarizaki Vball bois

but what if he swang that wae?

??????????

so you followed him right?

you wanted to find out where he’s headed also that he looked good in casual clothes you just want to keep looking at him like this

Kita went to the grocery store

and apparently he was buying ingredients to make food

ahh

so you begin to think that you were foolish for lowkey gate-keeping him

like sis cmon you’re a cat rn keep your head in the game,, what do you do with those paws of yours that cant even grab his hand and pull him away when he was about to bump into a girl as he was about to grab a bottle of tomato paste

heck you cant even get inside the damn grocery store and walk in between them cause you’re a fcking cat!!!!!!!!

you watch their mouths say sorries to each other

the girl was blushing

hm?

Kita looked worried that he couldve hurt her since the hag was coverin her face

nani k

n̸̢̪̜͚͑́̾́̑̋ á̴̠̜̳͖̼̃͗̚͘͠ͅ n̵̼͙͇̻̹̓͜͜ i̷̥̲̻̪͈̞̙̩͛̾̅̓͝͝͠ ̶̨̡̜̞̟͆̿̈́͜ḵ̶̂̓̀̚ o̶͎͛̋̋̊͋̊̅̈̅ͅ r̶͙̮̱͊̎͠ ę̷̺̪͎͈̗̖̯̣͍͒͊̒͆͂̈́͛́̒̃

you started tapping the glass windows like mad SKSKD

and ofc since you’re a stray animal ppl wont let u get away with absolutely anything so one personnel saw you tapping the windows and shouted at you from inside the store

Kita and the hag saw you and yea that was enough embarrassment for the day, you ran away and let your feet take you wherever

its a bit boring that since its a weekend there’s nothing to do,, you never expected that Kita’s weekends would be this boring too :(

so the creepy cat appeared

“what’s wrong you dont seem to be enjoying yourself anymore”

“turn me back to human i need to finish my homework”

maybe thats not the most liable excuse you have but it is true that you need to finish an assignment

“but i gave you a chance to be with the person you admire, no? is this not enough?”

“yea well its-”

“here you are”

you feel someone pick you up and you see that it was Kita:0he must’ve looked for you since you dont even know where you are

oh my god Kita Shinsuke looked for you ma’am eye- or mayhaps you took the route back to his house without knowing since you were busy staring at him when you were stalking him earlier ye

you watched how he looked at the creepy cat you were talking to and and judged it from head to hind feet lmao Kita

“do you have the same owner as this cat?”

he asked you and you gave out every ounce of your energy to shake your head as a no as well as to let out the most disgusted and disapproval meow you ever could-

“the hell would i want to be acquainted with that thing!”

what

no way did u just speak

so Kita stared at you for the remainder of the time but decided you speaking isnt physically possible and that he could’ve been real tired since he saw the Miya twins along the way

he took you back home since his grandma seemed to be real happy seeing a little animal in the house with them

but you didnt miss to see the little knowing smile from the creepy cat from earlier, you just knew from that alone that he was messing with you since as you said you were bored

it was wrong of you to talk to that lil disgusting thing

since that moment you refused to speak with your mouth every again, if you were going to speak thought you would probably just purposely say meow only to not make anymore mistakes

also you’re spending a lot of time with Kita’s grandma than Kita himself

“i wonder what your future spouse is doing at this moment, Shin-kun”

Kita looked like he wanted to roll his eyes so bad lmao since he always hears things about his grandma wanting to see his wedding before she dies :c

and yk it makes you sad too just hearing about this

and you want to help 😔

and you would offer help 😌

they heard the cat speak and now you’re running away bc they heard you talk about wanting to marry Shinsuke 🤡

the day ended and you managed to go home before the sun set basically nothing happened and your transformation was all for nuttin, you were bamboozled by a demon cat you randomly saw one night

the next day you were back to your human self and it was a school day so ofc you have to live on normally in school as if nothing happened, as if you didnt just stalk a guy from your school but we’ll get to that

see, you’re friends are friends with a few of the guys from your school’s volleyball team,,, so you’re within vicinity of Kita’s attention

when you explicitly did not want to see him atm

BUT THEN YOU REMEMBER YOUR FRIENDS KNOW YOU LIKE KITA

WHAT THE HELL DO YOU DO NOW

you decided to run away but you realize that’s useless bc you’re all going home together :D

now you weren’t the crowds type of person,, you had no idea how it come to this, you’re used to hanging out with your girlfriends yes but they were having fun altogether like this it was fun just watching them goof off and whatnot

