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slipper007 · 3 years

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p ☀️art museums: what’s your favourite museum, or type of museum? 💕💕

☀️art museums: what’s your favourite museum, or type of museum? (doing this)

Word Count: 1,864

Also on AO3 [masterpost]

Two years after the world didn’t end, Team Free Will 3.0 started traveling.

They didn’t always stick together, or even stay in the United States (Sam and Eileen made the trip to Ireland), but they knew they all still had a home in the Bunker.

It was simultaneously freeing and terrifying to be in control of their own fates, something that Sam, Cas, and Jack had all taken in stride. While Eileen struggled at times, Dean was the only one held back by it, as much as he tried not to be. The moment he had first realized that his life was not his own, he’d fought against it out of instinct and righteousness, but now that he had it…

As much as Castiel and his brother both assured him that he was who he was on his own terms, rather than whatever Chuck’s machinations had wanted to him to be, he worried he didn’t know himself. He was just as adrift as he had been in his teens and twenties, desperately trying to emulate his father in order to find a sense of self; as he had been freshly back from hell, violent and afraid of everything he had done and become; as he had been standing in that graveyard with God telling him to kill when he knew revenge wasn’t what his mother would have wanted and wasn’t what he truly wanted.

Castiel had told him in his confession, his brother in several passing speeches over a lifetime, and Dean himself had said it straight to God’s face, but was it true? Who or what was he outside of saving people and hunting things, outside of the narrative Chuck had constructed his entire lifetime?

The vastness of the question was enough to make anyone spiral, so he tried to avoid it.

Charlie helped when she came over. With Sam and Eileen abroad, and Cas all too willing to have deep conversations Dean wasn’t ready for as much as he loved him, she and Dean became closer. She had been staying at the Bunker for a time, not long after Jack and Billie brought her back. She, too, was finding it difficult to adjust to the new world they found themselves in – she had tried for a full year and a half to get her legs under her on her own, but the world had changed in the six years before she had been brought back. Even though she had managed to reinvent herself numerous times before, it was difficult. The Winchesters were more than willing to offer her a place to stay in the meantime.

It worked well for everyone, though it was particularly chaotic now that Sam and Eileen were taking a brief vacation abroad. Dean was constantly with his two best friends (one of whom was his lover), as well as Jack. Charlie and Cas had become close, something that Charlie had deemed “WLW/MLM solidarity” (neither Dean nor Cas knew what that meant). To Jack, Charlie had taken the role of cool aunt, which was both wonderful and terrifying in equal regard, especially given that Jack was, at this point, back to being in a body his own age with his original powers rather than those of a god. The combination of a super-powered six-year-old and a nerdy LARP-enthusiast was certainly an interesting one, especially given how their energies fed and built on each other’s.

It was this merry band that found themselves inside an art museum one hot August afternoon.

Charlie and Dean wandered the lower gallery for a short while as Castiel took Jack through a more kid-focused section, and for a time they wandered in silence.

“So how are you today?”

“You live with me,” Dean responded, only to be faced with a shrug. “How are you?”

“Today’s been good,” Charlie said with transparency. “I woke up again. Started sewing more of my Triss costume – from The Witcher video games, not the show, you know? Now I get to hang out with friends and see some pretty cool art. Maybe I’ll apply for another job today, or bake some bread, or we can finish getting me all caught up on Game of Thrones.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Dude, spoilers!” She looked straight to him, and Dean shook his head. “Anyway, you’re dodging the question by asking about my awesome life. Not cool, so spill.”

Dean sighed as he walked by another painting of fruit. “I don’t know, Charlie. Could be better, could be worse.”

“Figured out who Dean Winchester is yet?”

“Do any of us truly know who we are?” Dean quipped back.

“Really?”

“Lil’ existentialism never killed anyone,” Dean said with a shrug. “But no, not yet. It’s all still just a big…mess…of what’s him and what’s me.”

“Well, here’s a start for you: Dean Winchester is my friend, and always will be, regardless of whatever some crack writer says.”

“Pretty sappy, but I’ll take it.”

“Shut up.”

Dean Winchester is a friend.

When Cas and Jack rejoined the pair a little later, they all wandered up to the 12th to 19th century European gallery. Jack and Charlie broke away when they came across the tapestries. Castiel, however, was drawn to a painting a little further in. The gallery was still and quiet as Dean joined him.

“St. Sebastian, huh?” Dean said, reading the label. “Know him?”

“My memory of 200 BCE is muddled at best,” Castiel said. “I don’t think so. The painting is beautiful, though, if tragic.”

Dean looked at it again, trying to see what Castiel saw. A beautiful mouth was twisted in pain as arrows lodged in the body, unstoppable. The arms were contorted and restrained, rendering punishment inescapable. The eyes were wide and dark, looking upwards as if begging for divine intervention that would never come.

In it, he saw himself. He saw his struggles with faith in a higher power, with the needless suffering he and his little family had been put through. He saw his loss, his fear, the control he lost when he realized he would never be free from Chuck. What he didn’t see was the anger.

Beyond that, however, he saw Castiel. He saw Cas’ expression when the Mark had worn Dean down, when he had thrown Cas to the floor along side the corpses of the Stynes. It was the same loss, the same fear. The expression was akin to brokenness yet not shattered. He was still faithful, still true. It was the same look on his face when he had confessed in the dungeon. Beautiful but tragic.

What had Dean ever done to deserve that resoluteness, that level of trust in spite of the fear.

“I’m sorry,” he started, words catching in his throat. How did he even begin to make up for all he had done? Yet, it was as if Cas had read his mind. Hell, he was an angel. Maybe he just knew.

Castiel turned to him, a familiar softness in eyes not tainted by pain or prayer for intervention. Dean could lose himself in the deep blue seas.

“You’re forgiven. You’ve been forgiven.”

They stood side by side, listening to Jack’s squeals of joy only a room over, for several minutes before Castiel spoke again.

“You’re unsure of who you are,” Castiel said. It was a fact they both knew, even as Dean started to protest the topic. “I’ve already told you what I think, but let me remind you. You’re the single most loving person I have ever known. You love in spite of Chuck. You care about this broken world, even when it seems hopeless. You always have.” He paused for a long moment before saying, “In plainest terms, you’re a lover, not a fighter.”

“I don’t know about that one. Can’t I be both?”

Castiel let out a long-suffering sigh at that before wandering away to look at the other paintings.

Dean stayed by the painting of St. Sebastian for another few minutes, trying to see what Castiel saw in it before hearing Jack call for him a little way away, his high, childish voice carrying through the halls.

Dean Winchester is a lover.

Downstairs, there was a special exhibition on the history of dance. Jack practically dragged Dean in, his eyes wide and excitement palpable. Charlie and Castiel laughed and promised to catch up in a few minutes – Charlie wanted to grab a print of an art piece from the museum store. Dean and Jack wandered from exhibit to exhibit, looking at everything from classic vinyl to tap shoes. Despite the artifacts and objects, news clippings and sound bites, Jack was fascinated by a video of people swing dancing projected on the wall.

“What’s up, kid?”

“I wish I could do that.”

“You can,” Dean said. “You just have to do what they’re doing.”

Jack looked up to him, eyes wide and a broad grin starting to cross his face.

“Will you show me?”

It took a little bit of practice, and they missed more of the moves than they got, even with Jack standing on Dean’s shoes, but they both enjoyed what they were doing, which made it worth it. Jack’s smile as he danced up to Charlie and Castiel a few minutes later made it all the more precious.

“Come dance with us!” he called out before rushing back over to where Dean still stood.

“Having fun?” Cas asked as

“Cas!” Jack called. “Come on, come on, come on!”

Castiel smiled and shook his head before turning to Charlie and taking her hands. They instantly fell into sync with the video, matching the moves in perfect synchronicity. Dean felt himself stop in shock as Castiel flipped Charlie over his shoulder as if it was no great feat.

“Woah, when did you learn to dance like that?”

“I do have some memories of watching humanity. I was even on Earth when this dance was invented.”

“And I took dance lessons a few years ago,” Charlie offered by way of explanation.

“I guess we’ll just have to up our game, huh Jack?”

Jack giggled, his gap-toothed smile looking all the more excited. They busted out a few new moves, even improvising for a while.

“Dude, you dance like a dad!” Charlie laughed, twirling Castiel as she did so.

Dancing there in the museum, Jack on his feet as Castiel and Charlie watched on, Dean came to a final realization of the day.

Dean Winchester is a father.

As the day drew to a close, the group started to head out. Jack clung to Dean’s back, wiped out after a long day of dancing and wandering the museum. He watched the birds fly overhead in the golden light as they wandered to the car. Cas took the backseat with Jack, who promptly fell asleep.

“This was fun,” Charlie said, setting the bag with her art print on the seat between her and Dean. “It’d been a while since I’d gone out like this.”

It had been fun. It was nice to enjoy the world rather than save it.

Even if he was still working on figuring out who he was, Dean finally felt content.

#fluff #domestic fluff #supernatural #spn fic #dean winchester #castiel #charlie bradbury #jack kline #kid!jack #spncreatorsdaily #creativecavier #userdee #userstarry #userpris #rambleoncas #tuserari #usershey #slipper007writes

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dameronology · 3 years

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all love {steve rogers}

summary: you had a lot to say to steve rogers after he left. finally, you get your chance.

warnings: angst, mentions of death

believe it or not, this version is actually the one with the happier ending than all the other ideas i had. so pls don’t hate me, bc this ain’t fluff :)

- jazz xx

Steve Rogers was a complicated man.

You knew that. You could see it in his eyes because you were just as complicated too. It was a blessing and a curse, really; it meant that you understood him just as much as you didn’t; sympathised with him just as much as you struggled. His emotions were clear as day and somehow, still twisted and unintelligible like a tangle of rainclouds in the middle of a stormy night. The history behind his blue eyes was long and confusing and it was unfair to expect you to decipher it when Steve could barely do it himself. He’d lived about a thousand lifetimes in the span of time that most people lived one - so you gave in on understanding, and chose to just love him instead.

