Send me a ¥ and a command and my muse has to obey.
“And give me one reason not to!” Helga was not happy. This was the target her employers had set. Well, one of them. And the sooner this kid was out of the way, the sooner she could get to the one worth the sum she was going to be paid.
"Yeah, but it hurts," Pazu complained, sticking his finger in his mouth. It didn't really hurt -that- badly and, frankly, he had experienced infinitely worse, but he was still sore at the man. This was just to be annoying. "Owww!"
❛oh bloody hell, here’s a bandage. do stop crying! you’re too old for such things!❜
jiji’s yowl is swallowed by a loud CRASH as the sudden gust of wind blows kiki and her broomstick straight into a rather large and unforgiving oak. before she even has a chance to brace herself, her broom smacks against the tree trunk and deposits her in its branches. but this isn’t kiki’s first crash landing ( and she doubts it’ll be her last, either ), so she manages to grab ahold of the oak’s branches, sprawling out among them a dozen feet above the ground.
— ” kiki manages to sit up ever so slightly, fighting to get her balance amidst the branches and wincing as she does so. that’ll definitely leave a bruise. “you okay, jiji?”
“Ouch, that really hurts my feelings, boy(!)” the demon quipped back dryly, an equally dry chuckle leaving him afterwards. It’s true, Calcifer isn’t being even remotely helpful; just a touch nosey. He wanted to see what the boy was working on, so that’s just what he intends to find out. Calcifer is not moving out of the way just yet it seems.
He inhales deeply, hoping it will ease his rattling nerves and pounding heart. "Um-- I wanted to tell you that I'm really glad you're my friend and--" His voice slips, cracking in such an awkward way that it takes all he can not to let his gaze plummet to the floor. He needed to be confident and he feared that he was failing. "Sheeta, I can't think of anybody else who makes me feel as happy as you make me!"
The words catch her by surprise; a light, fluttering feeling shifts in her chest when she realizes there isn’t any bad news to relay.
Smiling, she reaches down to hold his hand in hers. “I’m really glad you’re my friend, too, Pazu,” she says, eyes shining with an ever-growing abundance of emotion.
“You’ve been there for me through the darkest hours– -It means more to me than anything I can put into words!”
“And now that you’re here with me… “ There’s a pause, a slight click in her head that brings attention to the warmth in her cheeks, as she feels it rise all the way to the tip of her ears. She has no idea why she’s suddenly so shy, but she ducks her head, anyway - voice softer than before.
Ostatnio spędziłam ponad godzinę w aucie z dziewczyną, która przez całą drogę snuła filozoficzno-dietetyczno-religijne wywody, każdy kończąc “Mam rację, co nie?” albo (moje ulubione) “obiektywnie rzecz biorąc, mam rację”. A ponieważ jestem osobą, która lubi analizować sprawy z różnej perspektywy, próbowałam koleżance uświadomić, że istnieją także inne “racje” - nie tylko te, które ona dostrzega. Bezskutecznie. Prawie się na mnie obraziła.
Zatem “obiektywnie rzecz biorąc”, z każdej innej perspektywy niż twoja własna, jesteś w błędzie. Dostrzegam też na tym przykładzie sporą różnicę pomiędzy posiadaniem własnego zdania, a posiadaniem racji na każdy temat.
Sheeta slips off her shoes by the door, crossing the threshold with a litter of kittens stirring in the basket hanging from her arm, and shrugs her shoulder into another kitten rubbing against her neck. “They were down by the river, when I found them,” she says, unable to suppress a giggle from a tiny, wet nose bumping against her ear. “I couldn’t find the mother; they must’ve been abandoned.”
“Well, I couldn’t just leave them there…” Any further neglect could’ve allowed them to fall into the waters and drown.
The red haired maiden disappeared behind a corner. There were papers rustling, birds singing, pens scribbling…when she reappeared, there was (even more) glitter on her dress and a radiant smile on her face.
“Here you go, little one,” she handed the boy a card. A handmade pink, glittery card, decorated with drawings of hearts and doves, and a thoughtful message written inside in a darker pink ink.
It was Giselle’s first year out of Andalasia, and the first time she heard of the lovely holiday that was Valentine’s Day. And, on her watch, no one, no one would go without a Valentine.
“The birds helped me decorate it,” she beamed. “Happy Valentine’s Day, from me and my feathered friends!”