I Definitely Went Past The Word Limit
I Definitely Went Past The Word Limit
It had been some sort of class activity. My professor was quite insistent that, in order to do well in their course, us students would have to band well together. I had no problem, initially, with the party. I’d been to multiple in my long, long life. Yet somehow, just with the very knowledge of that he would be there as well, I found myself dreading the event.
Nonetheless, I had no other choice. I could’ve waited just a few more decades for him to die off, but then my professor would’ve died as well - and I had waited literal centuries for a professor like them to roll around. Besides, it was a party - those were always highlights of my life.
The fast-food restaurant was cold - almost ridiculously so. They’re always cold, I realise. I dislike the cold, and it only added to my sour mood. The party was going terribly and it had barely begun.
Things only went for the worst as he himself walked in. Still with that ear-to-ear grin. The protegee of being amicable and friendly. Aleia.
He made his way towards an insignificant group of people, laughing and clapping shoulders. It was a wonder why they even found his presence worthwhile - every time he laughed, which was unfortunately often, I felt like claws were raking down my spine.
I’d glanced away. Clinging onto the childlike hope that if I cannot see him, then he doesn’t exist. Object permanence is a terrible thing that I’d hope to unlearn one day. All it did was make me unhappy. A terrible waste of time and brain space.
Then it happened.
Other people were at the fast-food restaurant. Of course there were - it wasn’t as if a bunch of university students could scrounge enough money to book an entire fast-food restaurant. If we had, we wouldn’t have gone to a fast-food restaurant.
A small child, a mere twelve years of age I’d learn later, started heaving. They staggered out of their booth, their hands clutching at their mid-section. With a faintly heard ‘blurp’, they proceeded to vomit pale cream substances all over the tiled floor.
We were all shocked still. Even their caretaker - the babysitter, who I don’t think had been properly briefed in what to do in such a situation - could only stare, mortified as their charge attempted to upend their entire stomach contents onto the ground.
There was only one among us that had a timely, spontaneous reaction. Only one who thought to move forward towards the vomiting projectile.
Now, I’m sure everybody else there would’ve meant well. The world is filled with kindly disposed mortals, despite what the system of oppression currently wants. Only one was commendable enough, because only one had moved quickly enough to help.
Any fool can be well-meaning, yet the bards always sing about the Heroes who move fast enough to save lives. That was exactly what Aleia had done - he’d saved a life.
Of course, I snapped out of it soon after. I’d seen a lot - this was moderately tame, in fact. Both of us rushed towards the child and gripped their shoulders - dodging the vomits as we did so. I snapped at the caretaker to call an ambulance, whilst Aleia made sure that the child didn’t begin to choke on their own puke.
The ambulance came and went. We went with it, because the babysitter was too much of a wreck to function properly; mumbling, wailing with red-rimmed eyes. There were either worried for the child or for their own paycheck - but that wasn’t what was important at the time.
We rushed towards the ER, the doctors did their thing - but it was what came after that stuck in my mind the most. The parents had longed arrived - worried to death. The doctor had told us all that the child would be okay; news that we all take with great sighs of relief.
Then came the matter of payment.
I’d my suspicions before - the child’s worn clothes, similar to that of their parents and their wide-eyed amazement at being at a fast-food restaurant - were glaring red flags. Yet seeing the parents mutter and falter for their child’s own treatment drove the truth home.
They were impoverished. Most likely on the lowest economic rung of society. Desperate for financial aid.
My fingers twitched. I could help - I knew I could. I was about too, honestly-
But as I’ve said before. Heroes are only those who act fast enough.
Aleia offered to help them pay the fee. They’d asked him how. He faltered - his eyes briefly gaining a panicked look to them. A look that made me wonder - was he in the same situation as the parents? Was that why he had acted so quickly, acted so determinedly? So ready to help, despite not being in the full ability to?