It was easier that way, to just take it day by day and unpack his baggage as the super soldier saw fit. Sometimes it was hours and hours of talking; long and late nights, filled with tired eyes and the smell of caffeine. Stolen glances met with soft giggles and recounts of the war, the good times and the bad. Other times, it was more twisted. Deeper and darker. Strangled screams and cries lost to the night, large hands reaching for the gun under his pillow that posed the question of how fucking long has that been there, Steve?

In time, the good was worth the bad. You must had the patience of a fucking saint, because Steve finally stopped mourning for the past and began to look to the future. You hadn’t made solid plans -- that was foolish in your line of work. Between fighting aliens and robots, you were both blessed to have even made it this far. So, the day by day method worked in that sense too, and any big plans always became maybe. Maybe we’ll have kids one. Maybe we’ll move out of Brooklyn and to the suburbs. Maybe we’ll find a nice house with a picket fence and a garden big enough for Bucky to run around in.

What you had was beautiful, in the most complicated way. Because Steve Rogers was a perplexing man, but before that, he was kind and funny and sweet. He looked after you and you looked after him. Wrote you letters on long missions and left little notes for everyday that he was away. Sent you the dumbest good morning texts and the sweetest good night ones. For every emotional pitfall that you found yourselves in, Steve would turn up with a rope, even if he’d been the one to dig the hole in the first place.

It went more than just skin deep, twisting your souls together in some kind of emotional vortex that you wouldn’t have thought to be true had you not witnessed alien invasions and everything that followed. In fact, it was the everything that followed that you pushed you together even more - because it was the blip that had made you and Steve realised fucking important what you had was.

Those had been desperate moments. Painful, desperate moments. One minute, you’d been watching Wanda Maximoff cry out in pain for her lost love, and then she was gone. So was Bucky. And T’Challa. And Stephen Strange. In mere seconds; so quickly that your brain couldn’t even comprehend what was going on. It was as though somebody had turned your brain off for a few seconds - and when it rebooted, all you could think about was Steve.

You didn’t remember much from the seconds that followed, other than the burning in your lungs from how impossibly fast you had run, and how soar your throat was from screaming out his name. Then your bodies had collided with a thud, and you’d been met with a solid chest. Warm arms and big hands, that were completely and entirely there and not being dusted away. You’d never clung onto him so tightly, barely able to breath from how hard reality had just hit you. But he held onto you, and kept you standing - a metaphor which would stick to the next five years in the most bittersweet way.

The first few months were hard. Hard to stomach, hard to accept, hard to mourn. Everyone was floating around one another, still struggling to truly get over the fact that for once, the Avengers hadn’t won. You hadn’t gotten cocky, but after the Chitauri, and after Ultron, you had become hopeful. Nobody could blame you. Hope was all you’d had, really.

You found a routine. Steve found a reason to live in you, and you’d found an inkling of ambition in him. After a few months in the Compound, you’d gone back to your apartment in Manhattan. You’d never been more grateful to have it -- because when the entire world had changed around you, at least one thing was still the same. You could shut the door and lock it behind you, just existing as you always had in those four walls. The rest of the world didn’t matter, because it just you, and it was Steve, and that was the world. It was your world, and it was his.

After everything becoming so unpredictable, the stability that his presence brought was everything you needed. It cemented your need for one another - your love for another.

But unpredictably has a funny way of working, doesn’t it?

Never in a million years would you have imagined that the thing brought you closer would have been the thing to tear you apart. That restoring the world back to the state you’d longed for would bring an end to the only thing you thought was certain. You’d calculated every outcome of reversing the blip, thought about every way that it was everything you’d ever wanted. Finally, everything you’d lost would come back, and you and Steve could live as you always wanted. In the world you wanted.

But he wasn’t there.

One possibility you hadn’t considered was that Steve would have access to the time stone. You were both getting back to the world’s your mourned for, but they weren’t the same. You’d only been mourning the last five years, whilst Steve had been mourning the last seven decades. Somewhere along the long, you’d convinced yourself that the little bubble you’d built for yourselves was enough to cushion that. That your relationship, and your love, was enough compensation for the fact he’d lost everything.

Because Steve was good with words, but not quite enough to express to you how truly out of time he’d been. You saw the way his eyes glazed over when he spoke of the forties, but you couldn’t feel the pain in his chest when he heard an old record. You couldn’t fathom the suffocation he felt every time he saw pictures of his lost friends, or the weight on his chest that losing Peggy Carter had given him. It had alleviated slightly when he met you, but truthfully speaking, Steve Rogers hadn’t taken a deep breath since the final moments before his plane hit the ice in 1945.

The pain you felt when you realised that he’d well and truly left you for his old life was minute compared to what he’d been feeling since he woke up all those years ago. It didn’t matter, because pain was pain regardless. His relief didn’t negate your suffering. And, if you’d ever been wondering what you would have felt if you had lost Steve in the blip, you needn’t had looked any further. This was worst than him dying. This was worst than him slipping away with millions of others, because he’d chosen to do it. He’d thought about you, and everything you’d tried to give him, and he’d decided it wasn’t enough.

You didn’t get it at first. Couldn’t sympathise with his situation - but let’s face it. Who the fuck could? It wasn’t like there was a WikiHow article on how to get over the love of your life time travelling back to the 1940s and leaving you in ruins. For the first time since you’d met Steve all those years ago, you were forced to process all your emotional trauma on your own. To stand on your own two feet without his broad arms supporting you in the way they had on the battlefield in Wakanda.

It took time. You processed it with time. Drank a lot, cried a lot, screamed a lot. Found solace in your friendships with Bucky and Sam; even if they’d been a little much at first, forcing you to share the payload of your pain with them had helped. At times, it was like going to group therapy with Spongebob and Patrick, but you held them close to your heart. You learnt to find joy and appreciation in other things, and to tune out Steve, and the mention of his name.

That was until March 2021, almost two years to the day that he had left you standing on the lakeside in the Compound. You’d been driving home from work and his name had been mentioned on the radio - Captain America, former war hero and super soldier, has died aged 103.

It didn’t sting too much. You’d mourned Steve Rogers a long time ago - at least the version of him that you knew. It made your chest hurt a little that he was truly and completely gone, and that you would never have a chance to talk to him. You’d toyed with the idea of going to visit him in his old age. Part of you wanted to know if he remembered you, even if for him, everything you’d had together had been decades ago. Even though you’d existed together in the future, your life together was cemented entirely in the past the minute you’d went back. Decades had passed before you existed at the same time again, and you wondered if time had been enough for him to forget. Two years for you had been seventy for him. It was thought that had made you shy away from ever talking to him, because you didn’t want to know. You were scared of the answer.

Maybe that was why you were only seeing him now; on a rainy day, when the man you’d once loved was six feet under and surrounded by a ridiculous headstone you knew he would hate. The air around you was cool, sky tinged grey and a few droplets splashing against the grey stone, making it turn a slightly darker shade. There were no tears; just a deep sigh, and an awkward shuffle as you wriggled your toes in your boots and thought about what the fuck you wanted to say.

‘Hey, Cap.’ You murmured. ‘Can I call you that? I used to call you babe. No, I don’t know why I said that. That’s fucking weird. Like this whole situation, because somehow, even though I’ve dealt with aliens and gods, saying goodbye to you is one I was never truly prepared for.’

Your eyes fell to the floor, and you continued. ‘You suck, Steve Rogers. You really fucking suck. You know that, right? That it’s a dick move to go back to your old life without even leaving a note? Or a text? Heck, I would have been happy if you spelt it out on the fridge in magnets.’

‘It’s okay, though.’ You smiled. ‘I’m not mad anymore. Okay, maybe I am a little, but not as I used to be. I understand why you did it, but I also get that I’ll never understand at all. I’ll never get how existing in a time that wasn’t yours felt, or how out of place you must have been in a world seventy years ahead of what you knew.’

‘And I’m sorry, I guess. Sorry that I didn’t try harder, but also sorry that whatever I tried to give you wasn’t enough to make up for what you’d lost.’ You sniffed. ‘This is where you’d tell me to shut up and stop being so hard on myself. So I will, because we’re both at peace now and that’s the most important thing.’

There were a few tears then; not for the man beneath you, but for the man that had left you. When all the anger subsided, you realised that above all, you just missed him. You missed the late night conversations when you couldn’t sleep, and you missed how warm he felt beside you when you did finally drift off. You missed the way he laughed at your driving skills and the way he would eat your side salad because you hated it. You longed to his hear his singing in the shower in the morning, and to squeal at him for pressing his cold feet to your back to wake you up.

‘Above all, Steve Rogers, I’m just grateful I had you, even for a few years.’ You took a deep breath. ‘The pain I felt when you left was unbearable, but it wasn’t permanent. The memories you gave me, and the love I felt for you? That’s gonna stay with me forever.’

You wiped away a few tears, smiling to yourself when the clouds above you cleared slightly. The grey ones that had been lingering all morning had shifted slightly, allowing for the sunlight to peak through and cast a glow over your surroundings. Tiny, dewy raindrops lingered on the grass, enveloping the world around you in the smell of petrichor and relief. You’d never believed in fate, or the afterlife, or messages from the underworld, but that? You hadn’t felt a rush like that the last time you woke up beside him.

‘So, thanks I guess.’ You glanced up at the sky, blinking under the bright sun. ‘And rest easy, Cap.’

