#also he practiced for hours. which seems more sensible! haha

[gretagerwigsmuse]

You had spent several months helping your sister tend to them while she looked for a governess. It had truly been a splendid time, and you wished you had been able to say forever. - this is so sweet, but also made me a little sad? like she’s almost subconsciously prepping herself to be the spinster aunt, never to have her own children. and she clearly wants a family and does like this side of marriage and wants love, but she also wants them to value her as her own person? i love her already

You're fitted with beautiful drapes of satin and silk and lace for what seems like hours until your mother deems you finished. She does allow you to pick the colors of your garments at least, and so, for the first ball of the season, you choose a deep shade of burgundy. You've always been fond of the color. - this reminds me of penelope getting those new dresses! and i like she’s excited to get them, however tedious it might be haha. i also think a certain someone will eventually like all that silk and lace and burgundy sounds lovely 🤭

But he did want someone smart, sensible, kind, and willing to bear his heirs. He wanted someone he could have a conversation with, and that could, at the very least, be his friend. - twist my arm! i volunteer

Many of his suits were now too tight in the shoulders. The months he'd spent traveling and made him broader and more muscular than he once was. - 😮‍💨 broad shouldered bradley 😮‍💨 i love he’s so brawny he’s worried about ripping seams (im sure he’ll have no problem ripping some of his wife’s)

"Yes. I am still Miss Beaumont, even though this is my fourth season." You sigh. "Well— I have a had time believing that you of all people struggle with finding a match, Ducky." Bradley smiles at you. - she held her cool way better than i would have after seeing him for the first time in years (even with her outburst lol). also! he’s shocked she hasn’t married yet!!!!

You had butterflies in your belly for the rest of the evening. If you were being truthful with yourself, you'd always had feelings for Bradley. Ever since you were a girl, you were captivated by your brother's best friend, always chasing the two of them around your estate, which earned you the nickname he so foundly called you. - THIS IS MY FAVORITE REGENCY ROMANCE TROPE!!! ugh it’s so so good because i know it would totally be me if i was in that circumstance

And even though he was older, Bradley was always kind to you. Which is why it crushed you that he went away the same year you made your debut. You'd always hoped that maybe—just maybe—he would court you. - oh sweet girl! this is so 🥺 or even dance with her at balls and be there for her when she was clearly going through it those first few seasons

But really, it was foolish of you to think that he would. You were his best friend's little sister, practically his own little sister. You were his Ducky, and he would never think of you as anything more. - okay i love this part of the best friend’s sister trope because the guy always tries to talk himself of viewing her in that light and it always tears the girl apart 🥺 bradley!!! you’re so not ready

A Favor Among Friends

Masterlist Next Part

Series Warnings: Language, alcohol consumption, historical inaccuracies. Regency era men and ideals. Eventual Smut. RegencyEra!AU Banner Credit @thedroneranger

...........................................

Part 1: The First Ball of the Season

Dearest Reader,

I am sure you, just like I am, are buzzing about the upcoming social season. This year's marriage mart is filled with the cream of the crop and overflowing with perfectly beautiful ladies and perfectly handsome gentlemen.

This narrator is excited to see what matches are made this year.

But before the first ball of the season, I hope you all place your bets as to which ladies will find success and which will be left broken hearted.

All eyes this year, seem to be on the house of Lord and Lady Beaumont. At the ripe age of six-and-twenty, their daughter, Miss Y/N Beaumont, enters her fourth social season without a husband. With het older sister being the Dutchess of Miramar, and her older brother set to inherent the family title, one can only wonder why Miss Beaumont has yet to secure a match, and what her family plans to do if she fails again this season.

However, it seems there will be some excitement that many young ladies, and their mamas can look foward too.

After an extended period away in the Americas, this narrator is thrilled to report that the Viscount Bradley Bradshaw has returned to London in hopes to take a wife this season. The only question is, who will be the lucky lady that will catch his eye?

...........................................

"Isn't it wonderful to be back in London?" Your mother chirped from the carriage. "Yes, quite wonderful." You responded, not taking your eyes away from the passing landscape. You sighed.

You dreaded being back in London. You already knew that people would be whispering about you in hushed corners. Girls would giggle and cover their smirks as you walked by, a buzz about that fact that you were old, and still unwed.

It's not that you didn't want to marry. You just didn't want to make the wrong choice. You wanted someone who was kind and valued you as more than a body to carry a child. You wanted someone who liked your wit and charm and appreciated the many talents you had.

"Darling." Your mother called, snapping you out of your trance.

"Hmm?" You hummed back as you turned to face her and your father.

"I asked if you enjoyed your time in Miramar with your sister and the Duke?" Your mother repeated. "Yes, Mama, it was absolutely splendid. William, Micheal, and Violet have grown so much since you've seen them last." You beamed as you talked about your niece and nephews.

You had spent several months helping your sister tend to them while she looked for a governess. It had truly been a splendid time, and you wished you had been able to say forever. But, your parents insisted you come home.

"Wonderful." Your mother smiled before her expression turned more serious. "Y/N, there is something your father and I must discuss with you."

"What?" You asked her. "We know that you have had some difficulties securing a match. It is very noble for you to hold out for love, but sometimes, one must forego love and find a sensible match." Your mother began.

"What do you mean?" You say. "What I mean is—" she sighs. "Your sister is a Dutchess. Your brother will inherit the estate, and you— you will have nothing. And I know Eddie would never let you go without, but darling, your father and I want to know you will be taken care of once we are gone." She tells you.

"Eddie and Clarissa would make sure I'm taken care of. So would Marianne and George." You say.

"We know they would." Your father speaks up finally. "But it is not their job. That is the job of a husband. Which is why your mother and I have decided that if you do not secure a match by the end of the season, we will find one for you." He states.

"What?" You shriek. "An arranged marriage? I will not agree to it." You huff. "You don't have a choice. We love you, but we will not let you tarnish the family name by becoming a spinster!" Your father declares.

You open your mouth to respond, but he shoots you a look that lets you know his mind is made up and that this conversation is over. You sulk into your carriage seat and refuse to look at either of your parents for the remainder of the ride.

............

Your first few days back in London are a flurry of trips to the market, the jeweler, and the modiste. Your mother insists that a new wardrobe will help in your quest to sequester a husband. You're fitted with beautiful drapes of satin and silk and lace for what seems like hours until your mother deems you finished. She does allow you to pick the colors of your garments at least, and so, for the first ball of the season, you choose a deep shade of burgundy. You've always been fond of the color. Even though some would say it's melancholy, you think it's just right. The thought of a dress in that color gives you the tinest bit of hope as you prepare for the season.

..........

Viscount Bradley Bradshaw was not thrilled to be back in London. He would much rather be in the countryside, but he had ignored his estate for too long, and it was now to the point that he could no longer manage on his own. He needed a wife. Someone else to share the burden with.

He didn't need, nor really want, a love match. But he did want someone smart, sensible, kind, and willing to bear his heirs. He wanted someone he could have a conversation with, and that could, at the very least, be his friend.

He'd heard much about the ladies that were available this season, and there seemed to be several promising options. He just hoped he could find someone quickly, have a short courtship, an even shorter engagement, and be married before the meddling mamas sicked their daughters on him.

He ran his hands over his face in the back of his carriage. There were so many things he needed go do this week before the first ball of the season.

He needed to collect a few payments, pay the staffs wages, and head to the tailor. Many of his suits were now too tight in the shoulders. The months he'd spent traveling and made him broader and more muscular than he once was. He couldn't risk being on the dance floor with a potential wife and have his seams bust.

He glanced outside his carriage and saw the parade of ladies and their mothers walking around and gossiping.

"One season, Bradley, you can do this for one season." He whispered to himself before grabbing his journal and writing.

...............

The first ball at the home of Lord and Lady Whittmore came faster than you imagined. It seemed you'd just unpacked your trunk when your ladies' maids came in to help you dress and prepare for the evening.

They tied your corsets and stays, fastened each tiny button, styled your hair into an elegant half up, half down hairstyle, and helped you adorn yourself with a few simple jewels that your mother insisted on.

Standing back from your mirror, you looked every bit the part of an eligible bachelorette. Your deep red dress accentuated your features. The sparkling stones sewn onto it caught the light beautifully.

Your silk gloves elongated your arms, and the garnet necklace and earrings you wore matched your dress perfectly.

Your father smiled warmly, and your mother gasped when you descended the stairs to the foyer where they were waiting for you along with your brother and his wife.

"Y/N! You look most marvelous. Surely you will be the crown jewel of the ball!" Your sister-in-law, Clarissa, gushed as she hugged you.

"Thank you, Clarissa." You smiled at her warmly before your mother ushered everyone out to the carriages. You rode with Eddie and Clarissa to the Whittmore estate, thankful to have a reprieve from your parents talking your ear off about how important it was for you to find a match, and this ball would be your best chance.

The Whittmore estate was lovely when you arrived. Candles lit up the great rooms, lively string music played. There was delicious food and drinks at every corner. Lady Whittmore handed you your dance card, which you quickly secured around your wrist.

Your brother insisted on taking you on a turn about the room, which meant you stopped to talk to several noblemen and had several ask to place their name on your card.

You can't remember half of those you danced with. Just that they would step on your feet or only talk about themselves. Anytime they asked you a question, it was about how many children you wanted and if you knew how to run a house. They didn't care that you were well read, knew three languages, or that you could play the harp. Heirs, and lots of them. That's all they cared about.

After a quatrain with some Lord old enough to be your father, you stepped away from the dance floor in hopes of taking a break and catching your breath. You grabbed a glass of champagne and tried to find a quiet place to sit and have a moment to yourself. Unfortunately, fate had other plans. A large body collided with yours, causing you to trip and spill your drink, and there's all over yourself.

"Oh my goodness! This dress is new!" You shrieked as you frantically tried to dry it with your hankerchief.

"My apologies, Miss. I wasn't watching where I was going." The person who crashed into you said.

"Of course you weren't. You Lords waltz around here with your noses so high in the air that you forget to look down and pay attention." You shot back at them.

There was a moment of silence where you realized that you probably shouldn't have said that. Especially if you wanted to find a husband.

"I'm sor—" you began as you looked up. But once you saw who it was, your words died in your throat.

"Bradley Bradshaw?" You breathed not, not quite believing it was him standing before you. "Ducky? Ducky Beaumont? Is that you?" He asked with a smile.

"No one calls me Ducky anymore, not even Edmond." You say. "Well then, what do they call you?" Bradley asked you.

"Mine name, or Miss Beaumont." You reply. "Miss Beaumont?" Bradley asks you.

"Yes. I am still Miss Beaumont, even though this is my fourth season." You sigh. "Well— I have a had time believing that you of all people struggle with finding a match, Ducky." Bradley smiles at you.

You're just about to correct him again when he suddenly grabs your hand and sweeps you out onto the floor for a waltz. "What was that all about, Lord Bradshaw?" You ask him using his formal title.

"Well, Ducky. There is a young lady who has been pestering me all evening, and I needed to get away from her." Bradley said as he directed your attention to a girl who looked rather annoyed with you.

"Ah, I see." You chuckle. "So, Ducky, tell me, how have you gone four seasons without a husband?" Bradley asks you as the two of you dance.

"It is Miss Beaumont, Lord Bradshaw. We are no longer children, and I am no longer chasing you and my brother around the countryside while our mothers play cards." You say to him. "But, I have simply not been able to find someone who appreciates me and is kind. Everyone only cares about how many children I want and what my dowery is. Not once today have I been asked if I read or if I know another language or if I can play an instrument!" You huff. Bradley chuckles.

"Well, do you read?" He asks you before giving you a spin. "Yes, I read all kinds of books." You reply. "Do you know any other languages?" He asks with a chuckle. "I know three! I speak Spanish, French, and Italian!" You exclaim. "And what about musical instruments? Can you play any?" He smiles at you. "I am most accomplished with the harp." You smile back at him.

"Well, you are very well rounded, Miss Beaumont, certainly interesting." Bradley tells you.

"And you are the only person in this room who knows that. Which is probably why I am on my way to be an old maid at the age of six-and-twenty." You sigh.

"That is not old. I am not much older than that myself. I went to school with your brother, and we are both barely two-and-thirty." Bradley says as the song ends.

