#( i hate having the brain that i have & having it work the way that it works or NOT work in the way that it doesn't hvsjdf )

[silcoitus]

I understand this feeling so much and my advice to you is to do a 5 minute sprint. The urgency of the timer means you have to throw out any thoughts of insecurity and just do it. Just write.

Even if it's shit. Even if there's spelling and grammar errors or continuity errors or whatever. And after the 5 minutes, maybe you will get in a groove. Or maybe you'll realize you're struggling uphill, but at least you gave it a shot. You can always try again later. But for those 5 minutes—

Just.

Write.

Get the ideas down. You can edit and finesse and polish it later. Get your story out of your head and down on something tangible.

Anyone can have an idea.

Be a doer.

And let go of the idea of perfecting your story. If it's your first one, chances are it's not going to be because you haven't put the practice in.

LET YOURSELF FAIL.

It's how you improve.

The most frustrating experience as a writer is having a clear vision in your mind of the story you want to tell but being too afraid to put pen to paper for fear of failing to do the story justice. I’m so scared that my actual execution will fail to meet my expectations that I’m paralysed to even start.

[firewasabeast]

Prompt: Everyone knows that Tommy is a pushover for Buck's 🥺 eyes (it's a running joke for the 118/217), but when Tommy gets upset and is very quietly 🥺, Buck is shocked by how completely and utterly insane he goes to make Tommy feel better.

(bonus points if it's a completely dumb reason, like Tommy's run out of ice cream or something and it's just A Bad Day)

A little silly, a little serious, I hope you enjoy!

One of the many things Buck loved about his and Tommy's relationship is that he got to see a side of Tommy that no one else saw. He got to see many sides of Tommy that no one else saw, actually.

While everyone got a piece of calm, cool, and collected Thomas Kinard, Buck got all that and everything in between.

He saw him on his best days, his worst days, goofy days, sick days, horny days, tired days, all the days! He often thought of making a list of all the things people would be surprised to know about Tommy. He'd never share it, of course, but it'd be nice for him to have.

Like, how Tommy was ticklish only on his right side. And when he got tickled, he didn't do his normal laugh. Instead it was a high pitched giggle with a snort.

Or, how Tommy was super proud of the fact he knew every single word to We Didn't Start the Fire and he felt the need to sing it at the top of his lungs at least once a week.

How he loved human connection, but hated being touched by strangers. He'd hug a friend all night long if you needed it, but if he didn't know you please keep your hands to yourself.

How he liked tomatoes on cold sandwiches, but never on toasted ones.

How he loved when Buck would sit on the countertop and kiss him because it made him feel smaller, and he loved feeling small and protected in Evan's arms.

How his voice got deeper during sex. Whether he was inside Buck or Buck was inside him, his voice would always get all gravely and deep in a way that sent shivers down Buck's spine.

Maybe one of the biggest ones was how Tommy was not always the stoic, perfectly poised man as he presented himself to the world.

Tommy could get emotional. Emotional in a way that was usually reserved for movies written by men about women during their period.

Buck was thrown off by it the first time it happened. He almost thought it was a joke, until he saw the tears in Tommy's eyes as he mourned the fact he was out of whipped cream.

Then it was just heartbreaking.

It didn't happen often. A series of bad events throughout the day would build up in his body and brain until the smallest inconvenience caused him to fall apart.

They'd talked about it before. Tommy had grown up having to hold in his thoughts and feelings. They'd build and build until he'd do something erratic or harmful. Then he joined the army, and those emotions would build up the same way. Being in the army itself was a bit erratic and harmful, so he didn't have the best coping skills.

It wasn't until he started therapy, and his therapist helped him realize that he needed to let himself feel whatever he was feeling that he slowly and gradually became better at opening up.

However, there were still days where he felt the need to let everything build. Build and build until he burst. Except, now days, instead of becoming erratic or harmful, his eyes would well up and his lip would come out in a pout, and Buck would feel the need to move heaven and earth to make it all better.

Buck knew something was off as soon as he got home from work. Tommy was already there in the garage, half bent over his truck as he worked on the engine.

Buck let out a whistle. “What a view,” he teased.

Tommy glanced back at him, gave him a half smile before focusing back on his truck. “Hey, Baby. I ordered dinner. Should be in before it gets here.”

To anyone else, that might seem like a regular conversation. To Buck, it was the exact opposite. Normal Tommy would make some teasing comment right back, letting Buck know what he was seeing was just a preview of what was to come.