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers angst #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america imagine #avengers x reader #avengers x you #avengers imagine #avengers angst #avengers fan fiction #marvel x you #marvel imagine #marvel imagines #marvel fan fiction

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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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dutchforstrangers · 3 years

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Digimon Astrology Journey - 'Head first' buddies: Koushiro & Taichi

So I’m back with some headcanon Digimon Astrology and I’m diving into it head first! Something fierce leader Taichi would do, however he needs his loyal ‘brains’ there with him and that will be Koushiro. Where Koushiro is a thinker, analytical in every way due to his pragmatic Sun and Rising, Taichi is one of action due to his Moon and Rising (and Mars!). However don’t underestimate them, they have some serious airy energy going on, making them vocal, diplomatic and charming in their own individual ways.

These boys are so different, yet work together very well. They just have a hard time… talking to others or each other about… the complicated, personal specific stuff feelings. Must be the stars, right?

It’s been a while, but you can read back all things Astrology (basics, background, etc.) in previous posts Part 1 | Part 2. Furthermore, exploring Taichi and Koushiro’s birth charts is part 2 of this series, you can read the exploration of Sora and Mimi’s birth charts here.

The important stuff

Koushiro Izumi, August 26th 1989 (around 05.30AM)

Sun: Virgo (earth-mutable)

Moon: Gemini (air-mutable)

Rising: Virgo (earth-mutable)

Taichi Yagami, October 15th 1988 (around 5PM)

Sun: Libra (air-cardinal)

Moon: Sagittarius (fire-mutable)

Rising: Aries (fire-cardinal)

Warning: IT’S VERY LONG! I’m sorry in advance…

A little disclaimer before I start rambling: These are headcanons! Their given birthdays are not canon at all, but just me having fun combining my love for Digimon and my love for Astrology. It can be highly self-indulging, but maybe you can find some truth in it as well! If you want to know how I calculated their birthdays, read my previous posts as stated above. I use these birthdays in my own fanfiction, but feel free to use them as well. Some credit in the form of a reblog, like or mention of these posts and/or my Tumblr would be highly appreciated! See something you want to discuss? I love to learn and talk! As said these are my headcanons, but I’m not afraid to change my mind or to defend what I have if necessary.

Everything charts and the why under read more!

Koushiro Izumi - August 26th 1989

Assigning the Virgo Sun to this boy was the first thing I did, because I myself am convinced Koushiro Izumi is the embodiment of a true Virgo. I could be wrong, as I did not study Astrology and am a simple hobbyist, but everything I read about Virgos always lead me back to this particular maroon headed anime dork for years now. Hence why I gave him the same Sun and Rising sign, because Koushiro is who he is. Anyway, let me try to convince you.

For starters, here are a few (or actually all the) things about Virgos in general, for both Sun and Rising. Virgos are bright, practical, pragmatic, orderly, respectful, critical, perfectionists, security driven, communicative, tidy, nervous, detail-oriented… Can I stop already? Okay, now pick one of the above and tell me it’s not fitting for Koushiro.

…

Hm, I know. It’s hard, isn’t it?

Maybe his tidiness is questionable depending on the situation… But the guy is orderly and the chaos only exists in times when his perfectionism takes over. The nervous part from the Virgo can be seen in shyness or even being obedient. All of that makes Koushiro a dedicated friend who would do anything in his power to make everything work for you. Danger is that he will efface himself, thinking he’s not worth as much as the others. This is what happens in Adventure episode 28 right after he solved the card riddle. On the top left corner either the Agumon or the Gomamon is right, but he doesn’t know which one and he apologizes, which is not necessary at all, with: “I’m sorry I couldn’t live up to your expectations,” which is such a Virgo Sun/Rising thing to say..! The Virgo dynamic is alive and kicking.

It’s even more alive and kicking in his other strong Virgo placements: Mercury and Mars. With Mercury in Virgo, Mercury is in it’s sign of its rulership, making it a strong placement. And precisely that planet is the planet of thoughts and knowledge! The combination of his Sun, Rising, Mercury and Mars in Virgo makes him be, engage, think and act like a true Virgo. Detail-oriented, thoughtful, respectful, orderly, practical and curious!

The hardest part for his birthday calculation was his Moon placement. The Moon is all about emotions, needs, wants, behavior, responds, et cetera. I first gave him a Capricorn Moon, but my boyfriend is such a Cap Moon and it didn’t fit the bill for Koushiro in my opinion. So I read and searched and eventually came to the conclusion it had to be an Air sign Moon, simply for the fact that our boy Koushiro is the bearer of the crest of Knowledge and Air signs can be seen as the intellectual ones of the Zodiac! Eventually I went for the Gemini Moon and I’m going to explain why exactly.

One could say Gemini is the bearer of Knowledge just as much as Koushiro is. Gemini LOVE to know things! They are naturally curious and are great communicators, when it comes to knowledge (pun warning if you’ve seen the reboot: they love to bring joy to their knowledge). Gemini tend to be a bit superficial when it comes to having and sharing knowledge and of course we know that’s not the case with our Koushiro here, due to his many Virgo placements, making him more observant and inward. What the Gemini Moon DOES to him is making this boy very talkative! He likes to spill what’s on his mind, he likes to share what he thinks, he likes to ramble and rant. It’s something we see him doing in Tri a lot, especially that one scene in Reunion part 3 (episode 3) where he keeps on rambling about all the strange events and he misses the first part of the conversation between the other DigiDestineds (about the news and Jyou’s ‘girlfriend’ poor guy no one believes him). Koushiro misses the conversation because a) his Gemini Moon likes to ramble and keep rambling, and b) because his Virgo placements can make him a bit unaware of his surroundings quite the time…

That’s not a bad thing per se, Koushiro is just very much focused on his work and d e t a i l s, which is a VERY Virgo-ish trait. But lets not forget that his priority is to help others with that knowledge and that the combination of his Virgo placements with his Gemini Moon makes him a great mentor. Brings me to his role throughout the entirety of Adventure 02: The Mentor. You’re welcome.

Another Gemini Moon thingy is rudeness. Now we know Koushiro is the most polite person out of ALL DD’s, always using honorifics, even saying Hikari-san instead of Hikari-chan, because Koushiro IS respect. But Koushiro is not afraid to tell you what’s at stake in times of ‘danger’, he’s not afraid to tell the truth. There are a few examples for that in Adventure, Adventure 02 and in Tri, but I’d like to refer to one of my favorite moments in whole Digimon Adventure history. Because Koushiro x rudeness brings me back to Diaboromon strikes back when he’s obviously so done with everyone, then Mimi enters the scene and he doesn’t even care. In the English dub she literally says “How rude”. Ooooohhh Koushiro, you little rude demon… It’s not the biggest proof it’s a simple one and my personal favorite.

All of the talkativeness and rudeness is something we mostly see Koushiro doing when he’s most comfortable. So we won’t see him being all talkative all the time -sharing more than just plain, superficial knowledge and instead more personal helpful knowledge- with everyone, but we do see him being talkative and speaking up to certain characters he’s most comfortable with. Now name one boy he’s very talkative to compared with literally all the other characters… You know what? Scroll down.

Last thing and then I’ll stop rambling about this beautiful and lovely nerd. His Venus, planet of values (and love…) is in Libra. What does that mean? Well, I’ve seen quite some fans type Koushiro as a bi-sexual, or something in that direction. Or even better a ‘disaster bi-sexual’. I already agreed on that, but when I saw this birth chart… IT’S (HEAD)CANON! Seriously, Libra is the zodiac sign of doubt, decision making (or actually no decision making, but I’ll get there with the next boy) and relationships and if you have your Venus placed in Libra you’re doomed to be a disaster when it comes to making decisions in your love life both romantically and platonically! Venus in Libra creates the desire for a good and loving relationships, but Koushiro’s Virgo Sun/Rising makes him more shy, his Virgo Mars makes him hold back. Once again, the Virgo Sun/Rising-Libra Venus dynamic lets him efface himself in relationships, thinking they have nothing to offer, but they have!! And so Koushiro gets left behind with his unresolved feelings… the boy has a hard time in love, let’s give him all a hug!

Taichi Yagami - October 15th 1988

The protagonist. Okay, let me compare this goggle headed protagonist to another goggle headed protagonist outside the Digimon franchise: Naruto. This is probably more interesting to people who have watched and know Naruto, so you can skip the part. To me Naruto is the classical protagonist type; bold, adventurous, playful, (a little) obnoxious at some times, hot headed… These are traits we easily assign to fire signs in the zodiac, especially Aries. So I would immediately give Naruto the Aries Sun placement. However, when we see Naruto grow up, his behavior and the way he speaks and leads grows up with him as well. That’s only natural. And based on those changes I wouldn’t necessarily give Naruto the Aries Sun placements, although the Aries placement or another fire placement is very likely to be present in his chart.

Now I could go even further, explain the development from child to adult through Jung’s theory about cognitive functions, but that’s incredibly complicated and a looooong stretch I won’t be making here today. In short, Jung’s development theory is interesting, because it shows how we first see the obvious traits in a child which are the traits the child engages (Rising sign) the world with before it develops the other functions showing the person’s true identity (Sun sign). So we could say we first see someone’s Rising sign more clearly before the Sun comes shining through. Like with Naruto. And the same could be for Taichi in the case of this headcanon.

To tackle his birth chart and big three, I’ll be starting with explaining his Rising Sign before his Sun sign. And the Rising sign I assigned him is Aries Rising.

Like I said above, Aries is bold, adventurous, playful and above all: courageous. Especially the Aries Rising placement which is more courageous than its Aries Sun counterpart. Aries are born leaders, can be extremely competitive, are somewhat restless and desperately need to move. In Taichi’s case with the above birth chart, that urge to move is magnified by his Aries Mars placement. The dynamic of his Aries Rising and Aries Mars makes Taichi a mover, an adventurer, and incredibly determined. This could be both positively, always wanting the best (especially for yourself, as Aries is a pretty selfish sign), and a tad negatively, always going and going and going. In the Adventure series this could be the reason why he makes Greymon dark-evolve, because he wants things too bad and too fast. Aries are hot headed and can grow impatient if things don’t go the way they want. And the Aries Rising and Mars dynamic makes Taichi a very physical guy. Mix that with the impatience and he is not afraid to pick fights and use his fists.