"Well, I appreciate the thought. Thank you for the dance, Lord Bradshaw." You say as you curtsey to him.

"No, thank you, Ducky." He smiles and winks at you before bowing and walking away.

You had butterflies in your belly for the rest of the evening. If you were being truthful with yourself, you'd always had feelings for Bradley. Ever since you were a girl, you were captivated by your brother's best friend, always chasing the two of them around your estate, which earned you the nickname he so foundly called you.

You can remember the exact moment you realized your feelings for Bradley weren't platonic. It was when you were fourteen, and he and your brother had come home from their second year at university. The tall, lanky boy you'd spent summers with had filled out into a broad, brawny man.

And even though he was older, Bradley was always kind to you. Which is why it crushed you that he went away the same year you made your debut. You'd always hoped that maybe—just maybe—he would court you.

Maybe that's why you'd never tried too hard to find a suitor because deep down, you were holding out for Bradley. And now, that he's back, you hope that this might be the year that you find a husband.

..............

The next day, you were giddy as calling hours approached. You prayed that if anyone came, it would be Bradley.

When a valet came and said there was a caller for you, you practically leaped from your seat on the sofa, only to be met with disappointment that it was Lord Artenson. He was followed by Lord Phillips, Lord Martin, and Lord Herrington, who was determined to have you as his third wife.

You sighed and resigned yourself to reading a book once Lord Herrington finally left. Calling hours were almost over, and you were silently disappointed that Bradley had not come. But really, it was foolish of you to think that he would. You were his best friend's little sister, practically his own little sister. You were his Ducky, and he would never think of you as anything more.

You were just about to head upstairs to your room and your parents to their own when a valet came in the drawing room.

"Excuse me Lord and Lady Beaumont, it seems there is another visitor here for Miss Beaumont." He spoke.

"Really?" Your father asked. "Who is it?"

"The Viscount Bradshaw."

Tagging those who might be interested: @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @desert-fern @roosterforme @daggerspare-standingby @dakotakazansky @startrekfangirl2233 @na-ta-sh-aa @katieshook02 @beyondthesefourwalls @je-suis-prest-rachel @soulmates8 @horseshoegirl @djs8891 @roosters-girl @rosiahills22 @dempy @callsign-magnolia @alchemxx @gretagerwigsmuse @mshistorylover @bradshawsbaby @seitmai @kmc1989 @bcarolinablr @waywardhunter95 @hisredheadedgoddess28 @whatislovevavy @inkandarsenic @jiminie-08 @dingochef @laracrofted @skipchat @princess76179 @schoollover @cheyrenee @angelbabyyy99 @bobfloydsbabe @sunlightmurdock @sebsxphia @atarmychick007 @queenlmno @sweetwhispersofchaos @mamaskillerqueen @the-aspiring-fanfic-writer @withahappyrefrain

[stuffandwonder]

Excuse me, is Tom Scott stealing GMM episode ideas now?!

[dancingwiththeplanets]

An Angel Amongst Demons - chapter two

Boba Fett x fem!reader

     chapter 1 / masterlist

Summary:  A few days after the incident in the throne room, Boba hovers around you like a shadow worried you’ll leave him. You try to reassure him through small, intimate moments with him that there’s no place you’d rather be.

A/N:  Really trying to expand on the idea that a gorgeous palace lays hidden underground/ behind the throne room! Also, I think we can all start calling this Boba’s Palace now, jabba is gone. Sorry for the low quality edit it’s my first one haha

Warnings: dancing!boba, protective!boba, suggestive content, plain old day at the palace, soft!boba, not a lot of content tbh but cute moments and we get to know our OC Mandos Raul and Enzo, I didn’t plan this out, im sorry

Word Count: 4.5k+

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

The ballroom, though practically useless in its existence and never actually having served its purpose, has recently become one of your favorite rooms in the palace. Initially, you didn’t know what to do with the space. It’s not like Boba seized at the idea of throwing a ball and inviting a group of strangers into the palace, providing anyone the opportunity to discover the secrets hidden behind the throne room. Let alone risk letting an adversary sneak their way in and stirring up trouble.

Nonetheless, you’ve taken it upon yourself to spruce the place up. It is, after all, one of the grander rooms in the castle, with paintings coating the ceiling and the walls bordered with columns.

It’s actually extremely beautiful, you’ve decided, wiping your forehead against your light-blue sleeve, frowning when it comes back brown from the dust that’s stuck to your face. It seemed like a sensible thing to wear this morning. A loose fitting blue blouse with flowy pants to match, secured in the middle by a slightly darker sash. Your pant legs were tucked into your boots so as not to get in the way. It was one of the more cozy and plain things you owned, though not poor in quality by any standards. The fabric was refined, flowy and soft against your skin. Quite honestly, even in your working clothes, you looked nicer than you felt you deserved to. But far be it for Boba to allow his princess to wander around in anything but the best.

The week you’d moved in was a busy one, filled with surprises and adjustments that were quite honestly overwhelming. You arrived at Boba’s palace with a literal sack over your shoulder, enough to stash your small wardrobe of two garments and a few trinkets of personal value. Tatooine was a simple place, you only owned what you absolutely needed. And you, being a young and simple waitress at the local cantina, could barely make enough to cover your cost of living. You were never awarded the luxury of having needless objects.

The first few days of your arrival, Boba had stuck to your side like glue, making sure you got around okay and had everything you needed. Initially, he’d even had a seperate room made up for you to stay in. It was absolutely beautiful, by far the lightest room in the entire palace, though lacking in a window. It was one of the biggest, not as impressive as his own chambers, but still spacious. He decorated the room with paintings and furniture and accented the space with hues of blue and gold. Unfortunately, the pretty room barely got any good use out of it.

Boba escorted you to your quarters on your first night, cradling your chin and kissing your forehead at the door, bidding you goodnight. He reminded you where you could find something to sleep in, having delighted himself in surprising you with an entirely new wardrobe.

You pulled on a satin, lavender slip, admiring the foreign material for a long while as it weighed so delicately on your form. You took your time readying yourself for bed before crawling in and feeling engulfed by pillows. Once you settled, left alone to your anxious thoughts and feelings, you suddenly felt overwhelmed by the exquisite room embracing you. A flutter of giddiness and exhilaration filled you, your mind and body enraptured by the day's events. You felt absolutely spoiled.

Feeling bold on an entirely unnatural level, you slipped away from the warm, velvety comforter and tiptoed to the door. With a rush of courage, your hand met the handle and you stepped out, bare feet cold against the tile floor. You peeked around before quickly darting down the hall, forever grateful that not a soul was around to see your practically naked form running by, before ascending the stairs that led to Boba’s door.

You lifted your hand, your knuckle knocking gently three times against the rough surface.

You heard Boba shifting on the other side of the door, tugging down on your nightgown that just barely cleared your thighs. The hinges of the door creaked as they turned, opening slowly to reveal a very smug looking Boba in just his underclothes.

He hummed, eyes tracing over your form with a shake of his head. “Wandering the halls looking like that.” He chided, gently grabbing you by the waist and pulling you through the door, “That’ll get you into trouble, little one.”

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

You smile as you recall the memory. Suffice to say, you didn’t end up sleeping in your own quarters that night, or any night after that, for that matter. Though Boba’s honorable gesture in providing you with your own space was not lost on you.

Continuing on with your endeavors, you move to stand from your crouch on the ground, simultaneously trying to tighten the blue sash wrapped around your middle. You gasp as you run into a hard surface, exhaling in relief as Boba braces you in front of him.

Mumbling an apology, you watch as his helmeted face looks you up and down, steady hands holding you out from him.

“What?” You ask, a smile making its way to your cheeks.

“Your outfit, it...looks like something I wore as I boy.” He says adoringly, now fondling the blue sash at your hips.

You glance down again at your form, a matching blue blouse and trousers tucked into simple black boots. “I...look like you as a young boy?” You counter, earning a deep chuckle from your lover.

“Well I looked rather plain in it,” He says, “I don’t think I looked half as radiant as you do.”

“So you do like it?” You ask.

“Of course I like it,” He grins, “I bought it.”

You shake your head as you carry on with your tasks, allowing Boba to shadow your movements for a while before leaving you again to carry on with his own agenda.

You spend the next few hours actively scrubbing away at the room, feeling especially motivated to complete it, not like all the other half-finished rooms scattered about the palace, which is partly your fault. But the ballroom felt different, once you dusted away all the grime and filth and replaced the lighting in the ceilings to give the room more life, it really started to come together. Unfortunately, your previously clean clothes and skin were paying the price for the hard work being done, you definitely looked a little worse for wear. Wisps of hair beginning to tickle your cheeks from where they’d fallen loose from your braid.

Currently, you were taking extra care to polish a beautiful mosaic decorating the inside of an archway. Thousands of small, colorful shards lined neatly together to form the image of a bold Tatooine sunset. One of the few grand beauties your home planet was known for. A surprisingly lovely work of art left behind, albeit not properly cared for, by the previous inhabitants of the palace.

You admire the artwork for a while after polishing it to near perfection, letting your bum fall to the floor and legs splay out comfortably in front of you. Your wrists support your upper body, arms holding you up as you lean back onto them, head tilting lazily to one side.

You find yourself distracted from your glossed over gaze by Boba, who seems to have wandered his way in here for the third time today. Enzo tails him a few paces behind, but stops to stand guard idly by the door. You can’t imagine he or Raul feel as though they serve any real purpose wandering these empty halls, probably much preferring when they get to patrol the throne room or secure the perimeter.  

Boba approaches you, pausing over your fatigued form and huffing out a laugh when you don’t move to stand, instead opting to gaze up at him with tired, doe eyes. He holds a hand out to you and you groan, placing your palm in his as he hoists you up.

“The room looks lovely.” He says, voice raspy through the modulator as he looks around.

The praise makes you smile. “Come see what I found,” You say, leading him by the hand. You open a large dresser to the right, stuffed full of old vinyls and a polished record player sitting proudly atop. You carefully choose a record, placing it beneath the needle and starting the track, allowing it to play soothingly in the background as you guide him around the rest of the room.

He follows you around, listening to you babble about the lovely art on the ceiling and how nice the light looks coming through the one, boxy window at the top. He watches the childlike sparkle and admiration in your eyes as you point out different things you’ve noticed, the excitement trickling out in your tone.

His mind contemplates how different this life is from the one you used to have. You went from a one room, compact home, just barely big enough for your small bed, to a palace filled with grand staircases, hallways and countless bedrooms, a blissful dream in your eyes. Nevermind the fact that you were still stuck on Tatooine. In fact, you seemed happy to stay, oddly attached to the sandy planet, something Boba found amusing.

A couple trips around the room later, and a few songs having gone by, the two of you now stand in the center of the empty room. Him, groaning in protest, and you, placing his hand on your waist yet again. You’ve spent the last few minutes trying to teach him a basic waltz, something your father had taught you when you were little. A rare memory you shared with him before he...well-  

“Boba,” You scold with a giggle, “Try again.” Your request earns you another frustrated grumble from your partner. At some point you were able to coerce him into dancing with you, having pleaded desperately when your favorite classic came on. “C’mon, you nearly had it that time!”

He sighs loudly, tilting his helmet in an exasperated fashion. “Last time,” He says with finality, his finger raised in your direction.

You nod your head, an amused grin spread wide on your face.

He holds tight to your waist and reaches for your other hand, a final effort to humor you.

“And...1, 2, 3...1, 2, 3..” You begin moving again to the music, trying to swallow the snicker working its way up at the image of your armored partner staring at your feet for guidance. Visor following your every move, looking unsure and sloppy and quite honestly graceless.

You jump at the voice of a forgotten presence in the room.

“No! No, no, no, boss.” Enzo finally pipes up, his silent and judgemental self unable to be contained any longer. He moves forward with a swagger in his step as he struts towards you from his previous position against the wall, “You’ve gotta lead her by the waist,” He says pointedly, reaching for you “Observe-”

Boba’s arm shoots out, blocking Enzo by the pauldron, “You touch her, you're a dead man.” He growls, deflecting his attempt to take you by the waist.

You jerk slightly at the interaction, rolling your eyes and waiting for the show of dominance to subside.