The traits of a Hero are rarely disputed. Kindness, chivalrous, yet what was most of all was the willingness to forsake one’s own self for another.
I highly doubt Aleia would’ve been able to maintain his own education, had the parents taken him up on his offer. It was extremely lucky for him that an anonymous donor soon paid up it all - and then some.
Very lucky indeed, for him. Very lucky for me as well - seeing him greet me with that same crinkled smile every time we met up was an opportunity I could’ve missed. These people were priceless, hard to find, and ridiculously rare.
Besides, being good friends with someone in your class always has its perks. For one, it made my professor very, very happy.
More Posts from Moderndayscribing and Others
i’m teaching a tiny little girl to say “nonbinary” and she keeps saying “no banana” and once she said “none bananananary” and honestly? close enough, she’s adorable and her parents are super chill with me and they already taught her to say genderfluid (to her it’s genner-flooood) and transgender (trains genner) and a bunch of sexualities so now i’m adding “none bananananary” to the mix
attention!!!!!
gender-neutral version of niece/nephew is nibling, of aunt/uncle is unty. so glad we worked that out!
oh my god OP
OP
You can’t just give me this opportunity and expect me to let it be
oh my god
mind if I switch it up slightly? yeah? okay great anyway-
There’s a man that stands in the alleyway.
He stands with his blaster out. His grip is relaxed - experienced. His shoulders are tense and his stance ready - also experienced.
Grogu, hidden in an alcove of the wall and staring down, should’ve expected this. This man wore Mandalorian armour. Whether or not he earned it or stole it, he would need the skills to even get a hand on the beskar.
(Other Mandalorians might not have the skill to get the Beskar)
And certainly not so much of it. The armour is silver and unpainted. Grogu has half a mind to try and shoot him in the leg guards just to see if those were beskar too.
But he’s not a fool. Mostly.
Grogu wears beskar too. He has had it reforged to fit him; the armour of his late father. He wears it with pride and guards it with ferocity, like how his father had done before him, and how every Mandalorian has done, had done, and will do.
He walks the way of Mandalore. Not many do.
Grogu’s job is to make sure this man does.
He whistles a long, low tune.
The man jolts subtly - surprised. He whistles back.
Grogu finds a tug of a smile on his face. It would be good to have another addition to the covert, to the people. Mandalorians were strong alone, but they were stronger together.
His helmet whirrs softly. A signal that it’s efforts of connecting to the man’s helmet were successful. Good; Grogu needs the privacy of the comm channel for this next bit.
“Su cuy’gar (Hello; You’re still alive),” Grogu says into the link. He snorts, amused as the man jolts again. “Relax, I’m just in your helmet.”
The man does not relax, but Grogu didn’t expect him too. The phrase ‘I’m in your helmet,’ is not meant to be calming.
“I didn’t...know there were other Mandalorians here,” the man replies.
Grogu frowns. His voice. His voice is familiar - it tugs at him, it hurts. Grogu blinks slowly; now taking in that armour slowly. With every second that passes, Grogu finds it harder to breathe.
His gaze finally falls onto the man’s pauldron, and his signet.
“You’re not from here...” he breathes.
The man tenses further. “No...I just landed on this planet-”
“You’re not from here,” Grogu interrupts him, drawling his voice out. His mind is whirling. He chances a glance into the Force and is nearly knocked over by the sheer intensity of wrong.
The man is not from here - and more importantly, he’s not supposed to be here.
“Take off your helmet.”
The words are out of his mouth before Grogu even registers he opened it. He winced in the dark shadows of the alcove. If he said it to any other Mandalorian, he would’ve gotten a blaster shot right in the beskar and would’ve deserved it.
Understandably, the man tenses. His grip on his blaster tightens. Grogu remembers the skill the man has-
Grogu remembers.
Grogu remembers this man.
The man with the mudhorn signet.
Grogu steps out of the alcove. The man instantly shifts his Visor to stare at him - and Grogu can see him physically recoil in shock.