All of this can make Taichi a very stormy and reckless boy (boundaries? What’s that?), but also a fearless leader. The exuberance, the impatience and restlessness comes back in his Sagittarius Moon placement as well. This Sag Moon in combination with his strong Aries placements in Rising and Mars makes Taichi a sportive, physical, optimistic and forward leader that is incredibly courageous and adventurous, which could make him a bit ‘superficial’ as a protagonist. But the Sag Moon also deepens and strengthens his leader skills.

Sagittarius is a sign pictured by a centaur with an arrow and bow. The centaur’s horse legs make the Sag want to move and be free, but the arrow aims in a clear direction and aiming takes knowledge and focus. Sagittarius thus is an adventurous fella, but also a philosopher. Taichi’s Sag Moon placement makes him a pro in seeing the bigger picture and connecting dots next to his never ending energy. He will make sure we’re going in the right direction by overlooking the whole situation. So we absolutely shouldn’t forget Taichi is a true strategist! He sees, understands what’s at stake in a situation, connects the dots, comes with a strategy and like a true leader knows his team and can place everyone in his right spot to get through the toughest of situations (once again referring to Taichi asking Koushiro to pick the cards in Adventure episode 28). Speaking about a great leader, gosh, Taichi, you’re truly amazing! <3

However, it’s his Aries Rising and Mars that often make him act before he thinks, preferably alone (Taichi is a teamplayer, but the selfish and reckless Aries in him makes him act alone. And the sum of teamplayer + acting alone = self-sacrifice mode… which happens ALL THE DAMN TIME). Or actually makes him act while thinking without doing a short reflection beforehand. Seriously, I’m convinced that this reflection in advance could have saved him a lot of trouble throughout Digimon Adventure. Let’s blame it on (t)his (headcanon) birth chart…

Also, all of the above vouches for Taichi having an amazing intellect, but the guys needs to be challenged… Hence why he’s always staring out of the window during classes in Tri, daydreaming away to where the adventure is. He feels trapped, needs to be outside and should use his intelligence for things he finds important (like saving the digital world, soccer and saving friends and the world). The daydreaming could also be his Libra Mercury who can make Taichi lose his focus and could make him lazy. Luckily Taichi has a very active Aries Mars in opposite aspect from his Libra Mercury that neutralizes that lazy and dreamy Libra Mercury.

Okay, back to topic. Now you maybe think: But if Taichi is good in knowing where to go, being the fearless leader, also an intellect who has the knowledge to aim straight and shoot… then WHY is he so lost, down and in doubt in Tri and so unknowing of his future in Kizuna…??!! I have an answer to that. And that answer is his Libra Sun.

I know I know, this is a very VERY unpopular Sun sign to give this goggle leader, but please hear me out. For starters, Libra is the sign of diplomacy and if we believe the 02’s epilogue what’s Taichi’s job? Right, a diplomat. We also know he studies something like political sciences in Kizuna (which I think is AMAZING and vouches even more for Taichi’s intellect! Politics is a tough study…) and to make it in the political field you really do need diplomacy and charms.

Taichi is an absolute charmer, in my eyes at least. I mean, look at his 02 self! He’s such a smooth charmer in every way… The way he sends off Sora to Yamato while acting all cool and collected, phew, that requires some serious smoothness. And still we often see Taichi depicted as a down and broody boy besides his energetic and bold (sometimes indifferent…) character, especially after Tri. That too could be due to a Libra Sun placement.

Like Sagittarius is depicted by a centaur, Libra is depicted by scales and those scales are all about harmony, balance and justice. Libra is the opposite of Aries in the zodiac, but also about weighing opposites in the sigh itself. When we look at the Aries/Libra opposite placement: where Aries can be quite selfish, Libra as an opposite is the people’s pleaser. Where Aries is reckless and impatient, Libra is thoughtful and patient and one could say that an Aries acts where a Libra waits. Where Aries makes the impulsive decisions, Libra keeps deliberating leading into constant doubt and confusion. And how do we see Taichi in Tri? Ah yes, in doubt and confused.

A Libra Sun desperately wants to bring peace and harmony, driven by justice, in a diplomatic way. Libra Suns are deep thinkers which can make them very doubtful, making them spiraling down into a hole of overthinking and doubts. The Libra Sun-Sag Moon dynamic makes this all even more deep and almost philosophical in a way there will always be more and more questions, but never answers because Libra simply can’t make choices. All while being solution-oriented!

As Taichi grows up from a middle schooler to a high schooler, it’s that doubt coming from the Libra Sun that kicks Taichi hard. It conflicts with his carefree and bold Aries Rising nature and as that Libra Sun comes shining through, we see Taichi becoming more cautious and reserved compared to his younger self. The guy has a strong inner dialogue always looking for the best solutions to please everyone and bring harmony (I wanted to say ‘balance to the world’, yes to all the avatar the last airbender cameos) to the people and world(s in case of the digital world) around him he so desperately wants to protect. This is what we see happening in Tri, where he can’t choose what’s the right thing… Most of the time that inner dialogue is hidden behind his Aries Rising (and Aries Mars and Sag Moon).

So under that tough and courageous Aries Rising demeanor (remember that a Rising sign is all about engaging and how you come across to others) is a very soft, sweet, friendly and overall smart Libra Sun boy who has troubles expressing himself because the boy is in conflict with himself (which we see in the Dark Master’s arc in Adventure where he expresses his concerns towards his sister to Koushiro… it’s so hard for Taichi to let it all out, even when he needs it badly). It’s so sad, he’s such a complicated character, but that’s also one of the most beautiful things about Taichi. He’s layered af. He could be the best listener (Koushiro’s feels this, that’s why Koushiro can talk so open and freely to Taichi, because Taichi lets him thank you Libra Sun) if it weren’t for his strong fire placements opposite from his airy Sun sign. But give the boy time and space and he can show you his charms in a way no one else owns those charms.

So Taichi’s Libra Sun is hidden away most of the time due to his strong Aries placements. Usually his Rising and Sun sign being in opposite aspect from each other, should neutralize the placements, but Taichi’s Aries Mars placement makes the Aries Rising overrule the Libra Sun. Still, we shouldn’t forget Taichi is a softy with a big heart. He just needs the right people around him to get his charm on and Taichi definitely has some great people collected in his life who can help him think and make decisions.

A few things I want to point out before I stop rambling, because this analysis is already WAY too long.

Taichi’s midheaven in Capricorn in combination with his Libra Sun and Aries Rising makes him very ambitious on the intellectual side! Directly aiming for the UN and quickly climbing up the promotion ladder (and being successful like a true Cap, let’s not forget that).

His Mars was in transition from Pisces to Aries during his birth. Which means his Aries Mars is highly influenced by Pisces which could also explain why he spirals down as Pisces Mars has a lot of stormy energy on the emotional side (whereas Aries Mars has stormy energy on the physical side). When this emotional energy comes out negative, it can lead to mental health problems (!!! TRI DEPRESSED!TAICHI), especially when close friends and family (can you feel it coming? The whole Hikari-trauma is a thing) are involved.

His Libra Sun makes him in need of a group of friends and he loves being surrounded by them! Though he doesn’t like to admit that due to his Aries Rising. Taichi is such a conflicted boy…

An end note on these two boys: A heart to heart/hard friendship with a lot of mutual understanding and support <3

#DFS Digimon Astrology Journey #head-first buddies #Koushiro Izumi #Taichi Yagami #Digimon #Koushiro #Taichi #Izzy Izumi #Tai Kamiya #Izzy #Tai #Astrology #Reference post #Digimon adventure #Digimon tri #Digimon kizuna #Digimon adventure: 2020 #LONG POST.#Digimon headcanons

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krishu213 · 3 years

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Message from Developers....Sorry didn't put the video as it was in russian and I didn't understand it. But here is the written message from Developers .

📷Friends, we are very pleased to receive such soulful and touching videos from you, that great love, feedback and support that you give inspires us to move forward to great achievements and more and more delight you with interesting and romantic stories. 📷 We thank each of you. And, in turn, our team would like to share their feelings about why we love you - our audience! 📷📷 📷Anastasia, programmer: Do you know why I love the audience of the Romance Club? The answer is actually very simple. You are curious, you are talented, you are passionate, you know how to love and share your love, and even more often you look deeper and go beyond, making everything brighter and more interesting. You give an incentive and awaken the desire to do better and more every time, this is not just a job, it is a strong and great feeling. You give us a lot of yourself and we want to give even more in return, to become better every day in order to repay your wonderful and sincere emotions. I am honored to be able to do something for such a large family and be a part of it. Maria, artist: Oh. I would also like to say why I love the Romance Club. Last year I was terribly depressed, was in the hospital because of her, and sometimes the only ray of light in the darkness was just the Romance Club, its stories and characters. Then I just fell in love with the story "I'm hunting you" and decided at all costs to pump my skill and try to get a job in the team. For about a year I drew, played, drew my Persians "in the style of the Romance Club" and lived from season to season))) And now I am finally here, and from the inside the team turned out to be as cool as the stories that are created here ^^ 📷Dmitry, screenwriter: I would like to thank the Romance Club fandom for their attention to history. I'm new to the Club, and words of support, coupled with constructive criticism, only help to recognize myself and the diversity of personalities and people that the CD has gathered. Guys, you are immensely cool, and I am grateful to fate that it gave me a chance to plunge headlong into a whirlpool of new emotions, to feel like a part of a fanDOM. 📷Anastasia, screenwriter: Sometimes it is impossible to express in words all the gratitude that I want to convey to our unique and wonderful audience. We see your continuous creativity, we hear your warm words of support, we tell ourselves how lucky we are to have readers like you. We inspire you to create extraordinary works, and you inspire us not to give up and continue to write the stories that many love. Thank you so much for being there! 📷Veronica, screenwriter: The readers of the CD are several million very different people around the world. But I see something in common in them - curiosity, openness to new things, the ability and courage to feel. “Serious people who have long understood everything about this life” do not read the Romance Club. But, fortunately, you are others - smart, talented, beautiful, sincere. Alive. I love you and warmly embrace everyone. Veronica, author of “Dracula. Love story". 📷Marina, artist: You are the Heart of the CD. You allow the CD to live, grow, and develop. You know how to really reward with a kind word or constructive criticism. You inspire new achievements) CD unites us all, we go through difficulties and joys together. And this is extremely valuable and wonderful! Every time you feel the story, characters, the very atmosphere, we rejoice with you) KR is the Way. You can walk along it for a long time, stop if you are tired, return to it when you want to continue your exciting journey! We are paving the way with you. And it's worth moving on) 📷Alexander, screenwriter: Hello readers. Your video really touched me. It's always good to see a story ignite hearts and sparkle in the eyes. There are still many worlds ahead that you will be able to visit, and roles that you will be able to try on. Thank you for being with us. 📷Alexander, screenwriter: Hello. You are interesting, talented, amazing. You are inspiring. You are best. 📷Natalia, screenwriter: Dear,