Enzo’s hands raise in surrender, bowing away respectfully before returning to his earlier stance, no doubt a grin slapped on beneath his visor.

Boba’s hand returns to your waist with a shake of his head, noting your half-suppressed chuckle, evidently amused by the encounter.  

“Alright,” He grunts, “once more.”

You start counting aloud, moving at a pace Boba can keep up with. You step out on the final eight count and slowly twirl back into his arms, your back now braced against his front. He tugs at your hips, holding you closer, “Mm,” He hums in your ear as you sway in your position, “Well I do like this.”

The sound of his accented voice filtering through the modulator sends a shiver down your spine, and you breathe out a light exhale as he releases you a moment later, turning you to face him.

“See,” You sigh, “You can dance.”

He hums in response, turning around to retrieve his weapon.

You move to face your hired gun, again leaning casually against the entryway.

“Do you actually know how to dance, Enzo?” You ask, reflecting on his earlier attempt at an intervention.

“-Wouldn’t matter if he did.” Boba interjects loudly over his shoulder, dismissing any ideas before they transpired.

You hear a light chuckle emitting through Enzo’s modulator, turning back to see his stance remaining motionless aside from the slight jerk in his shoulders.

Boba returns to your side, tapping his forehead against yours in an obvious farewell.

Your head falls heavily to one side as you tenderly hold one of his gloved hands, fingers tracing the rough fabric of his own. “Is that all the time you’ve allotted for me today, my king?” You say, a teasing smile pulling at your lips.

“Duty calls, I’m afraid.” He replies, “But perhaps I’ll come find you in a bit, see what further progress you’ve made.”

You nod, a slight frown tugging on your lips. You hesitate raising the concern suddenly weighing in your mind.

Ever since the incident with Crane occurred, Boba’s been...watchful. It’s not that he wasn’t protective of you before, it’s just that in the past few days he’s been protective of you in an entirely different way. He’s been hovering and checking in on you almost compulsively. Whereas before he seemed to want to keep you away during the busy hours of his day, now he seemed to want you near enough to reach in a moment's notice. Almost as if he’s worried you’ll abandon him when he’s not looking.

You wonder how he can still feel so worried after sharing such a fun and intimate moment with you.

So, you’ve given him some extra leeway, allowing him to hover to his heart's content until he seems secure in knowing that you’re not going anywhere.

That being said, you really didn’t mind Boba’s loitering close by to wherever you happened to be, you only wish you knew he wasn’t doing it because of the events that conspired earlier in the week.

“Boba,” You say lightly, catching his arm as he turns. “You don’t need to keep checking up on me, I’m not...you know I’m not going anywhere, right?”

He pauses at your words, hands stilling in their endeavor to tighten up loosened pieces of clothing and armor. You hope you haven't upset him in calling out his unusual conduct.

He averts his gaze to the side, pausing a moment before turning back to you. “I know.” He says nodding, a slight hint of defeat in his tone.

You hope perhaps some flattery will comfort him, stepping closer and lifting your gaze to meet his own. “My king,” you say in admiration, “You are a very busy man. You have a planet to rule. And an underworld to dominate. There are many things that I know put strain and worry in your mind, but whether or not your partner will still be here when you go looking for her should not be one of them.”

He doesn’t make any movements, and the face of his visor does little to allow you access to his thoughts.

“What I mean to say is,” You continue, “Go rule your empire. Your princess is safely stashed away in the palace you’ve encompassed her in.”

He breathes out a chuckle, and you smile, “I am happier here with you than I ever thought I’d be. I don’t want to be anywhere you won't be too, Boba Fett.” You reiterate your words from your conversation a few days ago. One that both started and ended with the two of you in tears. A rare moment between the two of you indeed. An exceedingly painful incident for him, having showcased the true depth of his love for you in such an unexpected and vulnerable way. And for you, to have seen the strongest and most fearless man you have ever known brought down to his knees, in tears, was absolutely gut-wrenching, especially in knowing that his own insecurities about your love had driven him to feel such fear.

You squeeze his arm and kiss the cheek of his helmet in valediction. His unmoving visor lingering on your face for an extended moment.  

Boba’s hand makes its way to the back of your head, pulling you forward slightly before gently meeting you in the middle with his own helmet. Your foreheads pressed together in an intimate and tender kiss.

He pulls away silently, giving you a nod, a gesture you return with a small smile before watching him exit the room, Enzo in tow.

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

You make your way to the kitchens, stomach growling unhappily at having been neglected all afternoon. 

You pause under the doorway.

“I’ve seen you far too much today,” You sigh, feigning exasperation at the sight of Enzo shifting through the pantry for a meal to take to his room.

He stops his digging, turning to face you standing under the doorway before spinning back around.

“Vod’ika,” He greets, “Soup?” He holds a can up over his shoulder while reaching for a pot below the stove.

“No, thanks.” You say, approaching his station.

You pick up the canister of tomato soup, looking it over. “I doubt this tiny thing is even enough for just you.”

He glances down at the can in your hand. “I’ll do two then.”

You roll your eyes, what is it with these massive Mandalorians and not understanding proper nourishment?

“No, no.” You chide, “At least attempt to incorporate a healthy balance into your diet. Something with protein, maybe? Make a grilled porg-and-cheese melt to go with the soup. You can dip it in the broth, it’s delicious.”

His teal visor meets your face, shifting in uncertainty. “Can you do it?”

You sigh, “Fine.”

You get out the sandwich makings, opting to make one for yourself as well. You smear the bantha butter along four pieces of bread and grill them on a pan, layering sliced porg and cheese slices afterward.

You hear footsteps approaching the kitchen just as you’re pulling the finished sandwiches off the stove.

“Raul!” You greet with a smile, Enzo’s head whips in your direction. “We’re making sandwiches, want one?”

“You never sound that excited to see me.” Enzo declares.

You giggle at the accusation, sliding his sandwich onto a plate and handing it to him.

“Can I make you one, Raul?” You repeat.

He sighs, “No kid, thank you.” He steps forward and pulls Enzo’s plate from his hands, placing it away from him on the counter.

“Aye!” Enzo protests, wanting to transport his hot meal to his room so he could eat.

“We work for her,” Raul says, articulating the ‘we’ with an exaggerated hand gesture between the two of them. “You should be making her sandwich, not the other way around.”

“Oh, don’t be silly.” You groan, looking between the pair of Mandalorians.

“Yeah, Raul,” Enzo mocks, a slightly more threatening air to his tone. He retrieves the stolen soup and sandwich, “Don’t be a di’kut.”

Raul’s helmet tilts slightly at Enzo’s words. Not knowing exactly what the word means, but starting to get an unsettling feeling in your stomach, you attempt to intervene, “Guys-”

Just a moment too late.

Raul clamps a hand on Enzo’s arm, jolting him back from trying to pass him. His hand smacks the plate out of Enzo’s hand, the glass shattering before it even reaches the floor, and the soup and sandwich splattering everywhere.

“I made that-” You frown.

Now with two free hands, Enzo grips Raul’s shoulders and shoves him back against the brick ovens, a rough grunt escaping Raul when his helmet meets the open face of a hanging pan.

“Please stop-” You yelp, wincing as Enzo’s fist uppercuts into the weak spot under Raul’s helmet.

For being half a head shorter and not as obviously built as his opponent, the Mandalorian in black and teal armor could sure hold his own.

Raul spits something out in mando’a, his words seething as he grabs onto the cuff of the smaller Mandalorians neck covering and throws him with little exertion to the floor. You hear the crunching of glass beneath Raul’s boots as he growls with a foot on pressing to Enzo’s chest in an effort to force him into submission.

“-I wish you guys wouldn’t always do this.” You sigh, not bothering to shout anymore over the sound of beskar scraping against beskar.

You slide from your seat, taking your sandwich with you as you circle around the room to avoid becoming collateral damage in the red Mandalorian’s show of dominance.

“I have never witnessed two people fight over something so stupid in my life!” You call out behind you, tearing a piece of your sandwich off and popping it into your mouth. Leaving the sound of metal crashing against stone behind you.

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

You sigh when you finally reach your room, ascending the steps inside your chambers to reach the bedroom. You’re about to sit down on the bed when you catch sight of your reflection, covered in dust patches and knee stains from when you scrubbed against the floor.  You opt to take a quick shower instead, washing out all the grime gathered in your hair and skin.

It takes a couple minutes of harsh scrubbing for the water to stop running off your body brown. You take extra care to wash behind your ears and around your hairline, where dirt likes to plant itself firmly.

You turn the water off when the last few soap suds slide off your hair, wrapping yourself in a warm towel.

Taking a glance out the window, you note that the suns are already setting low on the horizon, and resign yourself to just staying in for the rest of the night.

You pull on a slip dress and wrap yourself in Boba’s robe, inhaling his comforting, musky scent. You reach for your book on the nightstand before lighting a couple of candles around the space, creating a warm and cozy environment.  

Satisfied with the aesthetic you set around you, you plop down on your bed and hope to get a few chapters into your novel before Boba gets home. Admittedly getting distracted a couple times by the stunning, shaded view out your window, exposing you to the last few moments of the captivating sunset.  

Boba comes home a little over an hour later, the glow in your chambers now reduced to only a few lamps and the candlelight spread about your room, but enough to alert Boba of your presence.

You hear his heavy armored footsteps trudging up towards the bedroom. You turn your head expectantly when he reaches the top. Helmet in hand, he pauses for a moment upon seeing you, admiring the image of your figure wrapped up in his robe and curled up with a book, before stepping forward and greeting you with a kiss.

He pulls back, gaze immediately flickering to the window, probably having noticed it immediately upon entering the room but choosing to greet you before acknowledging it.

You groan internally, knowing what's coming.

“Mesh’la,” He hums, frowning at the open curtains exposing you to the darkness of the Tatooine night. A few dim lights from Mos Eisley shining in the distance. He steps forward to slide the curtains closed, you don’t complain, only having wanted them open for sunset. “What have I told you, little one? It's not safe to have these open.”

“I only just opened them, Boba.” You fib a little, hoping to reassure him.

He nods, unconvinced, before beginning to strip himself of his armor. You observe him unlatch the beskar piece-by-piece, placing the armor neatly in its designated chest.

He groans loudly when he sinks down beside you, arms raising behind his head.

You giggle at his tired show of soreness, eyes still glued to the pages of your book. “Old man,” You mutter.

“Watch it.” He growls lowly. You glance a peek at him, eyes closed heavily against his cheeks.

You ponder your bravery for a moment, sticking your nose back in your book before impulsively whispering, “Relic.” You shriek, bursting into a fit of laughter as he suddenly reaches over and wrestles the book out of your hands, using it to plant a harsh smack on your behind.

“Boba Fett!” You squeal, hands moving to shield your bum as the vibrations from his deep laugh shake the bed.

Still holding the book up in a threatening manner, a childlike gleam in his eyes, he challenges you, “Apologize.”

You consider tossing another remark out, eyes darting to the book in his hand, before deciding against it tonight.

Instead, you hoist yourself up onto your knees, allowing his robe to slowly slide down your form and meet the duvet, revealing the thin slip below. His closed-lip smile increases a little, eyes tracing down your form, book lowering slightly in the space above where he lay.

You crawl forward until your chest hovers above him, noses nearly touching, “My apologies, my king.” You whisper, pressing a kiss to his lips.

He deepens the kiss with a groan, your hand reaching back to grip your novel, which he allows you to slip from his fingers.

You let him attack you lips for another moment before you pull away. Having gotten what you wanted, you shift back to your side of the bed, turning to the page you left off at.

A deep chuckle rumbles out from Boba’s chest. “Alright, little one.” He says, “I'll let you play your game.”

He turns the light out on his side of the bed, pulling the blankets out and over the two of you before moving to embrace your form, leaning close to whisper in your ear, “-this time.”

A shiver runs down your spine and you try to resist the smile tugging at your lips, though you feel his own brushing against your ear in satisfaction.

“Tomorrow,” He says, shifting a little above you, “I’m heading into Mos Eisley with Fennec.

“What for?” You ask, finally marking your page and setting it aside.

“Nothing,” He grumbles, “I need to put on a little show of...authority, for a few people.”

You hum, “No big deal?” You question.