This... This was the start of an emotional night.

*****

Dinner was fairly quiet, with Buck leading most of the conversation. He knew not to ask questions yet. If he did it too soon, Tommy would completely shut down and it would take even longer to get any information out of him. As much as Buck hated it, this had to play out a certain way.

Luckily, he was fluent in Tommy.

It was a little after dinner, once Buck had settled in the living room, that it began.

“Evan?” Tommy called out from the kitchen.

“Yeah?”

“Is... Did you put my ice cream in a different spot?”

“No, it's-” Buck froze, thinking back to two nights ago. Jee had come over and wanted a treat. She ended up eating the last of Tommy's favorite birthday cake ice cream. He knew that, on a regular day, Tommy wouldn't care that it was gone.

He also knew today wasn't a regular day.

“I think it's all gone, Babe,” he said cautiously as he got up from the couch and headed into the kitchen.

“Oh. Okay.”

He wasn't angry. He never got angry over little things like that.

He was sad. Resigned to the fact he would not be getting any of his favorite ice cream tonight.

Buck often felt like it'd be a lot easier if he just got angry.

He made it into the kitchen just as Tommy closed the freezer door. His face downcast, he glanced up at Buck through his eyelashes, eyes wide and wet. His bottom lip jutted out ever so slightly before he turned away from Buck and headed for the pantry.

“I'll have cookies instead,” he said with a sniff.

Buck got out his phone and pressed a few buttons before stuffing it back into his pocket and walking over to Tommy.

“Honey, why don't we just go sit down for a minute?”

“I just...” His shoulders sagged. “I really don't want cookies.”

Gently, Buck placed his hands on Tommy's back, nudging him until he could lead him toward the living room. “Why don't we go sit on the couch, okay?”

Tommy simply nodded, but Buck could see him lift a hand to his face and wipe a tear off his cheek.

The thing was, Buck knew he could be a handful sometimes. He was bratty, pouty, stubborn, and jealous. And Tommy accepted all of that. Not just accepted it, loved it. He loved every part of Buck, even the parts Buck didn't love himself.

Buck also knew Tommy would do anything for him. Would drop whatever he was doing and run to Buck's side the second he got a call. Would wait on him hand and foot. He spoiled Buck rotten, and everyone knew it.

There weren't as many opportunities for Buck to reciprocate that level of love and support. But when these days came along, that what's Buck's time to shine. He hated to see Tommy like this, but loved that he could be there for him. Loved that he could help him through it. So that's what he did.

They got situated, Buck leaning against the arm rest with his legs sprawled out on the couch. He pulled Tommy down so his back rested against Buck's chest. Buck wrapped his arms around him, hands meeting just over his heart. Tommy's hands drifted up and latched onto Buck's, holding tight.

“Why don't you tell me about work?” Buck asked, pressing a kiss to the top of Tommy's head. Things had been fine before they left for work the previous morning, so something had to have happened during their shift.

“I only had two calls.”

“And?”

“And the first one was a drunk driver. It was noon, Evan. Noon.”

“Casualties?”

Tommy shook his head. “No, but a young girl got hit. Spinal injury. She probably won't walk again.”

Now Buck had a starting point.

“After that?”

Tommy's body tensed so Buck squeezed him tighter. “The new probie, Jenkins, did something stupid and pissed me off.”

“What'd he do?”

“Doesn't matter.”

“If it pissed you off, it matters.”

“He's one of those religious types that carries pamphlets in their pockets,” Tommy explained. “I guess he overheard me talking about you- about us- a few weeks ago so he gifted me a pamphlet today.”

Buck knew where this was going. “You're kidding me?”

“I wish. It was some Adam and Eve crap, not even original. It reminded me of my dad. He... He used to say things like that. Anyway, I threw the pamphlet away without reading it.”

“Good for you.”

Tommy shifted slightly, tangling his and Buck's legs together. “The only thing that kept running through my mind was how we watched a little girl's life change forever, she will never walk again, and all Jenkins was thinking about was turning me straight.”

Buck brought a hand to Tommy's hair, carefully running his fingers through it. “I'm sorry, Tommy.”

“My aunt texted me too. Wanted me to come to the next family reunion.”

“Are you gonna go?”

“I told her I'd have a plus one and she... she said she doesn't wanna hear my dad complain for an entire weekend. I was quickly uninvited.”