“hey”

when i told you you’re almost dropped the second you hear Kita calling to you, you best believe

you said hey but in a different tone of voice bc it was too early for him to notice you had the same voice as the cat he saw yesterday,,, then you both walked in silence

you couldnt take it anymore and decided to go to the nearest convenience store since you had something you want to buy,, you went and whispered this to your friends but when they were asking you to let your voice out, you were deadass croaking

but then you clown yourself sum more bc Kita was concerned of you acting like this and asked if you were alright

now you’re stuck with him in the convenience store bc your friends and his friends thought it’d be a great idea for him to go with you :D

“you should eat something warm before going to sleep, and take a warm bath too”

:((((((

okay now you feel bad for actually making him worry lol

your alibi of getting sick works really well with not speaking at all around him so you used this till the end thinking you can escape him with this until it rained and you dont have an umbrella with you

aight y/n you’re one hell of a clutz

Kita was enough of a gentleman to buy an umbrella for you until its actually out of stock

you guys stayed in the convenience store for the time being

you were losing your mind

how much longer will you stay with him

you thought of an alibi to save you from the embarrassment so you told him you gotta jet and go back to school bc you forgot to bring your notebook with you

but now you realize you realize you didnt have to tell him bc he’ll still follow you as if his life depends on taking care of you :(

after you randomly stormed out of the convenience store, he caught up to you and pulled you somewhere where there’s a roof over

“are you usually this reckless? or do you just like getting yourself sick?”

homie does not hold back

he pulled a spare shirt from his back and put it on your head,, proceeding to wipe your wet hair with it until he realized he’s subconsciously invading your personal space

he looked right at you, so you two were standing there,,, staring,, his hands on both sides of your head,,,,, both of y’all are wet hunni

he let go and turned the other way,,, the darkness wasnt dark enough to conceal his red cheeks and hunni you made him blush aight

“you reminded me of a cat i saw yesterday im sorry about that”

“you dont have to apologize”

o sis you did it now

you s p o k e

so Kita was beyond surprised to hear that voice again,,,, and this time from yOU,, ALL NORMAL,, NO FROGS

“i, i can explain”

he looked at you confused, hell was he so confused, that you sounded exactly like the voice he randomly heard yesterday which made him think that came from the cat,, he didnt think that was physically possible bc yk but the embarrassment from your face was enough for him to guess

“did you really say you’re willing to marry me”

gOD

“i mean,,, i don’t mind”

“grandma would be glad”

stay tuned for more!

#walk in my garden #i always change things up a lil bit lmao #hope you guys are keeping up #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu!! drabbles #haikyuu!! smau #haikyuu!! imagines #haikyuu!! headcanons #haikyuu!! x reader #kita #shinsuke kita #kita shinsuke #kita x y/n #kita x reader #inarizaki #one day kitty

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magick-sims · 4 years

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20 Gen. Disney Princess Challenge- Sims 4

Generation 1: Snow White "I'm wishing for the one I love to find me today"

Founders have humble beginnings, so what's better than Snow White? To start, create Snow White. Storytellers may create her as a teenager and make her evil stepmother, but this is not a requirement. When Snow White becomes a young adult, this story begins.

- Must be female

- Must have 7 children (dwarfs)

- Each child must have one negative trait (e.g Gloomy, Glutton)

- Each child must have the same baby daddy

- Each child must achieve something before their teenage years - this can be reaching level 5 in a toddler skill, reaching level 3 in all toddler skills, completing their childhood aspiration, or becoming an A grade student in school

- Snow may never answer the door to strangers or talk to elderly women

[EPS]: Parenthood - each child must age up with at least one positive character trait. This number can be increased if you're looking for more of a challenge.