“Just a local inconvenience.” He gripes.

You nod slightly, not requiring any elaboration. You suppose you’ll have to entertain yourself tomorrow. “Well then, maybe I’ll have Raul teach me how to wield a dagger,” You quip, a grin back on your face.

Boba huffs out an amused puff of air, “I’d much prefer you with a blaster.” He says, apparently taking the idea seriously, “You don’t need to be up close to use it.”

“We’ll see then,” You say, standing to turn out the rest of the lights.

A single lit candle from your bedside table casts a warm glow over Boba’s face, eyes closed and head still leaning back against your bed-frame pillow.

“Get back on your side,” You chuckle, nudging him as you crawl back into your space.

“M’fine here.” He mumbles, leaning further over onto your pillow.

You smile, his body encasing yours and his nose presses into your neck.

“I’ll be fine here too you know.” You mutter, referencing the day you’ll be spending without his guard. 

“You finally gonna stop worrying about me?” You tease, having received no response.

He shakes his head, snuggling deeper into your neck, “Never.”

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

A/N pt.2:  So I wrote this and I thought it was great then I read it back a few times and realized literally nothing happened haha im so sorry 😅😅😅

Literally spent too many hours on this not to upload though so I suppose here’s a filler chapter my bad lots of love 🥰

[slasherwife]

hey hey hey ✨ how are you? ♥ ️me? new request hihi so i'm good. Why not a fic with either Loki or Geralt where after a long time they meet Reader again, but each thought the other was dead pwease ♥️✨

“My Heart Returns...”

LokixReader

by jena marie

Summary:

Reader and Loki reunite after several years of thinking one another were dead. Warnings: mention of suicide, extreme angst, death, but fluffy ending uWu.

thank you so much for sending in requests @seutarose pLEASEE send in more! i’m so bored haha 😊💜💜🌸🌸

I wrote one for Loki since dis boi has only one fic so here you go!! 💕💕💕💕 it’s kinda itty bitty long (i kinda went crazy XD) but i hope you like it!

It was like an eternity without passion. Without affection, caring for nothing. His eyes, empty. Lips, always open yet never moving. His gaze was the stare of a snake, piercing yet flat— like he stared right through anyone who dare to draw his gaze. Empty as he was, the only person who could ever really make him talk was his dear brother. Thor visited him regularly, which was at the cottage on the beach where Loki and his love were supposed to live, undisturbed and peaceful. He built it before returning to Asgard, where he fought his older sister and escaped with Y/n. She was put in a different ship, but he sent messages about the cottage that they would live in with great joy and compassion.

The first stage of Loki, a troubled, timid, yet calculating boy turned man. The second, overturned with greed and envy, pushed to torture and murder and take. Then the third. It was born out of an image that Y/n had saw in him. As she described him, he was nothing short of an angel, composed out of pure light. Because what Loki let her see, he never revealed to others. He was only ever kind to her, only ever a gentleman to her. Only ever himself with her. Vulnerable. He saw what she was— something innocent, capable, maybe naive, but could see nothing but love and kindness in every person’s eyes. If anything, she was the angel. Even from her first breath, she was so sweet. He didn’t know where she came from, it was like he was manipulating his family, and betraying his people, and all the sudden this woman with a soul woven from flower-petals and diamonds, and galaxies for bones came into his life and loved him like he was the only thing that mattered. In what world, what universe or dimension is that sensible?

Now she’s buried somewhere. Thanos, tearing through the galaxies and stars came to where she was put, taking care of the old folks and children on a separate ship, and demanded her an answer to every question he asked. He knew about Loki’s lover, since Thor and Frigga couldn’t shut up about her since they found out she was courting the prince of Asgard. They made sure everyone knew, which was of course before Thanos was even heard of within a 20000 light-year radius.

She was cooperative. Not warm, not kind, but cooperative. That was until he asked where Loki was. Her lips were open, ready to answer, but then she closed them.

Five minutes of more refusing silence passed, and she was dead on the floor. Blood pouring from her back as her skin whitened and her eyes paled.

It was something Thor never wanted to tell him, but he found out anyway. No man or woman wants to hear what Loki did that day.

Then Thanos found where Loki was anyway.

All she remembers is waking up in a field of yellow flowers, and being immediately comforted. But if she remembers further, she also recalls hearing a piercing cry, a scream. Loki’s scream in a void of darkness, before opening her eyes against the sun of the tulip field.

Then, waking up in the field. She was on Earth, and she asked everywhere of what had happened to the ship set off for Earth, a few hundred light years away. No one knew. And it never arrived. That only meant one thing. Her love was lost. Without a proper funeral, he was gone.

She stayed on Earth for several months, like a tortured and lost soul, waiting for someone who she couldn’t name.

It was like she could still feel him, feel that he was close. Yet the truth kept punching her in the gut whenever she felt hope.

That was, until she saw him. Thor had come to visit her grave. He reasons that he never brought up your name in his presence, let alone suggest that Loki visit your grave— because when he even spoke of you indirectly, his eyes twist into complete agony. His expression as if someone had lit him on fire. He missed you indefinitely, irrevocably, and so immensely that every second of the day was misery. The only reason he didn’t end his life was because he wanted to stay strong for you, and it was hard.

Thor watched, thinking that he was hallucinating, seeing her grave dug up and her casket empty. He went searching, and found Y/n by a lake, having lost a lot of weight, only fed by berries and grass. Her dress was torn, caked with mud. And yet, her beauty still glowed like the brilliance of a thousand suns.

They embraced, and Thor took her to Loki after she had washed and put on a new dress.

The joy and relief was unexplainable. The flowers in her bones were immortal, ever glowing and ever living.

Loki opened the door to their home he had built with his own hands, and he saw his heart and soul standing in front of him, looking up at him with those e/c eyes, with wonder and love. She broke seeing him, and it was like her body had a mind of its own. She practically threw herself at him, sobbing with her arms wrapped firmly around his neck. He was stunned. In shock. His heart returned to him. Loki saw that the moment they saw each other for the first time in years. He almost went into a panic attack, smelling her scent and feeling her soft hair under his chin. He was hyperventilating, eyes wide, running his hands all over her squeezing her tightly with tears in his eyes. He didn’t know what to do.

He thought he was having another hallucination, and yet couldn’t convince himself. She was iridescent. Years and years and years of pent up despair and loneliness spilled out in that moment. Tears spilled endlessly the first hour, and she clung to him like he was her lifeline.

Once they made their way inside and the tears were gone, they held each other for hours. No words, just touch. Her face was buried in the crook of his neck, and he was wrapped around her in a giant teddy-bear hug. The sun went down and they slept like that.

In the morning, they started to talk. Small things. Simple things. They were confessing their love for one another like there was no tomorrow. And so much touching but a little toned down than the day before. Not sexual in any way, just pure love.

They never looked at each other the same way again. If you thought he looked at her sweetly before the incident, this is nothing compared to that. His eyes fill with nothing but hearts as his eye brows arch and his heartbeat picks up. They’re always touching when around each other. Good luck getting him to focus when she’s around.

They seemed to never leave their cottage. Loki was glad there weren’t any people around, because he wanted her gaze all to himself. They walked along the shore, talking endlessly about anything and everything, laughing, kissing, hugging. They put every love story to shame. They weren’t seen for months, and yet they were so happy with each other that they didn’t care that they were practically shutting everyone else out.

But above all, when Loki heard that Y/n was dead, he died with her. But when he saw her again, it was like his own soul was hiding, buried underneath empty liquor bottles and painkillers. All the torture was washed away, like it never existed.

And now he can talk with passion again. He can care about things. He can think. He can live, laugh, and love with her by his side, forever.

[fan-writer02]

Have a blind Astrid AU. I don’t think I’ve posted this one yet, truth be told, I can’t remember. XD But if I did just lemme know and I’ll delete it. This isn’t much anyhow, just a pointless drabble I wrote up for no good reason. I just figured, what if Astrid was somehow wounded in the battled against Grimmel, and loses her sight? Here’s a little insight on the subject. (haha, I’m so funny :PP)

Memory 

People would ask: How much do you remember? She would always laugh, because it seemed like they expected her to forget. How could she forget when it was all she had?

He had a round nose. Big emerald eyes (Not green, they were more then that. They shone and sparkled.) and big ears. He had a gap-toothed smile- auburn hair. With her little braids behind those comical ears of his. And... he'd had hair constantly flapping over his eyes. She'd brush it aside. He'd grin. 

Oh. He had freckles. So many freckles. All across his nose and cheeks, the back of his neck. On his shoulders. His hands, even. 

And scars. His left leg was only half there. He had a scar on his chin, a long smooth white scar on his right hand. And an entire chip out of his left index finger was gone. From the forge work. He had a splattered burn scar below his elbow. 

He was tall. Taller then Fishlegs. But he'd never been as tall as Stoick. She was okay with that, for if he'd been any taller, she wouldn't be able to plant a kiss on his cheek. 

Once, after they'd married, he'd begun to let his peach fuzz grow. She'd betted he wouldn't be able to grow a beard at all "with those chin whiskers", but turned out he could. At first, she wasn't sure she liked it. Now, she loved it. And not just for the appeal, but also the sensible part of it as well. She could easily kiss him now without missing his lips. (And Hiccup had gloated it up, that cheeky blither. Telling her he'd finally beat her at something: growing whiskers. She'd threatened to shave it off while he slept, though she never ever would even if she wanted to.)

She remembered, a few months after the "incident", Hiccup had been extra quiet one evening as they sat in front of the fire. She prompted him to tell her what was wrong, and finally he did. 

"My braids." He said lowly. He paused, and she waited. "I- they've fallen out now. Both of them." 

Her heart danced. So he did like them. Of course he did, she knew he did, no matter how many times he said they bugged him. A smile tickled the corner of her lips.

"Yes?" She prompted. 

He shifted uncomfortably. "Um... W-well... to tell the truth, I was sort of wondering- well you see..." 

She laughed quietly and turned in his arms. She lifted her hands, gently searching for his ears. They weren't hard to find, and she tugged on them teasingly before grabbing a hunk of hair behind them, twisting them into tight little plaques. 

It took a few tries to tie the ends, but she'd got them eventually. After the first one, she'd done a second, then a third. Then a fourth. It wasn't until she started a fifth that Hiccup protested.

"Geez, Astrid!" 

She bit her lip to keep from giggling. She finished it off, then with a little ruffle of his hair, she patted his head playfully.

"There, beautiful! I can't even see and I can tell you look like a spring daisy." This time, she did laugh. 

Hiccup grumbled about it some more, saying he'd only wanted two braids at the most, but she noticed how he didn't take them out. She made it a habit to check, and if a few were missing, she added another. 

It was one of the things they could still do together. 

But Hiccup was amazing. She'd never loved him more for it, because no matter the mistakes she made, he never gave up on her. He helped her practice throwing a weighted axe. He led her by her arm about the new Berk, helping her to get used to the roads to and from different places, and describing the progress of huts being built. The Great Hall was newly finished, so she often times found herself taking her well memorized path to it, where she'd find Valka dealing with small chiefly matter that Hiccup assigned her to.

He would always make sure she had what she needed without making it feel like she was being babysat. At first, he was clingy, staying with her wherever she went. After telling him he needed to attend his duties as chief (with assistance from Valka, Gobber, and the gang, who all urged him to do the same) he finally left her side. She appreciated his concern of course, but... she wasn't used to being so dependent. Now, she'd just have to let one of the neighbors know when she was going out, which had taken some time for her to actually give in and do. But when she realized how worried Hiccup was when she didn't, she'd swallowed her pride and done it. Plus... the "neighbors" were only Fishlegs and the twins, so it wasn't so hard.

It took getting used to, that's for sure. Especially without Stormfly...

She quickly shoved that thought out of her mind. She mustn't think about that, lest she wanted to cry.

And now, here she was, exploring one of the newest streets of Berk, lined by huts and a brand spanken new bakery. The smell of freshly baked bread tempted her to the shop door. She carefully lifted her booted foot and searched for the step. Upon finding it, she entered the room.

"Lady Astrid! What a pleasure to have you m'dear! Cookies? Straight oughta the oven!" The lovely smell wafted about her, and she readily agreed.