Buck took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I- If you wanna go-”

“There's not a single part of me that wants to be there, especially without you. I'm good.”

“If you're sure.”

“I'm sure.”

“What about your truck?” Buck asked. “You were working on it when I got home.”

“Oh. That.” Tommy rolled his eyes. “That was the icing on the cake. Engine light came on in the middle of my drive home. I think I fixed the problem for now, but I'm gonna need a new engine soon. Everything just fell apart today, Evan, I- sorry.”

“You don't need to be sorry.” Just then the doorbell rang and Buck gave Tommy a pat on the shoulder. “You do need to get the door though. It's for you.”

Tommy sat up, eyebrows furrowing at Buck before he got up and headed for the door.

About thirty seconds later, he was back with a paper bag in hand. His eyes were soft and tear-filled, but not with sadness this time. “You ordered my ice cream?”

Buck nodded, giving him a smile. “Of course I did.”

Tommy set the bag down and walked over to Buck, kneeling beside the couch and resting his head on Evan's lap. He wrapped his arms around Evan's waist the best he could, his face pressed against Evan's stomach. “I love you so much.”

After a few seconds, Buck stroked his thumb over Tommy's cheek. “Come here,” he said softly, pulling him up for a chaste kiss. “I love you too.”

[revolutionsingingintherainnn]

yknow, for all those people who use “3x wdc winner vs 3x race winner” as an insult, i don’t think you realise that that’s not exactly an insult.

yes, it’s true that max is a 3x wdc winner, that’s why he’s one of the best. that’s why he’s one of the most respected drivers. he’s got the talent, and he’s got the fast car.

and yes, it’s also true that lando is a 3x race winner, that’s because he just got a fast car. he’s learning. he’s adapting. he’s made mistakes, on and off track, but he’s learning. and the fact that in his first year of getting a fast car, he’s p2 in a wdc is amazing.

max has had a fast car for a long time. he has adapted to that as well. he knows his weaknesses and strengths, and he learns from it and uses it to his advantage. he’s had that time to learn to be in a fast car and win races. i’m not discrediting him. i’m saying that, as every other human on earth, he learned from his mistakes and he’s doing extremely well.

lando got a fast car this year. not even the whole season, in fact. he hasn’t had time to adapt to having a fast car after driving a mid field car for five and a half years. he’s still in that process of adapting. he’s making mistakes, but he will learn from them. he said he needed to work on his qualifying last year, and this year, he’s got 7 poles in total. he’s amongst the few mclaren drivers who have gotten more than 5 poles in one season. that’s an achievement of its own. he knows that he needs to work on his starts. you best believe that next year, he’ll be so much better at it.

he knows that this season he made some mistakes off track as well. but, as compared to the start of the season and now, he’s gotten much more mature, and much better at using his words correctly. the current situation about him saying it was luck was taken completely out of context. but, haters have a small brain, and a low attention span, so they won’t watch the entire interview.

max has had way more experience than lando has. to use that “3x wdc winner vs 3x race winner” for a duo where one has significantly more experience than other, not just in a fast car, but also in f1 overall, seems stupid to me.

max won his first race in 2016. and then, he won his first wdc in 2021. sure, lando has a fast car now, but to put an unrealistic expectation on him to be on par with the greatest f1 drivers almost immediately after he wins his first race is a little too much.

this constant need of people to belittle these drivers, whether its lando or max or literally any other driver, is so surprising to me, because none of yall would even be able to drive an f1 car in clean air for one lap, let alone a full race. especially, not at a speed that they do.

these are my opinions. if you don’t agree, please fuck right off. if you send me hate, i will block you. i don’t give a fuck. if you have something to add or have a counter argument, you’re free to do so respectfully.

[sirfrogsworth]

Now what?

Whenever I see Trump my brain thinks of my mom and I feel angry about how she died. I have PTSD and I'm actually in the process of seeking out a therapist to address it.

And until I can get some help, I guess I'm just going to feel that anger for a while. I was really hoping I wouldn't have to see or think of him again.

This is pretty bad. And it is really scary. And I hate that one man is capable of causing so much fear and anxiety among the people I care about.

I guess there is one thought I am trying to hold onto.

I recently talked about chronic illness and the "new normal." As illness progresses you sometimes have to accept a new normal and learn to adjust and adapt to it. And every time I was faced with a new normal I was convinced I could not adjust or adapt. But every time I figured it out and found a way to keep going.