Generation 2: Cinderella "A dream is a wish your heart makes, when you're fast asleep"

Although you had six brothers and sisters, you always did the cooking and cleaning. Yet, somehow you loved it, as it transported you away from your chaotic home life. When Cinderella becomes a teenager, this story begins.

- Must have 'Neat' and 'Foodie' traits

- Must clean the house everyday and cook every meal

- May not marry until mother dies (This does not have to be of old age, but it may not be cheated)

- Have a maximum of 3 children

Generation 3: Tiana "The only way to get what you want in this world is through hard work"

Your family has barely accomplished anything over the past two generations, and you're here to change that. This story begins when Tiana becomes a YA.

- Must have 'Ambitious' trait

- Father must die before end of YA

- Must have food Aspiration

- Must marry a Sim with green (This can be hair, eyes, skin etc)

[EPS]: Dine Out - Tiana must own and run her own restaurant

Generation 4: Aurora "I walked with you once upon a dream"

Thanks to your mother's hard work, you have everything you always wanted in life, apart from love. Your father was overprotective of you, and rarely let you out of the house. This story begins when Aurora becomes a YA.

- Must have the 'Lazy' trait.

- May only have 3 or less friends. (Family can count if you wish)

- Must meet future spouse at night while parents are asleep

- Elope (you can run away if you wish)

- Have a maximum of 2 children - (twin girls are preferred if playing Anna or Elsa next)

Generation 5: Anna "We only have each other, it's just you and me"

Your sister locked you away and you never knew why. As toddlers, you were the best of friends but now all you have are dreams. When Anna is a child, this story begins.

- Lose all contact with your sister until YA

- Find love with a criminal

- Experience near death at the hands of your lover

- Find someone new after becoming BFFs with your sister

- Marry, have one child

Generation 6: Rapunzel "You were wrong about the world, and you were wrong about me"

Your mother never trusted you or the outside world. You never knew of her past, and never wanted to. All you ever got was solitude, but that didn't matter. When Rapunzel is a teenager this story begins

- Must have 'Loner' and 'Art Lover' traits

- Must reach at least level 8 painting before YA

- May only ever leave the house for school

- May never have friends until wedding

- Elope - you have no friends anyway, have kids

Generation 7: Belle "People think I'm odd, so I know how it feels to be different"

You always loved books and visited the library often. You never cared for looks, just beauty within. Everyone wanted you, but you turned them all down. You wanted to chose your own destiny. When Belle becomes a YA, this story begins.

- Must have 'Bookworm' trait

- Date at least 5 men

- Meet the man of your dreams - an ugly Sim

- Marry, have kids

- Your spouse becomes beautiful (Changed in CAS) after first born child

Generation 8: Mulan "Could it be, that if I were truly to be myself, I would break my family's heart"

Your parents always wanted you to bring fortune back to the family and marry someone of high status, but you didn't dream of love, you dreamed of glory. When Mulan becomes a YA this story begins

- Must have 'Active' trait

- Must join Astronaut career

- Fall in love with a co-worker once you reach the top of the career choice

- Marry, have kids

Generation 9: Jasmine "A whole new world, a hundred thousand things to see"

You hated being rich and living like a princess. You find comfort in Raja, but nowhere else. All your father wants is for you to marry rich, but you want a life without riches. When Jasmine becomes a teenager this story begins.

- Have a best friend (Raja)

- You cannot leave the house unless it is for school

- Must marry a poor street rat

- Lover must be in the criminal career

- Have a maximum of 4 children

[EPS]: Cats and Dogs - Raja must be a pet and reach companions while children

Generation 10: Merida "If you had the chance to change your fate, would you?"

You always wondered why your mother gave up her riches for a poor boy. Your adventures lead you into trouble, and you were nearly always grounded. When Merida becomes a teenager this story begins.