thank you for your interest, for your sincerity and passion for the game! Without you, there would be no Romance Club, and our stories would gather dust in the corner. Heroes come to life because you believe in them and experience with them. This is very inspiring! I would like to surprise and delight you even more, share your imagination, create new worlds ... It's great that you are with us!📷Friends, we are very pleased to receive such soulful and touching videos from you, that great love, feedback and support that you give inspires us to move forward to great achievements and more and more delight you with interesting and romantic stories. 📷 We thank each of you. And, in turn, our team would like to share their feelings about why we love you - our audience! 📷📷.

#romance club

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tokoyamisstuff · 4 years

Text

Betrothred Ch. 1 - Illumi Zoldyck x Reader

Chapter 1: Bride

Summary: After making your choice, there’s no going back from it.

Warnings: Blood, Murder, Threats, Angst

Words: 2390

Story Masterlist

A/N: This first chapter is kinda angsty but it gets better, I swear!

Today is the day.

Even though only mere hours would separate you from becoming a part of the Zoldyck family, the whole situation still felt very much surreal to you.

To be invited and welcomned on their property was one of the greatest honor of all, but to be considered a fitting consort for their eldest son was just unimaginable.

One of the butlers was harshly braiding your hair, trying to get it in a position you’d usually never wear. Another one would be working on your make-up, something you’d usually find unnecessary considering your profession.

Why would an assassin care for their physical appearance anyway? Well, all of this was probably part of some kind of tradition or ritual.

No matter how roughly they were tearing and tugging on you, trying to modify your body until you wouldn’t even recognize yourself in the mirror, you’d take their invasion of your personal space in a calm demeanour.

Because that’s how you were raised.

Obey, endure and function.

Your bloodline had a long history of both feared and powerful Head Hunters, for decaded being third place of all known assassin families - with the Zoldycks claiming the indisputable top.

Torture, poison and death were your fellow comrades throughout your whole youth, even though there were limits:

Only the most promising children would be chosen to become Head Hunters. The others were free to choose their way as they wished.

Your upbringing was strict, yet loving. And it was forbidden to break your free will. Serving the family should be an honor, not a burden.

Other than the Zoldycks, your family believed that emotions could become the surce of strenght.

There were other moral standarts: Murdering children was off limits, for example.

And your ‘carreer’ was just about to begin when it took this unexcpected turn.

You had met your soon-to-be-husband after finally completing your formal training, now allowed to take on the Hunter Exam.

Already accustomed to the basics of Nen, it was easy for you to see behind the disguise of the man calling himself Gittarackur.

At first being rather passive, even as the two of you completed the Trick Tower together, he soon stated to be impressed by your exceptional strenght and capability.

Truth be spoken, you always thought yourself to be mediocre at best. So that sudden compliment hit you off guard, especially after he casually revealed his true identity and heritage.

Immediately after the exam, you gathered all of your courage and asked Illumi to teach you in the ways of a true assassin - so you could grow and become the next leader of your clan.

And much to your surprise, he instantly accepted, not even wanting anything in return. You were useful to him and his missions, he stated. That would be enough.

After that, it wouldn’t take long until the stoic man announced that you’d make for a formidable spouse, asking your father for your hand in marriage.

Even though you weren’t quite sure if you made the right decision, his proposal alone the greatest honor for your kin and you just couldn’t disappoint them.

Illumi had always been very reserved about anything else than his work, making you doubt he was even capable of feeling anything else than the joy of killing.

Yet he was a reliable ally, both smart and strong - and admittedly very good looking. You were convinced that he wasn’t the monster most people saw in him: He had just been molded to be the perfect assassin.

And because of that, he would make for a good husband as well.

“Well, don’t you look beautiful?” The voice behind your back was Kikyo, dismissing the servants with a single gesture of her hand.

You wanted to stand up and make a curtsy as a sign of respect, yet felt her palms on your shoulder, pressing down so you’d remain in your seat.

Looking in the mirror, you saw your mother in law behind your back, her visor making it hard to read her intentions. Her aura gave it all away, though.

Illumi’s proposal surprised her just as much as yourself, and she obviously wasn’t content with it. You actually doubtet that she’d ever consider someone good enough to marry one of her children, so you didn’t take it personal.

The pressure would only help you grow.

“You’ll become the perfect partner for my son, won’t you?” Her fingernails dug deep into your flesh, but you didn’t even flinch. “Of course, honorable mother.”

“Good.” Apparently your answer didn’t calm her fury, since her fingermails only turned in the wounds they dug into your flesh. She only stopped when she realized that the blood was staining your clothes.

“I don’t expect any less from a lowlife like you are.” Seems like you should stay alerted around her. But that was no surprise, and it didn’t scare you either.

You knew what you were getting yourself into. And it was worth it.

To prove your worth, you’d go even beyond your limits.

“It’s time, Y/N.”

Up until now, you hid your emotions very well - but hearing that familiar, monotonous voice, you couldn’t help but smile.

“Illumi!” Kikyo shreeked out, “You’re not allowed to see Y/N before the ceremony!”

“Unnecessary superstition” he retorted quite unaffected, approaching both of you.

Kikyo stepped back, revealing you fully. He took in your appearance, rather observing than anything else. “Is that your blood?”

“Nothing worth mentioning.”

He grabbed your ankle, forcing you up from his seat to look at him. “How did this happen?”

You didn’t dare answering. It was not your place to drive a wedge between your fianceé and his mother, even though you highly doubtet that he would care at all.

Illumi turned around, his blank stare now directed to his mother, who defendingly put her hands into the air. “I-I was just advising-”

“No need for that” he cut her off. “I can take care of any business concerning my partner myself.”

Now she got all hysterical again, just as you got to know her. “B-but-”

“Never touch them again, or I’ll kill you.”

Kikyo relented, then having a mental breakdown for excactly 5 seconds, screams and cries filling the room.

The air had gotten incredibly thick, the unsettling atmosphere making you wish to just disappear right on spot.

“Oh, Illumi!” she exclaimed, sounding jubilant all of a sudden. “Being so cruel to your own mother...You’ve grown so much!”

What a weird fucking family.

“Show me your arms” Illumi demanded after he told his mother to be left alone, yet you flinched away.

“I apologize for having provoked an argument” you spoke all humble, “My wounds are of no concern. Don’t worry.”

“Starting today, I’m expected to take care of you. So you should obey and let me patch this up.” You sat down with a small sigh, exposing your shoulders and presenting them to him. “It would be a shame if you get scarred by something else than a honorable battle.”

Eventually you found time to appreciate your fianceé’s exterior: Illumi had his hair braided back, wearing a fully black suit with a white shirt and a bow tie.

It was the first time you ever saw him in formal wear, and it actually suited him very well.

“You’re very handsome, Lumi” you absentmindedly blurted out as you watched him bandage the wounds on your shoulder.

And Illumi would acknowledge your looks in his own way. “Your appearance is very adequate for this occasion as well.” That counts as a compliment, right?

“Glad you like it” you smiled, “But sadly the stains won’t get out. And we have no time to clean off the blood.”

Illumi swiftly helped you on your feet once again, vaguely explaining “Don’t worry. It won’t stand out after the ceremony.”

You linked arms with Illumi, who led you to the main room as you still pondered about what exactly he meant with that statement.

The celebration would be a small one, not even your own family being allowed to attend. When you entered the generously decorated hall, there were only Silva, Kikyo, Zeno, Kalluto and Milluki.

“Welcome, Y/N” Silva spoke in a way more welcoming tone than his wife earlier. You bend your head as you stood in front of the table where the family had gathered, greeting them politely before making your way to the altar.

Zeno would be the one to confirm the bond. You were actually glad that it was him, because he had already grown fond of you.

“Are you ready?” the old man wondered, noticing how you were trembling.

“Far away from it” you chuckled without doubt, adding “But I’m prepared to do anything.”

“That’s a honest but brave answer, young adult” he paised in an attempt to calm you down, then arranging both you and Illumi to stand facing each other. “And just what you need to become part of this family.”

One sign of Silva and the door swung open, a Bunch of butlers dragging in a terribly inured human.

Much to your shock, the person was not dead - not yet.

“So it begins” Illumi whispered as he saw the man wince in pain, begging for his life, and he almost cracked something like a smile.

“Wha-” Before you could even comprehend what was happening, it hit you like a brick: You were supposed to finish that person off.

That was what Illumi meant. A few blood stains on your wedding dress really were your smallest problem considering what awaited you from this day on.

“That man invaded our property with the intend to kill us” Silva explained to you, his stare bringing across his demands. “You’ll prove your loyality through ending his life.”

At that moment, you knew that you’ll disappoint them - because you were frozen in place.