I think we will adapt because we have to. We will fight because we have to. But we will need each other to get through this.

Look to your allies. Your friends and your trusted family. Keep those relationships healthy. Do the work to maintain them. Prioritize building and sustaining a personal support system over everything else. Do your part when they need help. Keep in regular contact. Keep the emotional labor as reciprocal and balanced as possible. And don't be afraid to tell them when you feel overburdened. Keep communication healthy so you both feel comfortable expressing hard truths. Open up to them so they feel trusted and make sure they feel comfortable doing the same with you. Try not to lean on one single person too much as they might get overwhelmed.

But also remember to enjoy your friendships. They are not there just to be your therapist. (An *actual* therapist is a good idea if it is feasible.) It's important to laugh and waste time together. Shoot the shit and bond over mutual interests. Or introduce them to your interests and teach them why you love what you love. Ask them about their interests and even if you don't completely get it, be happy that something makes your friend happy.

If you feel like you don't have a support system or it is severely diminished like mine, you'll have to do the work to seek out new people. I'm in that process now after losing my parents. And trust me, I know it isn't easy. I am really struggling to connect to new people. It takes a lot of energy and I haven't had a lot of energy to spare. But I know it is what I will need to help me adapt to the new normal. So I'm going to put in the effort and figure it out. I encourage you to do the same.

You will not connect with every new person. That's okay. Remember this is a process and it takes time. And don't beat yourself up if building your support system is slow going. If nothing else, you are learning and growing and developing tools to help you on this journey.

This community has been so kind to me. You all are a part of my support system. And I feel very lucky to have you in my corner. I love you and I care for you. I'm going to try my best to advocate for what you need. Helping others is another way to keep moving forward. A righteous sense of purpose is a powerful tool in the face of a new normal.

Please take care of yourselves as best you can.

Find your people if you haven't already.

Or find *more* people if you don't have enough.

You are in my thoughts.

[dr-spectre]

I think that it's now more important than ever to keep making art.

Whether it's some scribbles on a piece of a paper, paint on a canvas, typing out erotic fanfiction about two cephalopod women, i need you to keep going. OKAY?!

Keep going at your own pace. Don't feel like you have to "grind" to achieve success, you're probably young as hell, you don't need to become a masculine obsessed fucking nutjob that is so obsessed with "discipline" and all this bullshit. Sure "discipline" is cool but... That shit takes a LONG TIME to develop and it only comes with experimentation and see what you believe in and what you enjoy. Don't get.... heh...... heh heh..... BRAINWASHED!!! by women hating bald bastards online who wanna turn you into a fun hating robot that's all about "work work work." Fuck them.

You are a human with flesh, blood, bones, a heart and a brain. You are not a machine. Got it?

Anyways, in talks of art, i wanna give my own sort of help for my writer friends out there! I thought it would be fun and plus, there's too many damn writing tips out there that boil down to "you HAVE to do this thing, you HAVE to follow this structure" and i think that is bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit that gives you more stress than needed. You know how many boring mid action movies come out that follow the hero's journey? The three act structure? The story circle? It is better to just make shit and learn what you could do for next time.

There are no rules, all of the "rules of storytelling" are just optional suggestions that you can either take or leave. Plus it seems like every fucking YouTuber has a different set of rules that conflict with each other anyways. However, I wanna share my own sort of "basic ass fundamentals of stories" that can fit into any story structure you want! I got these guidelines from the YouTube channel The Closer Look. I like their content, it's very insightful.

Here's Dr. Spectre's basic ass fundamentals for stories.

Characters. Simple, a story must have characters otherwise you are making something else that is not a story.

Progression. Is there a sense of progression? Does it feel like for every second of story it isn't stagnating or getting dull and boring? Does it feel like shit is happening and growing? If it feels boring to read for you, then it's gonna be boring for another person reading it. Progression could be plot based or character based and them growing as the story goes on. Doesn't matter which one, can be both or one. Good stories never feel like they are staying the same or spinning their wheels.

Delivery (Aka. Setup and payoff). Do you deliver on the promises in the story? And do you deliver them in a way where the audience after they finishing reading or watching, they felt like it was all worthwhile and they didn't waste time consuming your story.

Everything else? IT'S OPTIONAL!!! COMPLETLY OPTIONAL! YOU KNOW HOW MANY STORIES BREAK THE "RULES"?! Do not become reliant and dependent on these "rules" because it'll slow your development and discourage experimentation. Not every story is gonna fucking follow the Save The Cat format.