- Have the 'Self Assured' trait

- Lose your siblings and mother in an unfortunate accident

- Seek out a way to change the past but fail

-marry and have more than one child

Generation 11/optional 5 : Elsa "Yes I'm alone, but I'm alone and free"

Your parents always questioned where your powers came from. You were a quiet type after... the accident. All you wanted was to be alone, unable to harm anyone. When Elsa becomes a teenager, this story begins.

- Must have the 'Loner' trait

- Must not talk to siblings until YA

- Must be different in some way

- Run away as a teenager (Storytellers may have her sister find her and bring her home)

- Never marry and only have one child (it was an accident, you swear by it)

Generation 12: Pocahontas "You think I'm an ignorant savage, you've been so many places, I guess it must be so."

You come from different worlds, yet the love of your life is forbidden by your family. When Pocahontas becomes a teenager this story begins.

-Fall in love with a "different" kind of Sim

-Marry that "different" kind of Sim.

-Run away and elope

-Have a maximum of 4 kids

Generation 13: Megara "I won't say (I'm in love)"

You never had much attention as a child, but you didn't mind, everyone only seemed to do you wrong. Now you're set on finding love just as your mother before you but just as life before things aren't as easy as they seem. When Megara becomes a toddler this story begins.

-must have the 'Independent' trait as a toddler and max all skills

-must have the 'Loner', 'Unflirty', and 'Free spirited' traits after aging up

-must join some kind of club of only women

-must marry a man she meets at the gym (her hercules), any man she has a romantic interest in that she doesnt marry they must despise each other

-may only have 1 child

Generation 14: Giselle "I guess a new experience, could be worth trying"

You grew up in a perfect fantasy world where everything was perfect for you but when you grow up a tragic event leaves your family broke and you have no choice but to leave home and face the real world. When Giselle becomes a YA this story begins.

-must have 'loves animals', and 'perfectionist' traits

-must move out of her family home to a different city

-cannot marry her first love

-must marry someone who is married already and has at least 1 child, they then can have their own children only once they get married

Generation 15: Elena "Born to lead with fire in her soul, grace in her heart. This is her time."

You grew up as a princess in a kingdom full of magic, but at a young age you were forced away from your parents to find your own way in life. When Elena becomes a teenager, this story begins.

-she, along with any siblings, must live with her grandparents

-traits: 'ambitious', and 'kindness ambassador'

-must be in the politician career and work your way up to national leader

-after achieving this she may marry and have children

Generation 16: Moana "One day I'll know, how far I'll go"

You grew up as the heir to a legacy, born to rule over others; however you want to explore and see the world. You know your choices make you who you are and you hope that one day they will show you the world. When Moana becomes a teenager, this story begins.

- Must have the the 'Loves the Outdoors' trait.

- Must have 'Curator' aspiration

- Must have a close relationship with her Grandmother (who dies before Moana becomes a YA)

- Run away from home and meet Maui and become BBFs with him.

- Marry and have children (7 if ariel is the next generation, does not have to be the same father, all girls, ariel is last born)

Generation 17: Ariel "Someday I'll be part of your world"

You've always loved the water and dreamed of becoming a mermaid. Sadly, this never came true but you did find the man of your dreams, and that was good enough. When Ariel becomes a teenager this story begins.

- Must have a 'Loves the Outdoors' trait

- Must own a pool and swim in it everyday

- Must marry a beautiful Sim with at least one trait the same as your own

- Have kids

[EPS] Island Living - Ariel is a mermaid, adjust the above rules to fit the EP.

Generation 18: Melody "What's too dangerous?"

You always wanted to be a mermaid like your mother but you didn't get so lucky. You were always kept away from anything too adventurous as your parents saw danger at every turn. When Melody becomes a teenager this story begins.

-must have somekind of socially akward trait, and an adventurous trait

-must gain the cold resistance trait from points store

-must have at least level five skill in dancing and singing

-must find merkelp and become a mermaid without buying or cheating for it

-must marry a merman

-have twins(1 girl and 1 boy) and adopt 1 child(sofia)

Generation 19: Sofia the First "The new girl in crown"

You were adopted into a rich, noble family, very different from the orphange you grew up in. You plan to learn to be the perfect princess unlike your mother before you. When Sophia is a child this story begins.