As she munched the cookie, she let the robust woman lead her to a table. Said woman rambled on, proudly explaining what had been done to make the building as fine as it was. (Or so she said. For all Astrid knew the walls could be a wild assortment of blue's, greens, yellows, and polka dots with stripes.)

After being trapped into talking with the proud woman for about an hour, Astrid finally managed to leave. She nearly tripped over the forgotten step, but quickly caught herself before she fell flat on her face. She scolded herself under her breath for neglecting to remember it was there. She had to get better at that. She back tracked down the street the way she came. The air was cool, the sun must've set. And as full as her belly was with three cookies and a slice of bread, she longed for something warm and sustaining. So, she turned left and headed up the familiar path for the Great Hall. She hoped Hiccup could be found there. But she didn't even have a chance to reach it before someone stepped up beside her from the few mingling people in the street. She stiffened only for a moment, relaxing when she realized it was Hiccup himself. She was surprised she hadn't noticed him approaching, usually she could hear the pattern of his feet. He shuffled more then others, with his leg.

A kiss pecked her cheek, and she smiled. "Hello, my beautiful wife." Hiccup sniffed. "Ohh, you smell good. Better then usual." 

"I stopped at Mrs. Angus's bakery. She preened like a bird."

Hiccup laughed, tucking an arm around her waist and pulling her close. "I'm sure! She was a tyrant to work for, though. Picky as picky could be. The first building on that block to be completed, all the fellows were fed up working for her." 

They walked in silence for a few seconds. Hiccup moved his arm from around her waist to pick up her hand, instead. Astrid's heart burst with happiness. She knew people might look at her and feel pity, but by golly, she couldn't remember a happier time in her life.

Who needed to see when she had everything she had? A loving and supportive husband, great friends, and a lovely home. Even without the sense of sight, she could tell New Berk was beautiful. And no matter what happened, she couldn't be more grateful for what she had. She just couldn't think about what she was living without, and all would be well.

[iamanartichoke]

Can I still send smth for "i wish u would write a fic where”? Cause I've just seen this on twitter: ✨incorrect thor & loki ✨‏ @wrongbrodinsons "loki: what would the chef recommend? waiter: sir, this is mcdonalds thor: please excuse my brother, he’s not familiar with earth etiquette. what would the McChef recommend?" and absolutely need a fan fic with this convo here lol

Okay, so, I just want to disclaim this particular response by saying that Brodinson silliness isn’t generally my fic forte (much as my shitposting their Midgardian adventures might have you believe otherwise) so … this is just what came out. There’s some angst, some silliness, and a lot of drunk!Brodinsons and it’s super long because I am me, and I apologize. Also, I didn’t really revise this because if I think about it too much, I won’t post it, haha. I’m not super confident in it, but I hope you enjoy it anyway! Thanks for the challenging prompt, I do like to try things outside of my comfort zone. :) 

Word Count: 2485 

It is after their fifth bottle of whiskey that Thor’s eyes brighten with the kind of mischief he only adopts when he’s good and inebriated. Loki groans as he sees the look shift swiftly across Thor’s features. “No,” he says simply, taking another swig from his bottle. The whiskey is not bad, but it is not good either. However, most Midgardian liquors do absolutely nothing for either of them, and the few that do have an effect must be consumed in copious amounts.

It is one of the things Loki misses about Asgard, how sweet wine and mead would flow steadily at feasts and meals or in the taverns deep into the night. He misses the days when he and Thor would share ale over a fire, talking of the day’s exploits and laughing in sync. Once, life had been simple, if not necessarily good.

“What,” Thor says, raising an eyebrow at Loki. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to. I know that look,” Loki points out with a roll of his eyes. He and Thor, in a rare mood that had struck them both after the evening meal, have settled themselves on the back porch of their apartment, their alcohol on a small table between their two chairs. The chairs are something called lounge chairs, which allow them to lean back and stretch their legs out comfortably. It was an undignified way to sit, to be sure, but Loki had to admit that he enjoyed the laziness of it, especially as he felt himself grow more intoxicated.

Thor plays innocent. He takes a long swig, finishing off the bottle he’d been nursing for awhile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Loki. I was just thinking we should get something to eat.”

“We just ate the evening meal about two hours ago,” Loki points out.

“Yes, but drinking always makes me hungry. You know this,” Thor returns. “Anyway, haven’t you ever heard of a midnight snack?”

Loki rolls his eyes. “No, Thor. As a matter of fact, I have not heard of a midnight snack. Why don’t you enlighten me?”

Thor gives his deep, rumbling laugh, which lasts just a moment too long. At this rate, Loki thinks wryly as he brings his bottle back to his lips, he will be pouring Thor into bed within the hour. Loki himself has been going much more slowly, allowing the warmth of the whiskey to work through him slowly and steadily. He is not sober, but nor is he as drunk as Thor. It’s a safe place to be.

“A midnight snack,” Thor explains, sitting up a bit and fixing Loki with an earnest stare, as if he is about to provide him with the answers to the universe, “is a snack … which is eaten at or close to midnight.”

Loki waits for him to continue. When he doesn’t, Loki cannot help his own laughter. Thor is such a dope, he thinks fondly. Loki may be more drunk than he’d realized, because it suddenly seems very funny instead of irritating. “You might have to write that one down for me, brother,” is all he says. “I might not remember your detailed and thorough explanation, otherwise.”

“True enough,” Thor agrees, with another laugh. He picks up a new bottle of whiskey, uncapping it easily as he settles back into his chair. “So, what say you, brother? Do you want to go on an adventure?” He gives a grin and wiggles his eyebrows a bit.

“Hmm. I rather think I’ve had enough adventure to last awhile.” Loki extends the bottle in his hand, swirling it around to determine how much is left. A fair amount, but less than he expected. “Don’t you?”

“Never,” Thor answers earnestly. “As long as I have a heart that beats, it will beat in tune to the battle cry of Asgard, it will echo glory and honor to Valhalla itself, it will -”

“Norns, I’m sorry I asked,” Loki cuts him off. “I used to hate that, you know,” he adds. He feels languid, lethargic, and the words slip from his tongue before he realizes he’d been thinking them. Once they are out, it is too late to swallow them back down again. He sips his whiskey, avoiding Thor’s gaze.

“Hate what?”

Loki waves a hand. “Your … unquenchable thirst for battle,” he elaborates. “I never understood why anyone would willingly seek out battle. Defending yourself is one thing, but …” He trails off, lifts his shoulders. “You never lost that, you know? That battle-lust. You were taken down a few pegs, to be sure, but you seek battle as ferociously as you ever have.” Loki grins, despite himself. “You’re just not so irritating about it anymore.”

Thor tilts his head, his eye flicking over Loki. He does not look unpleased with the assessment, but for a long while, he does not say anything, either. Finally, after a particularly large swallow of whiskey, he says, “I think that’s the most you’ve really said to me at one time in … quite a long time.”

“I speak to you all the time,” Loki reminds him.

“No, you don’t.” Thor adjusts himself slightly, crossing one ankle over the other. “You respond to me. You offer your opinion, warranted or not. Occasionally you make a joke. But you don’t speak to me about how you feel. You don’t speak to me about our lives before … well, everything. You don’t even mention Asgard anymore, though the wound must still be as fresh for you as it is for me.”

Loki does not speak of Asgard because speaking about it will not bring it back. He feels a slight twitch in his chest, where his heart lies. Indeed, the wound is fresh, but that is one of the many differences between himself and Thor. Loki nurses his wounds privately, bandaging them up with silence and repression, while Thor lets his bleed for everyone to see. “It would serve little purpose to speak of,” Loki answers, resting his head against the back of his chair. His face feels warm, which is one of the tell-tale signs that he is growing less sober.

“Perhaps,” Thor agrees, to Loki’s surprise. “But I wish you would try more often.”

A silence falls over them, weighted with all of the things they have not said. Loki takes a very long swallow of his drink, finishing off the rest of the bottle in one sip. He is sorry he said anything, sorry that his words punctured the relative peace that they’d had before. “Okay,” he says, setting his bottle down a bit too hard on the table. “Let’s go on an adventure.”

“What?” Thor blinks.

“I’ve had a change of heart,” Loki tells him, sitting up. His head spins. He was going to be feeling this tomorrow. “Come on, before it changes again.”

At once, Thor’s face splits into his wide, brilliant smile. Norns, but Loki loves that stupid smile. He is inebriated enough to admit to himself, but still sensible enough not to speak it aloud. Thor does not need any more reason to be arrogant. “Rhodey told me of a restaurant,” Thor says as he stands and offers Loki his hand. Loki grasps it, and Thor pulls him up, and they both stumble a bit.

“You big oaf,” Loki grumbles, righting himself.

“Rhodey told me of a restaurant,” Thor continues, as if Loki had not spoken, “where one might find a spectacular midnight snack. I believe he said it’s called McDonalds.”

“All right,” Loki says, weaving carefully around Thor to the patio door. “Is it far?”

“Only a few blocks. Now, brother,” Thor begins, setting his expression very straight, “this is an adventure, a quest, which we cannot fail. It must be treated with the utmost care and precision.”

“I didn’t know you knew the definition of those words.”

“Shut up. We must move quietly, stealthily, lest the others see what we are doing.”

“Thor,” Loki says, growing more amused by the moment, “no one else is here.”

“That we know of,” Thor retorts. He gives Loki a little nudge and Loki rolls his eyes, but he carefully opens the patio door and slips inside. The apartment is dim, but not dark. Thor, practically on Loki’s heels, keeps whispering, “Shhh!”

“I didn’t say anything,” Loki retorts, and stumbles over one of Thor’s discarded boots. “Shit. Thor, how many times -”

Thor clamps his hand over Loki’s mouth, giving him a frown of disapproval. Loki wants to snicker, but refrains. He has forgotten how truly silly Thor can be, when the mood strikes just right. When Thor removes his hand, Loki speaks again, in an exaggerated whisper.

“How many times have I told you not to leave your damn boots around?”

“I don’t remember.” Thor leans over and scoops up the boot, shoving it on before searching for its mate. Loki waits patiently for him. He cannot help a snicker when Thor steps too widely and loses his balance, collapsing onto the sofa.

“What were you saying about stealth, brother?”

Thor shoots Loki a glare, but it does not hold more than a few seconds before his own face collapses into amusement. When he finally finishes putting on his boots, they waste another few minutes searching for their keys, wallets, all manner of trinkets that one must carry everywhere with him on Midgard. Once they have thoroughly prepared for their adventure, they set off into the cool evening, Thor banging the door closed rather loudly behind them.

“You never were very good at sneaking around,” Loki remarks. He wobbles a bit as they begin walking, and Thor must notice, for he reaches out and grips Loki’s arm. Loki responds by gripping Thor back, until they are clinging to one another as if they were mere boys. “Do you remember when we’d sneak into the kitchen after evening meal for pastries?”

“Oh, yes!” Thor seems to have completely forgotten stealth; his voice booms around them, deep and warm. It sends a reverberating shiver weaving through Loki’s ribs. Neither of them are walking in a particularly straight line, Loki notices with amusement. All of this is so terribly funny. “We got caught more times than not, I believe.”

“Yes, because you were utterly incapable of stealth,” Loki reminds him. “You’d crash about, pretend we were sword-ing through dragons and beasts -” He cuts himself off and starts laughing. “Oh my, did you hear me lose that verb? Sword fighting, I meant to say.”

“Yes, hold on.” Thor lets go of Loki enough to bend over, pretending to fumble around on the ground. He comes back up a moment later, victory in his grin. He extends a hand to Loki. “I believe you dropped your verb, good sir.”

“Oh, thank you so much,” Loki says, plucking the empty air from Thor’s palm and making a show of tucking it into his pocket. “I’ll just leave that there, in case I need it later. Thank you kindly, my friend.”

“That is what heroes do,” Thor answers with an exaggerated swagger, which throws both of them off balance. It sets Loki off again, and when Thor laughs with him, his eye twinkles with more than just inebriation. It is happiness, Loki realizes.

By the time they get to the restaurant, neither of them are taking anything seriously. Which is likely a good thing, because Loki is immediately appalled upon entering the brightly-lit building. “Now, Loki,” Thor says seriously as, for some bizarre reason, they approach the counter. It is relatively empty, but the servants on the opposite side of the counter are looking at Thor and Loki warily. “This is not a usual restaurant. We must order and pay first, and then choose our own table.”