There is also the talk of theme and i will say this.

Theme is not "this story is about sex, drugs, greed." No. Theme is a message or argument, it is not a word, it is something you are trying to say via a story. People don't have to agree with the theme, but it must make people think about it. If your story is about sex, what is it trying to say about sex? That sex is a scary thing and that it's okay to feel scared and worried about your first time? What are you trying to say about greed? Etc. Etc.

I read through a Sonic comic recently that everyone loves called Scrapnik Island and guess what? I fucking love that comic too.

Scrapnik Island isn't truly about Sonic and Tails getting stuck on an island and Mecha Sonic is there and he becomes evil and does all this stuff. No, what it's ACTUALLY about is that your worth as a person isn't determined by successes and failures, Mecha Sonic feels like he is worthless and is a failure because he not only failed to kill Sonic, but also failed to help his friends on Scrapnik Island. However, Sonic snaps him out of that bullshit mindset and it's truly, truly wonderful stuff.

Splatoon 2: Octo Expansion isn't truly about Agent 8 being trapped in a facility and defeating an evil ai. It talks about racism and what does it talk about specifically? That it doesn't matter what someone looks like, as long as they are a good person that's all that matters. That life is varied and beautiful and it's worth protecting from those who wish to destroy it.

There's a reason why Agent 8 takes the time to soak in the fresh air and sunlight near the end of Octo Expansion, why Eight has memcakes to collect and we see their thoughts and wishes. it's there to explore that theme, that idea of what the story is truly about.

Splatoon as a franchise is about how wonderful creativity itself is, that art and life are connected and grow together and are important and deserved to be protected. Commander Tartar, Mr. Grizz and Overlorder are all opposed to that idea and that's why they are the antagonists. DJ Octavio less so because he is trying to save his own culture and art, even as to go far as manipulating a mentally ill Callie who was already growing distain and tiredness from her own culture, so it just so happens that these two chaotic forces share the same ideology.

Now, I wanna say, do you NEED a theme to make a story? No. BUT! If you don't have something to say and that connective tissue, then it's gonna weaken everything else and the action, plot and characters have to be fucking top notch. The "Rule of Cool" only works when... you know.... it's cool? And well done?

Anyways, I've rambled long enough. Please keep making art, please? Especially now considering what has happened. I need you to hold onto hope, hold onto creativity and fun. You must. You have to...

Be good people.

[hellsitedotcom]

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*·˚ FIRST KISS HEADCANONS : PART ONE *·˚

ft. Aventurine, Moze.

My brain doesn't work properly, which means I ain't happy with anything I write when it comes to prompts/longer drabbles, so here's another round of Headcanons 'cause, uhhh, I had a random thought. (Unfortunately cursed to have those) EDIT: This...escalated a tiiiiiny bit, buuuut (as much as I hate my writing) I don't rlly mind.

*·˚ warnings/info: well, there's obviously going to be mentions of kissing; mentions of alcohol/drinking (Aventurine); Sunday's escalated so much, I had to make it a separate post lol. *·˚ english isn't my native language!

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⭒˚｡⋆ Aventurine ⭒˚｡⋆

⇢ I'll be frank: It probably happened while you were both drinking, just ''unwinding'' and ending up having a rather good time. You were sat at a bar way longer than you should've - the employees really just wanted to get home, but you two just...weren't leaving.

⇢ You were sat further away, obscured by room dividers, only your voices audible to anyone else. Aventurine had been teasing you since you agreed to go drink something with him, and now you were both at a point at which he felt like...taking risks.

⇢ He had asked you for a simple game of poker, winner gets granted a wish - but the loser will only find out what the winner wants after the game; were you in, or were you out? And you, slightly drunk, agreed after only a few seconds. What could possibly go wrong?

⇢ And he won - of course he did. What else did you expect? But you were laughing, joking how you had nearly beat him; still in a good mood, you waited for him to tell you his wish - his ''demand''; and he did, your eyes widening for mere seconds, before you granted it.