-must max the following skills: charisma, piano, singing, and violin before becoming a young adult

-must have a good relationship with her two siblings

-must complete any degree at university while living at home

-may only move away from home after marrying and then they may have as many children as they like

Final, Generation 20: Venelope "You really are a bad guy"

You're different than your perfect ancestors before, you've never fit in so you're here to be the best despite what everyone thinks of you. You want to take down the big bad guys in town even though your childish ways may have you stumble along the way. When Venelope becomes a YA this story begins.

-must have 'Childish' trait

-(bonus)have to get an A in school before aging up

-rank up to triple agent in the secret agent career

-take down Nancy Landgrab one way or another

-eventually live in a big mansion and do what you want because you have completed all the generations

#sims #sims 4 #sims challenge #disney #disney princess #disney princess challenge #sims 4 disney #sims 4 disney princess challenge #sims cc #sims 4 cc #sims 4 challenge #sims 4 story #sims 4 gameplay

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pulvisctumbra · 3 years

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Through war and triumph (sofya markovna) rises, at (31) years old, serving as (engineer) residing in (king’s hill). They are a (human) that resembles (conor leslie). Upon meeting them, they are (adroit) and (devoted). Don’t be fooled, they can be (acerbic) and (inflexible).

Full Name: Sofya Isabella Markovna Nickname(s): Sof or Sofie Age: 31 Species: Human Powers: sarcasm Sexual Orientation: pansexual Romantic Orientation: panromantic Occupation: engineer

FAMILY

Mother: Arina Markovna Father: Konstantin Markovna Siblings: Alexandros Markovna Extended Family: n/a

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Hair Color: brown Eye Color: brown Height: 5′9

PERSONALITY

Positive Traits: forthright, practical, loyal rational, independent, informed, determined, curious, versatile, adroit, rebellious, single-minded. Negative Traits: inflexible, arrogant, dismissive of emotions, combative, critical, reckless, cynical, caustic, challenging, insensitive. Values: Sofya values her privacy and so appreciates people who either don’t pry or don’t try to place themselves in her life. When it comes to work she values diligence as much as creativity. While it might juxtapose her tendency to prefer to not create bonds, she does appreciate dependability and predictability in the people that are around her. Fears: while it’s something she’ll never admit to she fears not being enough for people which is why she tends to keep most at arms’ length. Generally she doesn’t let enough people in for it to be an issue but the worry is always there at the back of her mind - that she wasn’t enough to keep her brother close so why would she be for anyone else.

TESTS

Myers-Briggs: INTJ-T, the architect Enneagram: Type 5, The Investigator Temperament: choleric Alignment: chaotic neutral

BIOGRAPHY

Her childhood was a quiet one but nonetheless a happy one. The small neighbourhood she grew up in along with two loving parents and a doting older brother meant that Sofya grew up with a feeling of safety and security. There were times when that certainty that things would be okay fed into her boldness just that little bit too much, her mouth opening to let opinions out before she’d though about the impact of her words. But it hardly mattered that she sometimes got herself into trouble, Alexandros was always there to get her out of it. Life continued relatively normally for her, with her adjusting to the family’s move without too much difficulty, although she remained as prone to speaking without thinking as always.

The real changes began when she was eleven with her brother beginning to act strangely. She never thought to question it, instead only feeling worry and doing her best to help him where she could. There were countless nights that she awoke to him gone, only to find him wandering the streets. Or the nights that the dreams came and she knew he was struggling with something. Sofya did her best and focused on her brother but it didn’t matter. Only months later, after graduating school, he left. Feeling the absence of her brother keenly and was determined not to allow him to completely disappear from her life. She took to skipping school in order to search for him, firm in her belief that she could convince him to return home. But he never did.

Reluctantly she came to terms with the fact that she couldn’t bring her brother home and her life would have to continue without him constantly by her side. She was left to pick up the pieces that she’d dropped and scattered in her attempt to cling to Alex, having to figure out what she could do with her life. On the rare occasions that she attended school she excelled and so with three years left, she threw herself into her studies. She didn’t abandon her brother, still insistent on seeing him whenever he allowed, she just chose to place her future temporarily above. It paid off and after she graduated she was able to pursue a career as an engineer, following in her father’s footsteps.