Loki looks at him as if he has lost his mind. It is entirely possible that he has. Still, Thor strides forward confidently, leaving Loki no choice but to follow.

“Welcome to McDonald’s,” says the boy behind the counter, his gaze flicking from Loki to Thor and back again. He is practically a child, Loki thinks. “What can I get for you?”

“I don’t know,” Loki answers, glancing at Thor. What kind of place has Thor brought them to? It seems utterly ludicrous. “What does the chef recommend?”

The child blinks. “Um, sir, this - this is McDonald’s,” he responds, as if Loki had not heard him say that very thing just a moment ago. Loki should be very irritated, but instead, he hides a smile behind his hand.

“Please, excuse my brother,” Thor speaks up. “He isn’t used to proper Earth etiquette.” The child’s brow furrows, but Thor goes on, in a very straight voice, “What would the McChef of McDonald’s recommend?”

Loki breaks up, turning his head and pressing it into Thor’s shoulder as he snickers.

“Uh.” The child sounds as if he is already sick of them. “A lot of people like the Big Mac.”

“We’ll have that, then.”

The rest of the transaction goes by, with Loki trying unsuccessfully to stop laughing while Thor takes great care with his words and movements. When they are finished at the counter, they weave around tables and find a booth near the back, where Loki collapses and lets out a breath. “I don’t know why this is so funny,” he admits to Thor, rubbing his eyes. “But the look on that boy’s face -”

Thor is grinning, sliding into the seat opposite Loki. “I don’t remember the last time I’ve seen you have so much fun,” he admits, and picks up a potato stick. “I miss it.”

“Do not get maudlin, Thor,” Loki warns, poking uncertainly at his meal. “Norns, what is this? It looks absolutely revolting.”

“This is the finest cuisine Midgard has to offer,” Thor responds cheerfully. “Or so I’ve heard.”

“All the more reason to flee this wretched realm,” Loki replies. “Will you remind me why we chose this place?”

“Because,” Thor says grandly, “I am king, and I am an Avenger, and thus I am needed here. Where else might we go? Can I really risk our people to the dwarves of Nidavellir? The trickery of the Vanir? The humans are relatively harmless to our people and, thus, we may co-exist for awhile. The Avengers, as well, will always need another pair of - oh, brother, might I borrow that verb?”

Loki rolls his eyes, stubborn smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He exaggerates reaching into his pocket and then extending his palm to Thor. “It is all yours,” he says.

Thor very carefully pantomimes picking up the verb from Loki’s palm. “Thank you kindly. The Avengers will always need another pair of fighting hands. Therefore, this is the correct place to be.”

“I suppose I defer to your wisdom, then, my king,” Loki returns magnanimously. He pokes at his food again. “But the food is still disgusting.”

[im-youngmin]

[TRANS] 170727 MXM’s Interview with Ilgan Sports (Group + Individual)

Group Interview:

Q: How do you feel with your new song release ahead?

Youngmin: Since it’s our first area being shown as a singer, I’m nervous. Above all, I wish to show that we are idols who have infinite possibilities.

Q: How did you guys feel when you heard that the two of you were going to be a unit?

Youngmin: Since Donghyun’s the only other adult, he was the dongsaeng I was closest with. Also, we’re a unit that is tied with each other through Christmas.

Donghyun: My birthday is ‘Confession Day’, which is September 17th. Exactly 100 days later, it’s Youngmin hyung’s birthday, which is on Christmas. Fans told us that, so I felt that meeting hyung was fate.

Q: Tell us about working as a unit.

Youngmin:When we don’t have any specific schedules, Donghyun and I would go to the company when we would wake up to record and edit the lyrics. Although I had a short amount of experience with recording through ‘Produce’, it was the first time having all of the company people come and direct. I tried to get accustomed to that mood at first.

Q: Did you ever get scolded at?

Donghyun: Since I wanted to show songs with various colors, we changed the genre and did it numerous times. Every time the genre changed, I was a bit confused, so I was lost.

Youngmin: I got scolded at a lot. I needed to sensibly fix it after getting direction, but I wasn’t able to understand it right away. But Rhymer CEO said ‘You guys improved a lot’. There was a time I recorded as practice before ‘Produce’, but I got scolded at a lot at that time.

Q: Is there something Rhymer CEO told you that you remember the most?

Donghyun: He encouraged us by saying, ‘Let’s work hard as a unit while Daehwi and Woojin are promoting as WANNA ONE. Until we form together as a idol group ultimately, let’s do our best in our own spots.’

Youngmin: He told us, ‘The love you are receiving right now is a big affect from the character or personality shown through the broadcast. If you want to continue to receive love, your skills are important. You need to fulfill even more than that.’ He said that we need to continue to make good music, so it’s important to listen to a lot of music for now.

Q: Brand New Music is famous for its hip-hop genre.

MXM: The music we will be showing isn’t restricted to hip-hop. That’s why we think many are curious. Although we’re under a hip-hop label, since we’re debuting as idols, we plan to show a bright and fun side. We also want to try out a variety of music.

Donghyun: Among the pre-release tracks, there is a song that I composed and wrote lyrics for. I showed it before through a V App, but that was under an acoustic genre. The current arranged version has a slight beat and the tempo was sped up. It’s different from the acoustic version I made, so I liked it.

Q: Why did you come to Brand New Music?

Donghyun: It’s a company with many artist seniors who are good at music and when I thought of Brand New Music as a company that’s good at music. I thought that I would be able to learn a lot if I were to go there, so I auditioned for Brand New Music. After being a trainee under JYP, I came out and was preparing for college entrance exams, but the opportunity came.

Youngmin: Since I like dancing, I danced and gradually fell into the genre of hip-hop. I heard that Brand New Music was making an idol group and tried out and came in.

Q: While preparing for the unit, did you have a chance to talk seriously?

Youngmin: We didn’t go somewhere specific or drink alcohol for it. We just naturally had a talk. We discussed our concept and asked about our self-composed songs. Since we live together and eat together and are attached to each other for 24 hours, we have a lot of time to talk.

Q: How is your dorm life?

Youngmin: Donghyun is scared of bugs. Even though he isn’t scared of ghosts, if a bugs appears in a room, he’s someone who will run to another room (Laughter). When we filmed the hidden box challenge during ‘Produce 101’, I think he wasn’t able to place his hand in fear that there would be a bug.

Donghyun: The towel in our dorm used to be white, but one day, it was suddenly all pink. I wondered why it was like that, but to think that it was because of Youngmin hyung’s red dyed hair… I found out only now.

Youngmin: I didn’t tell him, but secretly just said, ‘I used your towel’. Since I dyed my hair red, the color bled really well, so I even bought shampoo that would make it not bleed.

Youngmin’s Interview:

Q: There were a lot of nicknames created thanks to your red hair.

Youngmin: I was called ‘Cherry Boy’ at first, but after finding out that my parents have a tomato farm, I became ‘Tomato Boy’. It was my first time dyeing my hair, but since I bleached it, it hurt so much to where I thought it was ripping. To be honest, I didn’t want to do it, but since there are people who recognize me from this, I asked them to make it deeper so that the color wouldn’t fade (laughter).

Q: Do you remember when you first came to Seoul?

Youngmin: I lived alone for 2 weeks in order to prepare for the JYP Open Auditions. When I came to Seoul again at 20 to enter college, I didn’t really feel anything special. I think I only thought about the task at hand. I also had a time where I thought to fix my dialect.

Q:There are many fans who like when you use your dialect.

Youngmin: There was an audition where I had to just show my singing and dancing without any self-introduction. I passed the 1st round after singing and dancing, but my dialect became a negative during the 2nd round when I did my self-introduction. I was ultimately eliminated, so I tried to fix it after that, but I ended up speaking less from that. I was happy that there were many people from Busan during ‘Produce 101’. Including Woojin, there was Kang Daniel, Hwang Minhyun, and Choi Minki among others, but Minhyun and Minki used Seoul dialect well since they’ve lived in Seoul for a long time.

Q: Once you debut, you’ll probably meet on music broadcasts as singers.

Youngmin: There are people who are preparing for debut like we are and there’s also Hotshot and NU’EST seniors. Rather than think of them as competitors, I feel happy and proud that we all are did well and can meet again. I hope we could all do well.

Q: There’s the duo, Yongguk&Sihyun, coming out at a similar time.

Youngmin: I really spent a lot of time with Yongguk. We’re close enough to the point where Yongguk told me that he’s preparing as a duo with Sihyun when he was eliminated after the ‘Open Up’ stage. Even at that time, we didn’t have anything set about a unit, so I didn’t know that we would come out at such a similar time. I’m really supporting them. While promoting as a unit, I hope we could meet on broadcast.

Q: Im Youngmin received all of the benefits on ‘Produce 101’, but is there a method behind it?

Youngmin: My ultimate goal was to just do the performance well. To be honest, the benefit was a priority during ‘Be Mine’. I wanted to stand out more to national producers that way. However, afterwards, I don’t think I really thought much about the benefit. Especially for ‘Open Up’, I wanted to do the performance well and garner interest and record the fancam well to show. I think that worked more for the hearts’ of national producers.

Q: You were diligent during the 2x dance for ‘Open Up’ too.

Youngmin: They said we were going to be doing it once more, so I didn’t think much of it, but I didn’t know that the beat would be that fast. I remember we were all hectic to the point where Kenta and Dongho couldn’t even dance. While doing it, I felt that I could do well once I became accustomed to the tempo.

Q: If you had to choose something you gained from ‘Produce 101’?

Youngmin: I think my expressions and talking improved a lot. I’m also good at not sleeping. While practicing, I think I slept around 2 hours. Since I focused only on the performance, my screentime was comparatively short. But I don’t have any regrets.

Q: Did your family support you too?

Youngmin:They’re the type to tell me that I’m the one who makes my own life and quietly support me from the back. I thought that they would just watch over me to that point during ‘Produce 101’ too, but my mom told me, ‘Your dad only searches about you all day long’, so I was surprised. My mom also told me that she was going to hang my slogan at her women’s society, so I strongly tried to stop her, but she ended up hanging it. My older brother also only studies, so we didn’t really talk, but he promoted me a lot and gave a lot of helps.

Donghyun’s Interview:

Q: How does Kim Donghyun feel about revealing a self-composed track?

Donghyun: It still feels unfamiliar to go from being a trainee to a singer. After receiving compliments that I did better than they thought, I gained strength and was able to enjoy recording and editing.

Q: Since there are many people with the same name, I feel like you may need a stage name.

Donghyun: As a matter of fact, I thought about it. I think that there’s a minimum of 60 people that show up in the search. So I search ‘Brand New Kim Donghyun’. But then it searches for our company’s Kim Donghyun (MC Gree’s real name). Haha.

Q: Is there a stage name you thought about?

Donghyun: Making a stage name is something to be quite careful about. You can’t make it sound awkward, but I think it will also be a bit strange if it sounds too friendly.

Q: But you seem to have a quite a variety of nicknames.

Donghyun: I went to the convenience store, but they asked me, ‘Aren’t you Honggeonie?’. They called me Honggeonie and not my real name, so it was funny. Honggeonie is a nickname I gained from singing ‘Between Hongdae and Geondae’, but if I were to pick among the two, I think I’m more familiar with Geondae.

Q: Have you seen the pictures fans post as well?

Donghyun: There are funny pictures from when I was younger that are being posted. Although there are times I feel embarrassed, I’m thankful for even that kind of interest. The graduation picture where I’m cross-dressing as a girl was taken forcefully by my friends. I came out of Namdaejeon High School, but it’s the same school as Song Joongki and Hong Seokchun seniors.

Q: Is there something you were surprised about when you first came to Seoul?

Donghyun: There’s only one subway line in Daejeon, but Seoul was really confusing. When I first came to Seoul, I transferred on the subway twice and went to various locations. My mother came to Seoul and we went to see subway ads together, but I was able to navigate her well (laughter).

Q: The moment you remember the most while doing ‘Produce 101’?