Wordless and swift - then Grogu stands on the floor of the alleyway. The man is taller than him (everyone is taller than him) but Grogu’s own Visor meets the man’s unflinchingly.
That’s a lie. Grogu is shaking. His breaths sound too loud and instinct calls for him to calm down.
The man is silent as he stares down at him. Grogu can see his blaster shake.
Grogu expels a sharp breath of air. He reaches up to his own head and takes off his helmet in one clean swoop.
His ears twitch - uneasy and unused to being out in the open like this after so long. His being screams at him to put it back on, but he grips the side of his helmet and forces it to be quiet.
The man. The man doesn’t speak. Grogu doesn’t even know if he breathes.
“...Grogu?”
Grogu’s helmet falls from his hands as Buir (father) takes off his own.
“Buir-”
Grogu’s father - Din Djarin - a man who died when he was a child, rushes forward to catch his son as Grogu falls to his knees.
Din: Who are you and where did you get that pendant?
Grogu(Teen): *takes his hood down* My name is Grogu and I am from the future.
Time travel AU
It’s the Little Things
Little delightful things: Cat. Battle. Armor.
So funky it hurts
Please get him a little sword actually
He’s going into the tavern soon to find his next quest
She’s ready for Warrior Cats Part VI: The Cat-O Period
Bonus:
Low Budget Version
Solidarity.
Onist'ot'en Camp Contact
Onist'ot'en Volunteer
Onist'ot'en Twitter
Wet'suwet'en GoFundMe
https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/the-mandalorian-star-gina-carano-fired-amid-social-media-controversy OH FUCK YEAH!!!
it’s really ironic for Cara Dune’s actress to be the epitome of what Cara Dune hates.
Cara Dune would beat the shit out of G*na C*r*no.
In this essay I thank you for coming to my ted talk
I have to admit. I am not living la vida loca
Hades
He missed his wife. The King, the God of the Dead, in all his power and glory felt like a miserable slob without his wife. Persephone, Bringer of Death, Bringer of Light in his life. She had gone to live with her mother up on the mortal realm. Such was their agreement. She’ll come back to him in a few months - but before that happened, he was to live in The Underworld by himself. At least, that was what he’d assume. Pompeii had been devastating. All those dead - all those people crowding his realm. All the extra work he’d been faced with. All the pain. The Dead of Pompeii had not died peaceful deaths. He knew he should be back on his throne. He had other Dead to attend to. Other Dead to sort out. He was The King, The God - and he had a duty to fulfill. Yet he cannot help himself from enjoying this walk. The Child’s still bouncy steps beside him - despite what horrors she had faced. The way she constantly tried to meet his gaze; and he would meet hers. Her eyes. Reminded him of his dear Persephone. Perhaps that was why he found himself to be relaxed, despite the multitude of tasks that hung above his head. “To find your Mama,” Hades said, glancing down towards Agata’s wide eyes. “You’ll have to go through The Process.” Agata’s eyebrows furrowed just slightly. Her fear picked up, tinging the air with an unpleasant smell. “The...process?” she echoed. Her grip on his hand tightened slightly. “What process?” Hades glanced away, back towards their path. It occurred to him suddenly that she might not know... Should he tell her? Should he meet The Child’s gaze squarely, look at her, and tell her what had happened to her when Mount Vesuvius erupted? Or maybe, he ought to let her cling onto that Children’s Ignorance for just a little bit longer? What should The King do?
Well hey guess what?
After a lot of struggling and more than one occasion where I went “Hey can I just rewrite this whole chapter?” I finally managed to get another one up for ya!
https://archiveofourown.org/works/28909794/chapters/72110688
‘what he would’ve wanted,’ is back!! Have fun :)
-
yellowfoot-06 reblogged this · 4 years ago -
yellowfoot-06 liked this · 4 years ago
-
moderndayscribing reblogged this · 4 years ago