You had taken and destroyed so many lives, yet always had the full information on them and could decide through your own standarts. But now?

What if it was a lie? You didn’t know that man, why he was here or if he deserved death.

Maybe he had family or came for revenge. Goddamn it, he could even be a reporter who just sneaked in to snatch a photo! Or they had presented you a completely innocent man, seeing if you were the undoubting slave they wanted to have!

Madness runs in this family, apparently.

It was a test. You knew that much. Quite fitting for someone from a family which was only rank three, known for their rather humane way of working.

“No Nen allowed” Kikyo completed the task, “No guns or similar either. You may only use your bare hands or close combat weapons.”

Yes. It was way harder, imprinting your soul to kill that direct way. How you’d deal with the situation was crucial for the outcome of this wedding.

But were you really ready to throw all of your morality abroad just for your own sake?

“We won’t kill you if you decline the order” Illumi cut off your brooding. Was it out of sympathy? You had no idea. “You’ll be considered unfitting, but you are free to leave and no one will ever bother you again.”

“N-No” you stumbled across your own words, “I’ll do everything for the family.”

“Interesting” Zeno stated. “I never doubtet your spouse, Illumi, but I thought they'd take longer to decide.”

"I think Y/N will make for a great companion.” Silva’s wide grin streched across his face, making his eyes wrinkle a bit. “In both family and business.”

When all was said and done, Illumi grabbed a knive that was placed on the altar. “Let’s do it together, then.”

You almost felt guilty that you became flustered in a moment like this, but couldn’t help it as Illumi genuinely smiled at you, taking your hand as you took firm steps towards the enemy.

“P-Please have mercy!” the man pleaded to no avail, and determination swelled in your chest at that intense moment.

Taking someone’s life together - it would connect two people in a cruel yet beautiful way.

Whatever else could be more fitting for the marriage of two assassins?

It would be an easy kill. He was unable to flee or fight back. Just a single strike, ending his life quick as act of mercy.

“You should’ve known better than to mess with my new family.”

Both of your hands intertwined, wrapping your fingers around the handle of the knive before thrusting it into the victim’s chest.

And then it dawned to you.

“A needleman?” you sulked, ripping out one of Illumi’s needles out of the stranger’s head, while the others broke out in boisterous laughter.

“Yeah. He was already dead” Illumi shrugged. “I know you don’t like burdening yourself with victims you didn’t choose yourself. But we needed to test you anyway. It’s a tradition.”

Was he actually respecting your boundaries?! What the-

“I like your guts!” Silva attempted to pat your back, but it felt rather like he was going to break your spine. “Sorry for our harsh methods. I know it can be a bit much at the beginning. You’ll get used to obey our rules slowly, don’t push yourself.

Even Kikyo embraced you, now almost convincing motherly. “Reminds me of my first kill for the family!”

It almost felt like those people could actually feel compassion for others. They at least had undoubtingly strong bonds with each other, even if their way of living together was rather unusual.

Stiff movements as always, Illumi placed his hand on your head, almost as if a robot was trying to mimick human interaction. “I’m proud of you. I knew I chose well.”

The rest of the ceremony was just as you expected it: No vows, no rings, no music, no kiss. Just you and Illumi hearing to whatever Zeno had to say about bringing honor and wealth to the family, bearing strong offsprings, and other things that were the exact opposite from romantic.

“Blood for blood” Zeno stated now instead of “You may now kiss”, and every family member repeated it.

You took the knife from the altar once again, cutting your palm until it drew blood without any hesitation. Illumi would now do the same, then reaching out his hand for yours to hold.

As your fluids mixed before dropping to the floor, you unsucessfully searched for any hint of emotional reaction in your husbands expressionless face.

His eyes however would never leave yours, his hand firmly squeezing yours before Zeno announced:

“Your fates are now inextricably connected.”

____

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scriptflorist · 3 years

Text

Character Template

Name: Xuesong

Nickname: A'Song

Alternate identity: n/a

Birthday: (never really thought about it)

Zodiac: -

Birthplace: a non-Earth fantasy land with Chinese inspirations

Dwelling place: the palace

How do they live: He’s with the elder prince most of the time, since he works for him. He’s a bodyguard of sorts, but also runs errands. His “bedroom” is actually a sectioned off part of a hallway shared with several others.

Appearance: Tall, with long wavy black hair that’s partially braided and tied back with a silk ribbon, blue-green like his upturned eyes. The backs of his pointed ears are covered with brown fur, and he has a pair of brown antlers. He usually wears a navy and gray uniform, with the royal emblem embroidered on the chest, as well as black boots.

What’s in their bag/pockets: He’s got a small bag with some coins in it.

Species: Wood spirit

Features of the species: Appears human, but with antlers, deer ears, and monochrome eyes in shades of blue or green.

Name of parents: He was created by a group of mages.

Name of siblings: n/a

Others next of kin: n/a

Not-in-blood-but-in-bond-family: Yunshan, a younger wood spirit, whom he considers like a brother.

Family history: After he was created, he was sent to the palace and handed over to the elder prince as a magical study/training partner and playmate. He was trained “on the go”, facing some punishments at first, but he’s a quick learner. Over time, he and the young prince start seeing each other as friends (and later, romantic partners). Yunshan arrived about two years later, to serve the younger prince, and Xuesong was the one who showed him the ropes.

Favourite colour: His magic is sort of turquoise so he’s biased to that, but he also likes orange.

Favourite animal: Not one, but he likes birds, especially little ones.

Favourite book: none

Favourite film/show/series: n/a

Favourite genre: probably adventure, he likes listening to those kinds of stories when he has the chance

Favourite food: a kind of drink/soup (it’s served in bowls and eaten with spoons) made with local berries, also egg stir fried with assorted veggies.

Favourite place to be: The palace garden, which he’s allowed in because his magic can vitalize the plants. It attracts various insects and the birds he’s fond of.

Personality: He’s quite a friendly and kind person, who doesn’t have a lot of power but would try to help in any way he can, or at least lend a listening ear. However, he does get upset if he feels his efforts aren’t appreciated enough, though he does try to hide this out of politeness. He’s responsible in his work and is rarely, if ever, late. His ever-smiling disposition sometimes causes people to think him silly, but he’s actually quite aware of the goings-on around him, and clever enough to use that knowledge if it could aid the people he cares about. He’s not good at making very good decisions under pressure though.

Misc: He gets mindwiped for his illicit relationship with the elder prince. After the prince embarks on a journey to find the legendary cure, his memories and personality return to normal, but he has some trauma symptoms from the ritual.

________________________________________________________________

Hey there stranger,

Haven’t gotten one of these in a while, let’s see what we can do for your character. Hope you find something useful in here!

Birthplace: a non-Earth fantasy land with Chinese inspirations

chinese flower language tag

He's with the elder prince most of the time, since he works for him. He's a bodyguard of sorts, but also runs errands.

lily (japanese) – you cannot deceive me

lungwort – you are my life, though art my life

monkshood – knight-errantry, a deadly foe is near

wolfsbane – knight, chivalry, misanthropy

Species: Wood spirit

cedar – spiritual strength, strength, I live for thee, think of me

cherry blossom – spiritual beauty, insincerity, impermanence

geranium (night-smelling) – melancholy spirit

magnolia – love of nature, dignity, nobility, perseverance

sorrel (wood) – joy

southernwood – pain, jest, bantering

sycamore – woodland beauty, curiosity, reserve

wood anemone – sickness, forlornness

wood sorrel – joy, maternal tenderness

woodbine – fraternal love, affection

wormwood – absence, do not be discouraged

black hair

black bryony – support, be my support

blackberry – envy

ebony – blackness

laburnum – blackness, forsaken, pensive beauty

mulberry (black) – I shall not survive you

poplar (black) – courage

Name of parents: He was created by a group of mages.

angelica – magic, inspiration

fern – magic, fascination, sincerity, confidence, shelter

Not-in-blood-but-in-bond-family: Yunshan, a younger wood spirit, whom he considers like a brother.

syringa – fraternal love, fraternal regard, memory

verbena (pink) – family union

woodbine – fraternal love, affection

He was trained "on the go", facing some punishments at first, but he's a quick learner.

marigold – cruelty, grief, inquietude, trouble, chagrin, pretty love, sacred affection, caress, sorrow

nettle – cruelty, slander, you are spiteful

tiger-flower – cruelty, for once may pride befriend me

Over time, he and the young prince start seeing each other as friends (and later, romantic partners).

acacia – friendship, platonic love, secret love

acacia (rose) – friendship, elegance

acacia (yellow) – concealed love, secret love

ambrosia – love returned

arbor vitae – unchanging friendship, live for me

chrysanthemum – you’re a wonderful friend, abundance, wealth, cheerfulness, truth, loveliness and cheerfulness

chrysanthemum (red) – I love.

citronella – homosexual love

clove –I have loved you and you have not known it, dignity

daisy (wild) – dost thou love me?, I will think on it

freesia – lasting friendship

geranium – true friend, stupidity, folly

geranium (oak-leaved) – true friendship, lady deign to smile

glycine – your friendship is pleasing and agreeable to me

heliotrope – I love you, the intoxication of love, infatuation, devoted affection, devotion, I turn to thee, intoxicated with pleasure

honeyflower – speak low if you speak love, love sweet and secret, sweet, secret, generous affection, sweetness of disposition

honeysuckle – bonds of love, generous and devoted affection, affection, devotion, fidelity, I would not answer hastily

honeysuckle (wild) –generous and devoted love

ivy – friendship, matrimony, I have found one true heart, constancy, marriage, fidelity, wedded love, affection

japonica – symbol of love, sincerity

jerusalem oak – your love is reciprocated

jonquil – love me, affection returned, desire, sympathy, I desire a return of affection

lilac – first emotion(s) of love, beauty, pride

lilac (purple) – first emotions of love

maidenhair – secret bond of love, discretion

motherwort – concealed love, secret love

rose – love

rose (bridal) – happy love, happiness

rosebud (moss) – confession of love, confession

snowdrop – I am not a summer friend, consolation, hope, refinement

tulip – declaration of love, beautiful eyes, fame, perfect lover

tulip (red) – declaration of love, believe me

windflower – symbol of love, sincerity

zephyr flower – symbol of love, sincerity, expectation, fond caresses

he also likes orange

lily (orange) – hatred, disdain

mockorange – counterfeit, fraternal affection, deceit

orange blossom – your purity equals your loveliness, chastity, innocence, eternal love, marriage, fruitfulness

orange flowers – chastity, woman’s worth, bridal festivities

orange tree – generosity

rose (orange) – fascination

syringa (mockorange) – fraternal love, fraternal regard, memory

Favourite animal: Not one, but he likes birds, especially little ones.