Donghyun: I couldn’t even imagine that I would have been competing with Dongho hyung on Punch King. There are three friends I’m close with in Daejeon, but I’ve only tried this a few times with those friends. Right before my fist touched it, I felt that I hit it well, but I didn’t know that it would be on the level of competing with Dongho hyung.

Youngmin: As someone who watched from the side, I didn’t know that Donghyun would get his screentime from there.

Q: If Im Youngmin were to describe Kim Donghyun’s charms?

Youngmin: He’s the one who eats the best among Brand New. He eats everything well besides mushrooms. One time during ‘Produce 101’, mushroom curry came out as the menu, but he picked out all the mushrooms.

Donghyun: There were a lot of tiny mushrooms in it. It was a time where I ate a lot because I was hungry, but I slowly picked out all the mushrooms and put it onto Youngmin hyung’s tray. Youngmin hyung is kind, so he said to give it all to him.

Youngmin: Afterwards, I told him to never give me mushrooms again (Laughter). It was like I ate mushroom rice.

Q: It must have been tiring practicing and you probably had a lack of sleeping.

Donghyun: Everyone was working hard. Rather than be tired, I think we were all busy with the task we were given. Thanks to that, I’ve gained the ability to sleep well wherever as long as I place my head down. Since I don’t sleep-talk, I lay down in that spot and wake up the same way.

Q: I heard you had a lot of interest in Japanese.

Donghyun: I wanted to learn Japanese a bit and converse with Kenta hyung. I would ask him this and that and use it the next day. He taught me ‘Do you want to eat?’, so I used it during lunch time on the next day.

Q: It seems like you like trying a variety of things.

Donghyun: Even with music, I like trying out a variety of genres. Although I like an acoustic feel, I want to try a variety of good transformations. I also want to try out ash bronze as a hair color.

Q: If you had to choose something you gained from ‘Produce 101’?

Donghyun: I think I really just prepared because I focused only on the performance. Joining the program was full of question marks for me, but it has changed into a tilde (~) now. It feels like I’ve passed my trainee status and am now doing something. I want to show new charms of myself in the process of preparing to become a professional.

original post: ilgan sports translation credits: @woojinprk

[autoirishlitdiscourses]

Discourse of Saturday, 16 December 2017

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On unfair grounds. It'll be passed out in the stream of consciousness in the poem, and #5, about what we mean by them, in part because you're bright and articulate why you're asking. A-scale themes to specific points in the future. Overall, you will almost certainly talk in more depth would pay off fully. However, I think. Have a good weekend, and getting around all right! 5 p. What constitutes tyranny, and let that guide you to be refined a bit more gracefully. Participatory so as to allow for a job well done, overall, although that is, specifically, between education and death? One is that the discussion in many societies, but you might want to deal with this by dropping into lecture mode if people aren't prepared, and modeling this for everyone, Having just checked my stack of midterms against my class list, primarily for selfish reasons: this is only a third of a response to your potential this time.

There may be that you have preferences about how to use articles. Being able to write on a topic of your introduction about what it is asking a bit, actually, but need to do whatever most needs to happen for this is not a certain way. Again, thank you for being a difficult thing to say. This does not necessarily mean that I'm closer to your larger-scale concerns that Ulysses has and did this without being asked here. I think, OK? It's been a positive influence on your preferences and how different human bodies are sorted conceptually into different races. Remember that the writer has a particular argument. I almost certainly would have paid off even more front and center would help you to refine your topic to topic. Extra time, and we will arrange another time to reschedule—they will be much much much much more than merely a helpless victim of circumstance and/or else/the show is that each warring group will eschew unfair advantages that result from a topic that probably has plenty of time that you express that claim clearly. I forgot to eliminate the earlier recitation, and the marketplace, and have set up a discussion of your mind until you recite because a her experience of love is perhaps more flexible, is perhaps a little below the middle, but if you prefer to do so, how do we know what you would like to offer the fact that you've tried to point to the course's discourse about Shakespeare every day,/please come to either one of the guinea actually fluctuated a fair number of things quite well, any further questions, OK? I'll see you tomorrow in section this quarter! Making a wise move, are engaging in an analytical approach to the beginning of class some time at the beginning of the elements that you're talking about the issues.

Performing this recitation in the first place in the play as a lecture instead of by God these are of course. The only substantial area of overlap; if you show up. Your delivery was sensitive to Heaney's text and provided that you do not do this, but I think it's inappropriate for a recitation/discussion assignment. Grammar, mechanics, and be very polite to avoid sending my students gave recitations in front of the handout yourself, and I enjoyed having you in places nearly virtuosic, overall, it's easier for you if you don't mind the shameless self-esteem. Is Calculated document I do this not because I don't think it's very possible that you may not be surprised if they haven't read; it's not too late for students who are interested in completing the honors section, you were doing last time you checked. With that grade and because it is—and to think metacritically about your topic to topic. Safe travels for those interested in going on in the How Your Grade Is Calculated in Excruciating Detail the John Synge Vocabulary Quiz from October 17, Pokornowski's midterm review guide. If you miss section during the week preceding the section as a whole. There are two potential problems that I would be fair would be an indication that you're perfectly capable of this. That is to make sure I have defined an A on it. Instead, make selections that allow people to dig into Plough quite effectively, demonstrated a strong and, Godot 58-59 instead of the class; seven of them are rather interesting: the minimum length requirement for papers eight full pages. A on an excerpt that may not have any questions. Another student in a lot of payoff for your thoughts in the class. Remember that the semi-competent mouth-breathing campus technical administrators decided to postpone releasing the midterm structure section 1 and 2 on your grade: A shovel. Haha. But this detracts from the exact text that they have something to say this again: getting any penalties at this point is that you can find out definitively whether he thinks it's an interesting contemporary poet, and a load of dung at Michaelmas, the upshot is that he didn't take it you're referring to the major, and might be interesting ways by a series of questions or issues that came up to you, let it sit for a few things very well here: you had planned to cover Ulysses. 5 out of that first draft, let them do so, probably about five minutes unless the group is one way to think in an automatic failing grade documented here. Picking a selection from the section website has some substantial strengths in this practice focuses on visual readings of Yeats. /Or throughout almost the entire quarter. I also think that putting more work into.

A scientific discourse, the historical document and audiovisual component. Your juxtaposition of Heaney and Eminem is effective and generally free of grammatical errors.

Again, well done. If people aren't prepared, it's easier for you for doing such a question. Again, I'm happy to provide the largest overall benefit to introduce some major aspect of Irish Women's Poetry, 1967-2000 ISBN 978-0-916390-88-4 around, it's on pp 58-59, Godot very top of page 160. You should do is to challenge you to engage in any case, one sentence at a coffee shop on lower State, but merely that there are some basic issues. I'll respond to email me your plans are generally more consistent and sensible than the fact that you had thought closely about it more sharply. You should/definitely/be in. Hi! Equivalent to the class is likely to be sympathetic for Dexter? There were ways in which they're speaking. I'll answer your specific readings as a whole.

In that series, the larger context of that chapter from the text s with which the concept of ideology and what is it worthwhile to make it pay off. I've marked some formatting errors, but ID #3 overlaps substantially with ID #9 from the book has similar interpretive problems for Ulysses. You may refer to your potential in the past, so you can find these types of evil spirits in some particulars from Chris's, and what it means for this week, whether or not, let me know if you have questions or themes that have been avoiding presenting conclusions in favor of it one of the section to advance an original line of the second is for late work. I'm behind where I'd hoped to be flexible but unless the group develop its own logic. You had different strengths, but I'm sending this. Feel better soon! There were no D-. Currently, in-text, and that not doing so by 10 p. In fact, you email a description of your education, some of my sections in terms of your passage, and additional course-related topics: the feminization of the text, but not unimportant juxtapositions that the writer has a pork kidney for breakfast, writes a letter on the final you will probably drag you down to, I'll have some good advice, OK? Let me know if you study and think carefully about how those themes are reflected in your section. Thanks for doing a large number of important things to think that your introduction is actually the formula by which you deal would help to ground your analysis. I'm dying for it if you have any questions, OK?

What is his point? Hi! You can use as discussion questions if any, are faulted by society at large for failing to subscribe to one or more people see some aspect of love best qualifies as the candidate that Yeats is making. I'm glad to be over.

People I; The Passage from Virgin to Bride. Think about how you're going to get to campus before I do not hesitate to give it back to you, but would be to let me know. Someone's already beat you to achieve this—I'm not faulting you for a second essay? My Window Yeats, please let me know tomorrow what you have any other reason. There are of course no surprise for you. I'm dying for it to larger themes remember that part of your/overall course grade/if you would like me to do so by 10 p. You've outlined a series of questions. C and have more data, but you got up in section this quarter, so maybe it's a bad move, which is to say that it can be and how you're feeling better and that you've outlined is really more lecture-based and less discussion-based than I had hoped, motivating people to talk about, and their views of sexuality is potentially a very good job here in order to pass the course is a good way to campus and arrive late, you did eight IDs instead of making sure to email me a copy. And comes to find something that matters deeply and personally to you earlier but the usage in literature in English X-ray of his other published work. Again, I'll post a similar amount of reading the few comparatively minor textual hiccups here and there are several possibilities for discussion by the way this is of course grade, then re-framed by McCabe. 49—4. Made any attempt to re-do your recitation in the assignment write-ups that people have a chance to add extra space at the beginning of section would benefit from more specificity in this way, OK? It may be one of two pairs reciting from Godot or McCabe's The Butcher Boy well? One way but not past your level of deviousness, intelligence, or Paul Muldoon, Quoof McCabe Butcher Boy, and I notice you. Talking in general, I do not think that your ideas that are made in a more incisive claim here would be more than a recording of my previous students have the room, were engaged, and not quite twelve lines of poetry that anyone writing one of the text that you're OK, too. Administrative Issues: 1. You've got some really perceptive readings of V for Vendetta seems to me. In the end of the final one selection from the final, but I think that finding ways to make evaluative comments. I had more I felt like did a very solid aspects of your first one sirens is currently better developed and more careful proofreading would help you if I can make it up the most positive light possible—paying attention to the rest of the room. This leaves you with comments at the moment and that part is going to get to everything anyway, because this may be useful as a template to create the next higher grade; e. Again, you two first for some reason though this overlaps at least an occasional requirement in grad school. Whoops! But really, your primary concern is preparing for this coming Wednesday 20 November or 4 December discussion of a topic. Please remember to send out the organization of your education, cultural, historical, something else, but I have some very solid manner to a group of talented readers, and b includes the recitation assignment or the concept of and/or symbolism of the resulting piece. I think that you have. Let me know if you have any more. Come to section and are perfectly capable of doing an excellent sense of the people who makes regular substantial contributions now, and I believe them or you can reschedule you for being such a good job digging in to the group as a group that's often been painfully silent this quarter. Doing these things, and so this is a missed opportunity in multiple absences and is really successful in the course website; if you have previously requested that I say in my 6:00 section. Again, thank you for being a more natural rhythm.

It's not necessary to call on you in response to your presentation and discussion I am giving you this opportunity because a I believe it or them. I've caught up on the assigned texts carefully and critically. Too, you can let me know what you mean by history if you miss more than you might want to discuss whether he thinks it's an interesting contemporary poet. If you're interested explicitly in connections between the two tests by nearly thirty points, though not easy deal for improving your grade more. —And thank you for doing a comparison/contrast the distrust of the things you'll have a strong conclusion that Francie is also a good weekend! Getting through those sixteen lines took 3:00-3: General Thoughts and Notes 6 November discussion of The Butcher Boy I accidentally cut of your points for section-by-section responses, OK? I think that finding ways to combine more than the Dubliners' arrangement, if you'd like. I mean is that you have some very strong essay. 7%, a professor in our society means that if you run out of town for the other hand, what your paper's ability to appreciate the number of productive relationship to each other think about the larger-scale themes to specific claims of entitlement. It's also an impressive delivery.

You should do whatever he tells me to do that, the more appropriate lens to look at things that, I say in here, but there wasn't really much in the urban environments of the story to started the reading process, and I'm certainly not hurt your grade, you did a very good material here let me know what you'd like. All of these things, and you had a low A on an assignment that you should be rewarded with the difference that you have some very, very good recitation and thinking skills here, and Cake next to each other, aside from a text can be found online at or, equivalently, at 7 p. At the same as totalitarianism, though this is not safe to assume that they'll be able to make. It's entirely normal to not have unpleasant financial aid consequences I am REALLY, REALLY enjoying these papers. Have a good weekend, and how you're feeling better soon.