''Royal Flush,'' Aventurine triumphantly laughed, displaying the cards on the table between you, ''I win, sunshine.'' You just groaned, though you didn't hide the amusement in your expression, ''Oh, you definitely rigged that. There's no way, come on.'' ''Well, at least I almost got you,'' you added more quietly, chuckling while he collected all the cards you had used. ''I simply don't lose,'' he countered, smirking at you as he leaned closer, a motion you followed curiously, ''I thought you would've noticed by now.'' You merely scoffed, rolling your eyes without hiding your smile, ''Sure, sure, Mr. Gambler.'' ''You just got lucky,'' you hummed in a teasing manner, leaning further across the table, ''So, what's your wish?'' Aventurine held your gaze, unwavering, and even in the dim lighting of the bar, you could tell that he was thinking. A part of you wanted to regret agreeing to this, but the other part - the louder part - only grew more intrigued. For a moment, his eyes dropped to your lips - so quickly that you thought you had imagined it - before his lips parted, your eyes widening the slightest bit at his words, ''How about a kiss?'' You could feel your face heat up, a wave of different emotions momentarily taking over your expression before you collected yourself again. ''Just a kiss?'' you repeated, making sure you had heard him right. ''Just a kiss,'' Aventurine confirmed, slightly tilting his head, ''Only if you're comfortable, that is.'' Silence settled after that, your mind still processing his wish. Despite how lost in your thoughts you were, you could notice Aventurine grow...unsure? No, that wasn't really it... You were taking too long, and the man was beginning to wonder if you would back out. And just as he was about to repeat himself, making sure you knew that you didn't have to kiss him if you didn't want to, you crossed the space between the two of you, your lips crashing against his. You weren't even thinking, merely acting on instinct...on a feeling deep inside you, an urge you had been fighting for months. The second your lips had touched his, all your restrain had vanished, and Aventurine didn't seem to be feeling any different as he reciprocated your kiss, a hand coming up to rest on your neck, pulling you even closer. Neither of you could get enough, your hands resting on the table between, but all good things have to come to an end, don't they? As you tried moving even closer, breathless from the things he was doing to you, a loud buzzing noise interrupted the two of you, making you pull apart. ''The IPC...'' Aventurine groaned, visibly annoyed as he stared at his phone screen. He had to take the call, you both knew it. And, before the man could decide if he was willing to take another risk by pressing on decline, the bar staff came up to you, informing you that it was time to leave for you anyway...

⇢ You didn't sleep much that night, or the nights that followed, your mind too busy replaying that kiss over and over again. The next time you saw Aventurine again, neither of you mentioned the night at the bar, though from the way he looked at you alone, you knew you weren't the only one unable to forget it.

⭒˚｡⋆ Moze ⭒˚｡⋆

⇢ This came to me in a prophetic dream (listening to music & daydreaming), and I am a firm believer that your first kiss happened...on accident, almost. In a situation that...how did it even come to that?

⇢ You were sat beside him, hiding in the ''shadows'' away from everyone else while Moze was patrolling the area. There...wasn't really a need to do it, but it was Moze, so you didn't really question it. And while he was taking all of this seriously, you were just...laying in the sunlight, having a wonderful time.

⇢ At one point, you had just started talking, asking brief questions or sharing thoughts with him, which he - though somewhat reluctantly - replied to. Eventually, you'd even gotten him to learn over to you, and as you held his gaze in that moment, it just...came over you.

⇢ Maybe it was the fact that you were having a good day, the sunlight making you feel so alive and full of energy. Or, maybe it simply was the man's captivating presence, making you feel like you were admiring a painting. Regardless of the reason, the urge to learn in had taken over.