venus’ car – fly with me

Favourite food: a kind of drink/soup (it's served in bowls and eaten with spoons) made with local berries

blackberry – envy

cranberry – hardiness, cure for (the) heartache

gooseberry – anticipation

huckleberry – faith, simply pleasures

mulberry (black) – I shall/will not survive you, devotedness

mulberry (red) – wisdom

mulberry (white) – wisdom, prudence

pidgeon berry – indifference

raspberry – remorse

strawberry – perfection, perfect excellence, perfect goodness

strawberry blossom – foresight

strawberry tree – love and esteem, perseverance

whortleberry – treachery, treason

Favourite place to be: The palace garden, which he's allowed in because his magic can vitalize the plants.

persimmon – bury me amid nature’s beauties

cosmos – joy in love and life

lucern – life

tree of life – immortality, old age

kind person, would try to help in any way he can

allspice -- compassion

blue bell – kindness, constancy, sorrowful regret, humility, gratitude

elder flower -- compassion

marsh mallow – kindness, beneficence

His ever-smiling disposition sometimes causes people to think him silly, but he's actually quite aware of the goings-on around him, and clever enough to use that knowledge if it could aid the people he cares about.

kennedia – intellectual beauty, mental beauty

mignonette – moral and intellectual beauty, your qualities surpass your charms

rose (daily) – thy smile I aspire to

sumach (venice) – intellectual splendour, elegance

sunflower (tall) – smile on me still, haughtiness, pride, false riches, lofty and pure thoughts

sweet william – grant me one smile, gallantry, finesse, childhood, scorn

tulip (yellow) – there’s sunshine in your smile, hopeless love

walnut – intellect, stratagem

agrimony – thankfulness, gratitude

anthericum -- antidote

azalea – take care, temperance, fragile, passion, romance, temperance, fragile and ephemeral passion

balm of gilead – cure, relief, I am cured

balsam of peru – cure

bay leaf – I change but in death, I change but in dying

bay (red) – love’s memory

catchfly (white) – I fall into the trap laid for me

cranberry – cure for (the) heartache, hardiness

dahlia – my gratitude exceeds your care, instability, elegance and dignity, forever thine, novelty, dignity

dogwood – love undiminished by adversity, I am perfectly indifferent to you, durability

forget-me-not – true love, forget me not, memories

honeysuckle (coral) – I love you, the colour of my fate

lotus – estranged love, forgetful of the past, eloquence, purity

lotus flower – estranged love

love-lies-bleeding – deserted love, hopeless not heartless, dignity, nobility, perseverance

myrtle – love in absence, love positive, love, joy

periwinkle – pleasing remembrances, sweet remembrance, tender recollections, early recollections, pleasure of memories, sweet memories

periwinkle (blue) – pleasures of memory, sweet remembrance, early friendship

periwinkle (white) – pleasures of memory, pleasing remembrance

pheasant’s eye – remembrance, painful remembrance, sorrowful remembrances

primrose (chinese) – lasting love

privet – unfading love

rose (maiden blush) – if you love me, you will find it/me out

rose (single, full bloom) – I truly love you, simplicity

rosemary – remembrance, your presence revives me, healing balm

scabiosa – unfortunate love, unfortunate attachment, I have lost all

swallow-wort – cure for (the) heartache

syringa – memory, fraternal regard, fraternal love

syringa (carolina) – memory, disappointment

yarrow – to cure, a cure for the heartache, cure for a broken heart, cure for heartache

zinnia (yellow) – daily remembrance

– Mod Jana

Disclaimer

This blog is intended as writing advice only. This blog and its mods are not responsible for accidents, injuries or other consequences of using this advice for real world situations or in any way that said advice was not intended.

#flower language #writing advice #victorian flower language #chinese flower language #a'song #xuesong #flowers for characters #ask answered #mod jana #self referral #submission

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thechangeling · 3 years

Note

I was reading your co-signing the narrative post- great post btw- and your thoughts on Kit Lightwood helped me figure out exactly what bothers me about the way other characters talk about and treat him.

So, there’s this kind of this running “joke” in TLH that Christopher’s interests are boring, that everyone else puts up with it him as though it’s this big nuisance, that everyone zones out hearing him talk… and on and on and on.*** And then there’s this scene where Grace is genuinely interested or at least not bringing him down about his self-expression and the things that bring him joy, and that’s romanticized as special when it’s really kind of the bare fuckin minimum. Like, I’m not saying James/Matthew/Thomas had to immerse themselves completely in every sciency detail but the constant “jokes” implying that Christopher’s work is boring or incomprehensible or not worth their time is just so tiring. There’s always an undercurrent of “Christopher’s just playing around uselessly” (which is not true and even when he’s having fun with his work then it’s still automatically WORTHY and VALUABLE because it makes him happy!) Not to mention this recurring problem directly contradicts the value that Christopher’s work has (beyond its inherent value) when he sends it into the world to literally save lives: the poison antidote, the fire messages that will probably come about in CoT.

And the thing is, the merry thieves’ disinterest is directly meant to foil grace’s interest in order to lend the Grace/Kit relationship a certain significance, as CC assigns to it. I’m not saying shared excitement over an interest/hobby/career/field/etc isn’t sweet platonically or romantically. I just really dislike how the idea CC is using is “no one else can bear to tolerate Kit’s ‘quirks’ but Grace, and that is Endearing, and so they are Soulmates (TM)” rather than the much healthier and positive idea that “Kit does cool sciencey stuff which his family and friends generally don’t share as strong a passion for but still don’t huff about it like it’s somehow a chore or a burden on them, and then Grace comes along and she does happen to share a similar passion and that’s the beginning of their ties to one another.” That second reasoning is what could make their friendship really refreshing; we don’t need ableism poorly twined into romance to enjoy that relationship.

I haven’t read TDA in a while but I’m thinking we could also find touches of this with Ty partly because so much of when we see him is from Kit’s POV? Not that Kit means harm or thinks himself heroic but CC on the other hand is a repeat offender in “abled/white/straight/cis character is ultimately and completely responsible for the salvation of disabled/POC/queer character in this aspect.” And I’m kind of half dreading the wicked powers for that reason among others …

I apologize if all this seems obvious or rambly. I do sometimes have trouble articulating things exactly but when I read your post i had a lightbulb moment and I wanted to note it down.

Have a great day!

***Side Note: this is why I really enjoy fan-created content that explores Christopher’s relationships with people (even people he didn’t interact with on-page in the canon) without that annoying and problematic aspect built into the framework of the relationship.

^^^^^^^^^THIS ALL OF THIS!!!!!!

Full disclosure this is gonna be kind of long sorry. But you have stumbled across my favourite topic to rant about. Allistic saviorism. Basically the name is pretty self explanatory. It's when an allistic person fictional or otherwise has the desire to or actively attempts to essentially "save" the autistic person from the horrors of the world or their life, or even themselves because they think that the autistic person isn't strong or capable enough to fix/handle it on their own. All of this is usually done for very self serving reasons. Part of this is also allistic people being praised as heroes for being nice to autistic people or asking them out, or loving them.

I don't neccesarily think that kitty is an allistic savior ship on it's own. I think that there are definitely peices of those beliefs scattered throughout the books and it might get worse in TWP. That's honestly something that I'm worried about too tbh. But honestly I think that the fandom made it a billion times worse.

This mainly allistic fandom wanted to romanticize the idea of Kit taking care of Ty and shouldering the burden of his "unpredictability." Kit is the only one who can get through to Ty. The only one who understands the mystery that is Ty 🙄. Some of this is canon too. For example, Ty can look Kit in the eye, he lets him touch him. He doesn't wear the headphones when Kit's around right? And Kit was able to calm him down during his meltdown.

And while some of this is really cute from a romantic perspective, it's also kinda problematic because it reeks of allistic saviorism. It promotes the idea that Kit is like Ty's "cure." And that's just impossible.

And honestly I know I've contributed to this in some ways. Because if I'm being perfectly honest with you, there's a part of me that enjoys that. The romantization of autism.

The idea of being taken care of.

The idea that someone could love an autistic person and see them as "beautiful" and "extraordinary" and all the things Kit calls Ty, was incredibly moving and appealing to me as a kid. It still is. Because I grew up on stories of charity cases and allistic saviorism making headlines with prom dates. I was super secretive about it, but I was always a romantic growing up. But I thought that it was impossible for me to have a real love story because people like me don't get that. (Not to get all sob story on you sorry. I overshare. It's an autistic thing.)

And there are some really compelling things about kitty that really do work. And I'm not trying to suggest that Kit learning to help Ty with the ...shall we say more colourful traits of his disability is a bad thing always. It's not. But I think the issue is with Ty's lack of pov and Ty's lack of a narrative in the books. It makes him seem like less of a completely developed character and more like, "Kit's" you know?

And because we don't have Ty's pov we don't really get what makes Kit have this sort of calming effect on him or why it's different. And more importantly we don't get why Ty's letting him in, we only get Kit pushing past his boundries. The entire thing becomes about Kit essentially and that's at the root of all allistic saviorism.