Even though she was ready to move out of her home, she didn’t move far away. She wanted to make it easier for Alexandros to be able to see his family whenever he decided to come home. But even though she’d moved out, she hadn’t moved on and her brother’s distance had a lasting toll on her. The bold openness that she’d possessed when she was a child shifted into a harsh bluntness and she focused far more on her work than forming any kind of lasting bonds with others. Despite that she was never lonely, feeling too at peace in her own company for there. She keeps a good relationship with her parents and there were inevitably people who slipped through the cracks in her defences.

Work became the foundation for her life, throwing her time into it the same way that she’d eventually thrown herself into school. She had a talent for it with her mind always seeming to strike the right balance between creativity and practicality. Having lived in King’s Hill all her life, she grew up with the narrative that human’s were just as capable as the supernatural species and she was determined to prove it through her creations.

RELATIONSHIPS

Status: single (open) Exes: tbd (open) Spouse/True Mate: tbd (open) Current Partner: tbd (open) Friends: tbd (open) Allies: tbd (open) Enemies: tbd (open)

#lmintro #sofya || nothing more dangerous than a girl who is aware of the flames inside her

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astraeagreengrass · 4 years

Text

The Queen's Husband [3/?]

When her reign is threatened, the Queen of Ergona must find a husband to secure her throne.

Word Count: 2.096

Warnings: None! English is not my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

A/N: No one is free from apprehension - not even queens! Luckily for our queen, she has found herself a pretty nice fiancé! This chapter is a little short and not exactly what I wanted it to be, but I decided to post it right away instead of keeping on battling my writer's block. I hope you like it! And, as always, thank you to the lovely, kind, generous people that take the time to read, comment and reblog. I appreciate you ♡

Series Masterlist

My Masterlist

Marble archways and red-orange torches were the only witnesses to yours and Steve’s late night conversations.

Your hand was in his as you ambled. It was fairly inappropriate, even if you were engaged, but you couldn’t help it in the darkness of the hallway. The touch of Steve’s skin was thrilling and your palm was sweating from the adrenaline coursing through your veins. The feeling was brand new and fantastic.

This tradition was something you both committed to once Steve moved to the palace, three weeks after your betrothal: he’d escort you to your chambers at dusk, the only moment you could talk in private, even if it sometimes meant you had to whisper. Every other hour of the day you were surrounded by your handmaids, advisors and political allies and you weren’t keen on them listening to your conversations with the Captain; not when the butterflies you first felt in the rose courtyard were still there, brewing a storm in your stomach whenever you gaze met his.

Growing up as the heir to the throne of the Ergona, you’d been extensively schooled since your earliest days. Politics, mathematics, geography, english and other languages, diplomacy… You excelled in many topics, having been taught by the most brilliant minds in the world. Love, however, had never been in your syllabus.

Queens weren’t taught the ways of love and, as such, it was never your priority. Knowing you’d most likely marry for duty, with a suitor chosen by others, you focused on becoming a good ruler - a fair and honorable sovereign, born to love Ergona rather than a spouse.

Steve’s confession had terrified you - not because you didn’t believe him but because you did. You weren’t lying when you said you thought he was a good man and maybe that was why his love for you was so mystifying. Steve was handsome, loyal and kind-hearted. He could have any woman he wanted and yet he chose to love the one who built walls around her heart higher than those surrounding the Dragon Keep in Albeon.

Wariness was a hard lesson to learn but a necessary one: trusting the wrong person could cost you your kingdom, your crown and your life. No one told you how hard it would be – the loneliness and the doubt – but a Queen’s life was full of sacrifices. Yet now, every night after you bid your goodbyes to the Captain and laid to rest on soft feather pillows, your past decisions and insecurities kept you awake, taunting your mind with “what ifs” and lost possibilities.

What if you’d smiled more?

What you’d been less cold?

What if you’d been more talkative?