''I mean, I guess I just don't understand it,'' you rambled, emphasizing your confusion with your hands, ''Why make everything so much more complicated than it has to be, you know? Artisans can be a really odd bunch.'' You were lying on your back, staring up at the sunny sky as waterfall after waterfall of thoughts fell from your lips, when Moze suddenly leaned over, allowing his arm to rest beside your head. ''You talk too much,'' he huffed expressionlessly, making you fall silent as you dragged your eyes up to meet his gaze. ''Maybe you just don't talk enough,'' you quipped back, your lips twitching in amusement, ''Besides, if it bothered you, you wouldn't have stuck around me this long. We both know that.'' The man just grunted, focusing back on the crowd underneath you, ''Just try to be more quiet. I'm not helping you if we get spotted.'' ''Of course,'' you hummed, not believing a word he was saying, earning you another discontent grunt from him. Your smile just grew at that, eyes still glued to the man standing beside you. ''Just admit it, big guy,'' you teased, slightly tilting your head to get a better look at him, ''You enjoy my company.'' That made Moze turn back again, violet eyes boring into yours as he leaned over once again, making a swarm of butterflies awaken in your stomach, ''Is that so?'' His face was mostly obscured by shadows, hidden by the hood he always wore while you laid in the sun, yet her gentle warmth was entirely forgotten as you held the man's gaze, ''Tell me I'm wrong?'' Moze was quiet, just watching you wordlessly. You couldn't tell what he was thinking, but you realized the longer you stared at him, the less you cared about his answer to your counter. You were too busy getting lost in a daydream, drowning in his eyes, when a sudden urge came over you. What if you just-? Your inner voice didn't even need to finish the question, your body moving on its own as you propped yourself up, not even giving the man any time to react as you pressed your lips against his. Moze seemed to freeze under your touch, unmoving at first, until you felt his hand rest against your chin, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. His patrol all but forgotten, the man's lips began moving against yours until you pulled away to catch your breathe, your heart racing. ''I-'' You wanted to say something, but your mind, despite the hurricane of thoughts tormenting it, couldn't form a coherent sentence, so you just continued staring at him, eyes searching his expression for anything - any sign that this meant something to him. But you never got that answer as the man took a step back, letting go of you, Moze's expression as blank as a canvas. He was still looking at you, watching as your previously cheery expression began to falter, yet he remained quiet as you struggled to find the right words.

⇢ You didn't get any reaction out of Moze that day, nor did you ever calm down enough to actually say something to him in that moment. Eventually, Moze merely continued his patrol, telling you he needed to move to the next location before disappearing without waiting for a reply.

⇢ Since then, you've been...well, on one hand you've been trying to avoid him, but on the other hand, you still hoped you would catch a glimpse of him regardless of where you went. And, while you thought he probably never thought about the moment you shared, Moze felt the exact same way as you.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

[thissurprisinglyisnttaken]

Idk man, apples are apples and I'm picturing a base idea in my cluttered brainspace. That apple either has to pay Brain Rent to take up current space or you have to keep adding details to the apple, otherwise it's Gone. However, sometimes it'll rewrite a part of the brainspace and I lose my shit. I'll paint you a little scenario:

You look into my eyes and stare into my soul (if eye contact is a think between us) and say to me, "Think apple." Congrats, I am thinking 🍎 and the mental image is floating in the corner of my vision to the upper left above your head.

You say "It's a green apple." The 🍎 becomes 🍏 and it's still floating above your head.

You say, "Describe it to me," and my brain already has a pre-loaded background specifically for apples ready for describing. I say, "It's a green apple with little yellow freckles and a green/brown stem. It's sitting on something wooden with sunlight from the left side lighting the apple." As I'm saying this, I'll doing the mental equivalent of putting the apple scene in fullscreen mode and there's a chance I've gone glassy-eyed or just straight up closed my eyes.

You ask, "Is there a plate nearby?" There might not have been a plate nearby, but no worries! I've cooked one up just for you <3 "There's a medium sized baby blue porcelain plate further behind and to the right."

You say, "Put the apple on the plate, I'll cut it up in a minute." I've now put the green apple on the blue plate and leave it sitting on the wooden countertop/table.

I continue on with my task(s) at hand and de-load the apple scene, but what you've done is now update the pre-loaded apple background to automatically have a blue plate. I won't realize this until I next try to picture an apple.

If you see me later and hand me a blue plate with slices of a red apple, I FUCKIN BLUESCREEN. I hate it! The Reality apple and The Brain apple have a distinct dissonance and it causes me memory issues. The existing scene with the apple is now messed up because the apple is both red with the streaky-apple lines and green with yellow freckles and I can't directly focus on it without getting frustrated. The apple picture doesn't work anymore unless I start over with a new apple with no background! AAARGGH

Anyways, I can never have a task running at the same time as a task loading because if I even so much as THINK I completed either of them, then it'll overwrite and I'll believe I've done it. Which makes me lose my shit when I find out I've fuckin tricked myself Yet Again and the task still isn't done.