Also like you mentioned before, Kit is seen as special to a certain extent because he can handle Ty. That's not neccesarily something the character believes obviously, but again with CC co-signing the damn narrative with the way she makes the impact Kit has on Ty such a big deal in everyone's eyes and in QOAAD she really emphasizes the drain Ty's necromancy plan is taking on Kit, suddenly Ty's grief becomes all about Kit and with no pov from Ty, it's more allistic savior bs.

Honestly most of this isnt actually THAT bad it's just when you throw it all together and look at the ugly history and let's be honest present, of autistic people being silenced and spoken over by our caregivers and loved ones and we are treated like burdens on them, and how those people are praised for loving us, it kinda looks bad. But the fandom definitely made it worse.

I always get criticized for criticizing kitty by allistic people with, " well if you think they're so toxic then why do you even ship them?" Which is a piss poor take lacking in any nuance. An autistic person has the right to critique a dynamic involving an autistic character. More to the point, you can love something and be critical of it. I swear when this fandom finally figures that one out... we could accomplish so much.

I'm really hoping this is making sense it's like 2 in the morning. As for Grace and Christopher's dynamic I agree with you. I basically have nothing to add. Bare minimum. Should not be idolized. The way the others treat him should not just be brushed off as no big deal. It's ableism.

Basically it's just a bunch of classic mistakes that come from a neurotypical abled writer writing nd characters. Some mistakes are more damning then others. But it does make me scared for TWP.

I can only hope.

#kit x ty #christopher lightwood #ty blackthorn #tsc #tlh #tda #twp #the last hours #the dark artifices #the wicked powers #actuallyautistic #allistic saviorism #asks

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letterboxd · 3 years

Photo

Love Thy Neighbor.

With her nineteenth-century American romance, The World to Come—starring Katherine Waterston and Vanessa Kirby—screening now, director Mona Fastvold talks to Ella Kemp about the need to create images, striving for ASMR storytelling, and just how much we owe Terrence Malick.

“We’ve seen a lot of movies during this time period in America about what the husbands were out doing… but they had wives who are at home, living their completely separate lives. What were they up to?” —Mona Fastvold

In the American Northeast in the nineteenth century, life for farmers’ wives is physical, lonely, subject to both the extremes of weather and their husbands’ moods. When Abigail (Katherine Waterston) and Tallie (Vanessa Kirby) become neighbors in The World To Come, their lives become infinitely more bearable.

What unfolds is a careful study of the ways affection and understanding can bloom in the most unlikely places. Based on Jim Shepard’s short story of the same name, Mona Fastvold’s desperately romantic film starts where Abigail’s diary also begins: with a new year, and new neighbors. Through lyrical voice-over and closely drawn scenes, Abigail tells of how, in the wake of unimaginable loss, her life is cracked wide open by the arrival of effervescent, free-spirited Tallie. She speaks of grief and exhaustion, but also of astonishment and joy.

Katherine Waterston as Abigail and Vanessa Kirby as Tallie in ‘The World to Come’. / Photo by Vlad Cioplea

It’s a story felt through whispers as much as kisses, framed by the blustery winds of the East-Coast frontier—and by the spectre of their husbands (Casey Affleck as the downcast Dyer, Christopher Abbott as the jealous, disturbing Finney) finding out about their new love. Fastvold gives each character just enough attention to let the relationships that matter most rise up all on their own. She does so with words, poetry that somehow feels alive, and with music—specifically, a stunningly passionate clarinet soundtrack.

The World to Come won the Queer Lion at Venice last August (where it miraculously had an in-person premiere), and won many more hearts at Sundance in January. It’s Fastvold’s second film as director, after 2014’s The Sleepwalker, which also starred Christopher Abbott, and was co-written by Fastvold’s partner (and Vox Lux director) Brady Corbet.

What did you feel when reading Jim’s story for the first time? Mona Fastvold: It was a home I wanted to move into. It was this feeling of thinking, ‘This belongs in my universe, and I belong in this universe.’ And I all of a sudden had a few images that I felt a very strong need to create. The first thing that I felt really compelled to do was creating this physical expression of joy after the first kiss. I had this image of Katherine in this wide shot, completely open and just exposed. And I was really compelled to shoot her in the snow by the grave as well.

I also wanted to frame her being tied to the house with a rope, working her way through the snowstorm. There was a lot of amazing text and maybe fewer images in the script, because it’s written by these two really wonderful writers and authors of novels, not so much screenplays. So it’s not a very technical screenplay, and there were a lot of things left to me to work out, which I enjoyed. But the foundation was this really good text.

Mona Fastvold on the set of ‘The World to Come’. / Photo by Toni Salabasev

The text is so striking, in the way it’s so verbose but never feels stiff. How did you keep the words intact while bringing these emotions to life? I cast some really good actors, so that helps! Then when you’re working with this kind of text, it’s not really a text that you can improvise or play around as much, you really just need to honor it. For me it’s really about finding the movement that will support the beats of the text. I like the edit to be motivated by a gesture, something that says, “I want you to look at this”. I’m trying to make the rhythm more exciting. Ping-ponging back and forth is less exciting to me.

When rehearsing, we’d create movement either physically, or find changes through long pauses already in the text, and then upon finding those organic beats I’d figure out with my DP how we can stay in one take for as long as possible, until we find that moment which motivates a change. I never like there to be a camera movement just for there to be something cool visually. And there’s all this subtext in the text, all these messages Abigail and Tallie are trying to send to each other. When are you being direct? When are you being understood? When are you not?

Particularly in recent years, we’ve been fortunate to have a number of films that reframe period pieces about forbidden lesbian romances. Why do you think we keep coming back to this kind of story? A lot of people feel compelled to say these stories have always been there, and to claim that part of history. It’s not modern, it’s not a new thing, but it’s just that these stories have not been told much. Especially a love story that takes place among farmers. We know a little bit about upper-class stories from some literature, but not that much from that time period. So part of the appeal for me was to say: this is a part of history. Even though it’s not a story about Napoleon, this story about these two quiet, introverted women is still worth exploring. And we’ve seen a lot of movies during this time period in America about what the husbands were out doing. I’ve grown up watching these movies, but they had wives who are at home, living their completely separate lives. What were they up to?

Finney (Christopher Abbott) reads Tallie’s mail. / Photo by Vlad Cioplea

You mention the husbands—I felt watching this film that it was set in a very different world to the likes of Portrait of a Lady on Fire, which a lot of people loved precisely because of how few men were in the film. But here the husbands play a really important part within the story about these two women, helping to convey their frustration and limitations, without taking over. All characters in a story deserve equal counts of love and attention from the writers, directors and actors. It was incredibly important to portray the men with as much nuance as Abigail and Tallie. It makes for a more interesting story for them, that their relationships with their partners are complex—they’re not just these male archetypes who are terrible and awful. Dyer was an interesting character, in that he’s striving to understand even though he doesn’t quite. And he had different ambitions as well, but this is the situation he’s in, and he’s chosen a practical partner who he respects, and I guess loves and cares for. But they’re running a farm together, they’re business partners as well and depend on each other for survival. When he says “I’ll die without you” it’s quite literal, in a way. I wanted to break these characters open and make them more difficult to deal with, for themselves and for the women as well.

Your picture includes a beautiful, and really unexpected score by Daniel Blumberg—particularly in the use of the clarinet, which feels like its own kind of narrative. Can you talk me through the process of weaving that into the story? I brought in Daniel even when I was developing the script and working on casting early on. I kept listening to ‘Three Pieces for Solo Clarinet’ by Igor Stravinsky, and somehow the instrument felt really connected to Katherine’s voice-over. It was important that the voice-over was not slammed on top at the end. It’s there, I hope, to have a bit of an ASMR effect where you feel it draws you really close to Abigail in a hypnotic way. That you feel like you get this intimate experience of that character by having access to her life even if it doesn’t explain things too much.

So we wanted to have the score speaking to the voice-over, which we recorded long before we started shooting as well. We would play it on set and Daniel would come in and play music there. So constantly being in dialogue between the text being read and the music being played was an important part of the process.

It’s time for some Life in Film questions. What is your favorite ‘forbidden love’ story? A film I really love, which inspired The World to Come, is Olivia. It’s from 1951 and it’s directed by Jacqueline Audry, and it was one of the first lesbian on-screen kisses ever captured. It’s a great movie directed by a female director when that wasn’t so much of a thing. It was an important trailblazer for this film.

Marie-Claire Olivia and Simone Simon in Jacqueline Audry’s ‘Olivia’ (1951).

What’s your favourite “Dear Diary” movie, the one that best uses a confessional voice-over? Terrence Malick pretty much cornered that market with some beautiful, beautiful attempts at that. We definitely have to pay our respects! Particularly Days of Heaven is pretty amazing. The voice-over work there is extraordinary.

What is your go-to comfort movie? It’s funny because I was asked that a while ago and normally I would just be like, “Anything Nancy Meyers makes is just so lovely”. She makes these films that are just like candy. But during the pandemic, it’s just too hard to watch these cozy movies, because it just makes you feel depressed. So right now, the film I’ve watched the most in my lifetime is Eyes Wide Shut. I also find it to be a Christmas movie… If it’s on anywhere, I’ll always leave it on, or just watch a little piece of it.

What should Letterboxd members watch after The World to Come? First of all they should watch Olivia if they haven’t seen it, and then the other day I watched Martin Eden—it’s an incredible movie. So beautifully made.

What is the one film that first made you want to be a filmmaker? I grew up watching a lot of movies. My family are cinephiles and I’ve always loved films. I grew up on a steady diet of Ingmar Bergman’s films during my teenage years, and Tarkovsky too. Seeing those films made a really big impression me. But what really inspired me in many ways was seeing Claire Denis’ films. The way she approaches storytelling is so intuitive. It’s so exciting. That resonated with me, and later on I recognized some of that in Lucrecia Martel as well. I just love how she handles time and logic and character.