Maybe then you’d know what to do with the snake coiling around your lungs, crushing your breath while it screamed you were not good enough. Not for Steve and not for Ergona.

After every sleepless night, you’d watch the sun rise. The golden glow would slowly but surely spread across the inky sky, making way for dawn. It made you think of Steve and the way the blonde strands of his hair reflected that same light: your fiancé, blessed by Helios himself.

Amidst the anxiety, his presence was soothing. It confused you how the cause of your worries could also be their healing balm. Your days, as busy and hectic as they were, now suddenly revolved around the prospect of these slow walks to your chambers, the dark shadows of the castle’s walls mere bystanders to the way Steve was carefully, day-by-day, breaching through the queen’s careful armor until he found the woman.

It was scary but exhilarating.

Your conversations were easygoing and light-hearted. He’d ask about your childhood, your life in Foghar, your favorite color and favorite foods. In turn you’d question him about growing up in West Ergona, his days in the military and his travels.

You learned Steve was a sickly child who dreamed of being a soldier. His best friend was named Bucky Barnes - “he’s a punk”. He loved visiting Asgard because it reminded him of his mother and was very grateful to Abraham Erskine, the doctor who healed him.

Steve never inquired about your political agenda or demanded to be part of small council meetings. Much to Lord Fury’s chagrin, while you sat in stuffy rooms negotiating tax administration, the Captain could likely be found training archery with Master Barton.

He was tanned from his moments spent outside in the summer air. His already impressive muscles were bulging and his smiles were relaxed and frequent, as if joy itself had made a home in him. You’d never seen him so carefree.

Outside the fortress domains, Ergona thrived with the news of your nuptials. Apparently, there was nothing like a royal wedding to lift the nation’s spirits after a war and - unsurprisingly - the prospect of Steve becoming the new King was very exciting.

For the first time in your reign, you welcomed Western emissaries to the royal palace, including Steve’s father, the Duke of Arvenia, who was absolutely delighted with his son’s good fortune. A short, balding man who resembled Steve very little, the Duke arrived with an entourage of musicians, dancers and even his personal painter. His golden cape could rival a lion’s mane and his necklace was encrusted with the finest emeralds. A feathered beret completed his look, making him look every inch an exotic peacock.

Despite the obvious luxury he surrounded himself with, the Duke wasted no time asking how profitable the engagement would be to his duchy. Steve was flabbergasted with his father’s audacity, his face turning a shade of red that could rival his stepmother’s rubies - a girl even younger than you were. In an attempt to soothe him, you placed your hand over your fiancé’s, delicately saying that if the Duke of Arvenia had any questions regarding the marriage, he should take them to Lady Natasha.

She would sort him out.

You'd gripped Steve’s hand on instinct, your body’s automatic response to his discontent. It was organic, as if your own senses were attuned to his - perfectly synchronized.

When you felt him relax you let it go, even if the loss of his skin left an unpleasant tingling sensation. You weren’t expecting for him to grip you hand again a few hours later, under the dinner table, as Lord Pierce - an obnoxious marquess from West Ergona - made you uncomfortable by suggesting Steve’s virility would surely grant him many sons.

His answer to Pierce, in the same commanding tone he spoke to his soldiers with - made the older man wither like a flower in a snowstorm.

“I hope our first child is a girl, so that she may follow her mother’s footsteps and become a great Queen".

He then proceeded to toast to his words, his wishes dying in a smirk of wine-stained lips.

It was how you ended here, wooden soles clicking on the stone slabs of the corridor. After the second course you excused yourself from the dining hall. You thought Steve would chose to stay with his relatives - according to Natasha, he hadn’t seen his father in three or so years - but he rose from the table as you did, not even biding his farewells.

You missed the way Lord Stark pulled his squire from his belt, preventing poor Peter Parker from escorting you and Steve. No one else dared to follow you and, as soon as you left the room, Steve's hand reached for yours again - bolder this times, fingers entwining in a move so similar to the way his own soul was twisting and wrapping around yours.

You walked in silence for the first time. No conversation to appease the tension or divert your mind from the heat shared between your palm and his?