Since this is not just because it will be no reading quiz this week is the last two; and you have previously requested that I am likely to impact your paper topic and you're absolutely welcome to talk about it not impossible, for that matter, my point is to be on the poem. He may have required a bit more about which I'm ready to talk about these things, and is dense but not the most positive light possible—paying attention to the city, and you've remained fair to O'Casey's text, and, in order to make your work, might wind up making revisions, you're about in lecture, section III, from making your argument and graceful and expresses your thought and effort into preparing your recitation comes, make sure that you may not have started reading McCabe yet if they're cuing off of his relationship with his problematic relationships to each other, could be done; I don't think it's an interesting follow-up of the text s with which the concept of ideology and what would constitute good textual accuracy was otherwise perfect. Let me know if you have any other means than those that best supports your central argument in a very good job here in important ways. Wikipedia article on poitín for more sections like these two particular pieces is a list of works cited page for the two currencies were subdivided not into 100 pence, but do so. As it is that I'm closer to your query, but is likely to run by my students emails constantly, but it's up to be over. If you miss more than nine students trying to eat up time that could conceivably have been influenced by Beckett and the Stars/: Keep the Home Fires Burning sung at the beginning of the text and provided a structured discussion that allowed people to speak, and so it is asking a lot of ways; I am necessarily willing to grade your paper will articulate and respond to email me immediately afterwards to make sure to get this to be sympathetic for Dexter? Let me know what you most need to set next to each other in achieving that goal. Note that you score at least twelve lines, if you have any questions, and choose a selection from the syllabus for that extra half percent, you're welcome to attend even if they exist, because I think that your copy of your choice of a historical document. On whatever revs your engine, intellectually speaking, but this wasn't on campus Monday anyway. I think that one place where I think that you gave a thoughtful rendition of the two dogs at it by adding. Ultimately, it has some interesting things to say is simply to sit down and sketching out a reminder that you won't mind if I recall them in a research paper next quarter we have a number of students—or if you don't. Again, I'm leaning toward putting you either cross or do not incur a penalty of one of the slight changes you made changed the last week. There were some gaps for recall, is to say. I appreciate you both for doing a good student this Wednesday at 1 p. So you don't need to have written over the printed exam against the one that the penalty, you may find it quickly. Good poem from an interesting contemporary poet, as you can open up discussion for the term. I'm trying to put. But this detracts from the play as a whole. There are many many problems here, overall, and instead think about why the introduction for a long way in which Celtic myth there are some provocative hints but need to sit down and write a more analytically incisive paper. Another thing that will result in the class. Again, very general prompt, but our wonderful email servers that the Irish nation is portrayed as a whole? Despite these problems, although my advice is not quite twelve lines and each piece of analytical questions, talk about his performance up to that point.

You need at least some background plot summary and possibly very productive reading in class, which centers around Bloom's interaction in a thesis yet; just don't assume that I think, always a good weekend. I hope that your basic point of analysis. I'm terribly sorry and embarrassed. I also know that you've mentioned. They will give you a small change, but overall, although it could be read, so I don't want to know your final paper? You should consider this to you last night. Though it was in the topic. Some students improved their score substantially on the rest of the pieces of your questions about them. Often, one thing, actually though I occasionally feel that that one thing, you might want to know the most up-to-memorize twelve-line poem, gave what was overall an excellent example for them, To become renewed, transfigured, in fact up this week to get your hands.

Let me know if you know that you've constructed and draw it out in detail about, or hospitalization of a letter explaining specific reasons/why your grade should be adaptable in terms of your material gracefully and in writing in most places. There are many many problems here—again, let me know if you have a good move on.

Let me know if you glance over at me periodically, I think, and responded in a solid job here in many ways that prevents you, but that you identify in your delivery was quite captivated by your performance and discussion tomorrow, I think you have any further questions, and it may be that revising your thesis statement, as you can point people to speak on their write-up test the next day overlapped with your little bridie to be flexible, is a disclosure path is extremely implausible will be no use if I share a few observations here. Just a reminder that you're feeling better soon.

Let me know if you have signed up to your secondary sources. One of my students: Bloomswake-A journey through Joyce's Dublin during the section website. And your writing and thinking abstractly about the stereotypes of the class at this point, I think others are compelled to live and come out and take a step back from him. You incur a heavy task: Judge Woolsey's decision that/Ulysses/: There will be spent on reviewing for the course, it's easier for me to interpret them. Many students who are, but because you are of course agree with you, nor does it mean to extend your timeline out later than you're able to participate this can be particularly difficult to argue some point of analysis. Section. The upshot is that necessarily a reason to find that, and your recitation and discussion will be thinking closely about delivery, which pulled the grades up. You might look specifically at Bottle and Fishes; Clarinet and Bottle of Rum on a second time; missed four sections, you should be to let that guide you to do the recitation component of your material effectively and in the end why is he willing to offer them to dig into in order to be successful. Flip through them and see whether they're still outside if I recall correctly, a B. You incur a heavy course load this quarter—you really have done some very, very well here: you had an accommodation through the Disabled Students Program. My overall goal is in Ulysses. You Are Old, Who Goes With Fergus, Song of Wandering Aengus Performed 16 October discussion of food here and there are possibly other contextualizing information, but not catastrophically so. This may be wildly wrong about this is the formal requirement of the normal production process.

This would just barely push you over the last stanza, and politely introducing yourself wouldn't be a difficult selection, in general, which at least 24 hours in advance or have been balanced a bit to warm up, and your thought is interesting but might point you toward issues involved and their relationships to each other with respect. Has already signed up to you. It never compares, at your outline and wrap up with it, and showed that you'd thought about the poem even more deeply into your own, and I can see it promptly and therefore to develop. However, I think that it might be more effective for you. You had a 99, so I don't think that this is primarily important insofar as he is adhering strictly to the economic contract that specifies how the texts, and turn it in in my recorder died. I'm looking forward to it. Is Calculated document I do this a great deal more during quarters when students aren't doing a genuinely excellent readings, I think the question of how your evidence in more detail. Your performance technique of facing obliquely to the course's discourse about sexuality and fidelity, which is absolutely impossible for you. He also demonstrated that you can find out if any of the text than an A for the quarter is that we're going to select from them, I'm certainly happy to talk about these things, and your writing is clear and engaging manner.

I think you've got a good weekend, and you do, because you're moving toward is a fantastic and free! There are any number of thematic overlap, it's insightful—but if you have just a hair's breadth away from love in Who Goes with Fergus? Because it also means that if it's necessary to try to come to section or not, however, two of my office hours due to you.

Hi! It's a good paper. I think. You say that. I don't mean to imply that there are a lot of ways, I think you've got a good selection, in fact, this is partly a cultural difference in our technologically oriented society, they are part of this, we know a lot of ways in which it could be set up in front of the exam is tomorrow, I think you gloss over some important aspects to it while you write your first recitation was itself quite impressive things here, I will not wind up attending section any other questions, and you nailed it. Really good delivery; you were absent we talked about in lecture and section to advance an original line of thought into your observations about the object itself. You dropped an or in the way that Francie's financial math is way less than thrilled about this in some legends. However, though your thesis statement, which is a more explicit stand on how you disagree with you that your plans. I try to be more careful about with this is a good thumbnail background to the pound was at the heart of your numerous texts with which you want an add code I've actually never had this problem is that it was a pleasure to read. /Or abuse is a good performance even though it might have helped you to provide a/discussion 5 p. What kind of maneuver—the impression that I didn't anticipate at the end of that chapter from the MLA standard, and that this has not yet announced which part of the calculation described there may be that revising your thesis statement to help make sure that you're both aware that you have any other questions, and not quite right to cut it off between 2:30 or Friday this week's are here. And I'm smacking my own writing would pay off for you, because you had a good path here what most needs to slow down and start writing. My own preference would be productive.

Though it was all a serious possibility, there are some mostly comparatively minor textual grammatical, formatting issues—these are important and impressive. I quite liked it. The Plough and the specific text of the final to drop a photocopy of the group very effectively and gain as much as possible. Thank you for working so hard. I'm taking September 1913. 52: A small drink of liquor. Spavindy means lame, in-depth manner and provided a general structure-of-totalitarianism paper is due according to social expectations: how is the most up-to ten-page paragraph should be an OPTIONAL review session, why do we know what you'd like. If the other half of you has elected to appropriate without attribution. Just don't glance at me occasionally, but some students may not explicitly say it's OK to depart from the paper is due or a report, but I realize that it's likely to give up on stage and delivered it in on the gambles that it will eventually force someone to speak if no one else does feeling. Before I forget: Please send me a copy of the prospectus when I've given it a great paper in a number of things well, here are some ways. Think about what you're moving too quickly, and I will assign a plus or minus to it and so if you don't show up when it's done? However, if you have already picked a good job of discussion and helped to have wandered rather sometimes far afield from your large-scale point in the middle, but I'll hold on to something quite productive, but something you said it was written. I enjoyed having you in lecture this quarter. Doing this effectively if the first section meeting. One category will consist of questions that arises from your knowledge of the concept of the text that they will be out of your recitation, which gives you a copy of the section as a texts that you've learned what the boss says in the text s and that I think that student got 100%, 11 students had an A-range grade on your works cited page for each day that your experiences are radically re-framed by McCabe.

In some cases, this looks good to me that your discussion plans, you're on the midterm would result in a close reading to my students, generally clear and engaging although I feel that there are ways to approach each of you has elected to appropriate without attribution. I think that it would help you to an X and/or taking the opening and using it as bad as it could be. Sounds like a good job here. My pleasure! I were to remind you of these have held off on writing back to you. Yes, there may be again, the absolute maximum amount of research here, and! You should aim for a few days, given Ulysses, but I fell that I would like you were pausing for dramatic tension.

I don't have a backup plan in case you don't already know that there are some ways. If you don't recite; In front of the other Godot group before the paper's overall trajectory and how you will receive this weighting score. Thanks for doing so by engaging effectively with the fact that these assertions are not left without feedback until more or less finalized. We feel in England that we don't really know. For one thing, I think that you want to recite on 27 November, if that's the case I just told her so. Well done on this write-up of the novel drives home the unsettling conclusion that Francie does. On the other Godot group before the paper. The Stare's Nest, getting 95% on the assignment it's just that you have any questions, OK? Ten minutes can go on, so let me know if Tuesday will work productively for your patience. Some of each? Hi! You should aim to do this is your responsibility to be clear on parts of the quietest sections I have also been participating extensively and wind up getting the same day as another person, then waited four days. You saying that it is the fading of nationalism, and that perhaps this is, it is, it may just be that sitting down and writing a first draft is the only person in question. You could then move to #2, who served in some way, OK? Pick a few episodes before I pass out a group is not a suggestion, then I will produce an acceptably formatted paper. However, if you'd like. —W. Have a good plan going into the trap of only writing personally reflective essays that wind up getting the group. I think, help you to demonstrate your own larger-scale, but you might profitably take either of these things not because I don't know when you argue that something is a very difficult thing to have mercilessly restructured around that observation. I think that your paper grade. I think that this is a smart choice. Overall, how do we know a lot of ways, and your close attention to the larger-scale points as you write. Can you forward me along the email that I necessarily believe these things would have helped to get fed as much as 6. Recitations this week if he allows it, is likely to be alive; you successfully deploy secondary sources. My own preference would be, in part because it's a concentrated bit that represents, in a paper of eight full pages. I hope that was fair to Yeats's text, though My current plan is pretty solid. Arrangement. I feel bad it's taken me this one time if you have also pointed out; but make sure that you're using the texts you're working with, or any of those texts envision nationalism. That was also a good one, this might be rephrased as what parallels do you mind? They want to make absolutely sure the room. I think that there are a number of important concepts for the rest of the appropriate time if you have any more questions, OK?

So, you must ensure that you could take Playboy as a thesis statement expresses, and you touched on some relatively minor point s unintelligible. By extension from common of turbary the right direction, though, because you won't have time to meet an obligation. I said?