As usual, once they saw you approaching, the two guards that kept watch outside your chamber’s door exited to grant you privacy. They’d return once Steve left.

The Captain cleared his throat and spoke:

“In Asgard, where my mother was from, it is customary for a man to give a ring to the woman he is betrothed to. It is a promise of his commitment to her until the wedding day.”

From his jacket pocket Steve removed a navy blue velvet pouch. Long fingers loosened the cord that held the pouch closed - dexterous with a sword but delicate to the touch - and a ring fell on his palm.

The oval stone was the same shade as the velvet cloth - midnight indigo, dark as the depths of the ocean that crashed in Ergona’s shore. Dozens of tiny diamonds surrounded it, twinkling lazily in the warm firelight glow. Even more diamonds made up the ring band - and opulent jewel, made of the finest gems dig up from western mines and handcrafted by the greatest jewelers at the Duke of Arvenia’s disposal.

Too opulent for you and Steve knew that.

“I know it’s too much” he said apologetically. “My father is known for his grand gestures. But I miss my mother dearly. This ring is the only heirloom of hers I have left. I know it’s not your style, but it I would if you accepted it as a token of my affections.”

There he was, breaking down your walls again. Every carefully placed defense crumbled in the presence of his words, scattering to ashes when you couldn’t find dishonesty in them. You found yourself divided: one Y/N was rational, overzealous and logical, screaming at the top of her lungs to halt the other - wide-eyed and ingenue, desperate to break-free and be loved. It was the second one who said:

“Doesn’t Asgardian tradition say that the groom should place the ring on the bride’s finger?”

Steve beamed - a beautiful stretch of lips and cheeks and eye crinkles. He smiled with his whole face, making you wish for broad daylight so that you could better commit to the loveliness of it.

He slid the ring on the fourth finger of your left hand. The jewel was even heavier than it looked, engulfing your digit in blue lavishness. Delicately, Steve traced a line from the base of your finger towards your wrist.

“This is the vena amoris. It runs from your left ring finger straight to your heart. I hope you can see this ring and remember that my own heart belongs to you.”

He continued.

“And, if you allow me, I will cherish your heart as you have cherished mine.”

“How could I have cherished you heart if I didn’t know of your… feelings?” you replied.

He laughed - a short, breath-like laugh that tickled your nose.

“You did so by being you. That is enough for me.”

“I don’t know how to do this” you whispered, mentioning to the space between you, yet meaning it as more than the inches separating you.

“Neither do I” he took your other hand in his - limbs and worries and dreams laced together in the dark. “But I’m willing to try if you are.”

Wordlessly, you nodded, cracking a small smile as you swallowed your tears. You didn’t cry easily, but you found yourself getting more and more emotional the longer you shared Steve’s presence.

With his thumb he caressed the outside of your eye, temple, nose, then slid it downwards and traced your lips. Gently, as if touching a cloud, he took you chin in his grip.

When Steve's lips touched yours, the butterflies in your stomach broke free from their prison, spreading their crazy fluttering to your heart, your skin, your mouth. It was quick - the briefest of pecks - but it still left you breathless and wide-eyed.

“I'm sorry” he muttered, mistaking your awe for consternation. “That was too bold. Your Grace, …”

Raising your hand, you interrupted him.

“Don’t apologize, I beg of you. I’m just… overwhelmed. I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

Now it was his turn to be surprised.

“Our acquaintanceship is changing me. Being in your company is bringing to life so many things I never wondered about or deemed important. In so many aspects I feel like a new person. And it's disconcerting but rewarding. You make me feel happy.”

“And I don’t know what this means or where this will take us but I hope you’re not afraid of going there with me. Because I’d hate to be alone again.”

“Your Grace…” Steve started but you interrupted him again.

“And I order you to stop calling me Your Grace. At least when we're alone”

Then, in a move that astonished both Steve and yourself, you rose to your tiptoes and kissed him again.

#steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x y/n #king!steve #king!steve rogers #king!steve x reader #king!steve rogers x you #king!au #marvel!au #marvel fanfiction

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