Case in point: I'm cold right now, and I'm pretty sure I didn't bump up the temp because omg why is it so cold?? BUT I could've sworn I turned on the heater. So instead of always checking myself and second guessing, I never second guess and just get annoyed at times when I should've double checked. So I'm not angry that I'm cold, I just hate that I can't change my fucked up little brainspace to be more efficient. ......... on my way to go change the goddamn temp 😤

i have neither a good imagination nor aphantasia, but a secret third thing

[ganondoodle]

actively fighting a full blown panic attack born out of sadness and anger after having to drive by yet another victim on the side of the road

it makes me livid how accepted it is to just let cats suffer and die disgustingly horrid deaths and live awful short lives just so what, for what?? so you dont have to play with them for an hour a day??? when i was little it was just kinda normal that they disappeared at some point, i didnt understand what it actually meant until our outdoor cat i loved dearly was found in the bushes near our house in a condition so horrible my dad has never told me and i have never dared to ask, she only made it to 6 and had horrible scars and infections before that i allowed my family to convince me to let my first own cat outside, we only had her for a year, she died at only 2 years old, i am still suffering from the guilt, it has never let me go, she went missing for a week and i walked the entire vilage up and down every day, yelling her name, wandering into the forest alone, talking to every stranger i met until one morning my mom told me that our neighbour who works for the city asked if we had a white cat with a very specific collar she had- he found her on a busy road crossing in the next bigger city, i never even got to bury her, its haunting me, the thought of her wandering lost and scared in the city for a week until meeting an awful end gives me headaches, the fact that i was the last one to see her alive, that i put her outside bc we were late for school and had to leave quickly, that she had come home with oil in her fur from crawling through maschines and cars before, that i was worried but still didnt act, that it is my fault, any time i am up to late its coming back, it will never let me go, if i had stood my ground and not allow her outside unless on a leash or similar shed still be alive today, any time i read a description at our local shelter it comes back, they still advocate for outside cats, all of them, even if they have only been an indoor one before, its madness my older sister had a cat, i dont even know how old he got but it wasnt long either, he got hit by a car in front of their house, she has two now again and the only reason she hasnt let them outside is because they havent shown much interest in it, i tried to warn her before and she didnt listen and shes still resistent, even after losing one too

i have seen so many on the side of the road, anywhere i drive i see them, i cannot forget a single one, we are surrounded by farm land and all its giant maschinery, its still common to poison rodents, why do people value them so little, you wouldnt let your dog just live outside in the woods and streets for half the day or more, you wouldnt just throw your guniea pigs on the road and tell them have fun, you wouldnt just let your bird roam outside, there probably assholes that do that too but you cannot tell me its as common as outside cats

i dont understand it, i dont, i wont, i never will, i will never forgive myself this poor little animal that was my responsibility having to pay the price of my ignorance, or my own weakness letting my family convince me despite the awful way we lost one before, it makes me want to explode it hurts my brain in grief and anger i can barely contain

cats deserve to live a safe and long life, i get only having them inside may feel like you are locking them up, but do you think that not doing so is worth having them die a painful death? being poisonend? on purpose even by disgusting people that hate them? abused and chased by other animals and dogs? hurt and lost? cutting their lifespan in half? if they even make it that far? the amount of wildlife that they kill unnecessarily so when all of that is already in a steep decline everywhere? and if they eat what they hunt get infected with diseases or again, poison? die somewhere in agony? if cared for they dont care about going outside, plenty can be leash trained or given a secure way to roam like those cat proof aviary like things, if you dont want to put effort into caring for a cat DONT GET ONE, ALL pets require adequate care, and if you think cats are the easiest bc you only have to feed them every now and then IF they come home? you suck, you are an asshole, i hate you and you do not care about them, if you just want to occasionalyl feed and pet an animal go to the petting zoo

(this is about pet cats of people who can absolutely afford to keep them healthily inside, i know feral cats and those in poor neighbourhoods are a thing, even if not here where i live, and thats a whole other but still similar problem and not the point of this post)

[asgardian--angels]

I don't talk about this much but I'm just going to say it now.

there's something uniquely vile about being the daughter of a father who is a trump supporter. and not just a casual supporter, a full drank-the-kool-aid moon-landing-was-fake deep red neonazi maga crackpot. because I had to watch that change happen over the last decade. my father, an intelligent, introspective scientist, whose brain has essentially turned to mush and critical thinking skills shriveled up and died thanks to that orange rapist.

He has always loved me, supported me to be whatever I want to be, given me the most opportunities he could in life. He taught me to be kind, and forgiving, and to remember that we are all in this together. And now, while still claiming to feel that way, he vehemently, and viciously, spews hateful rhetoric and vitriol against women, against climate change, against democrats, against all the things I am, against the field of study I've dedicated my life, my soul to. We can no longer even have a regular conversation because all he does all day is sit online and watch trump rallies, listen to 'patriot' podcasts, and troll people on forums. He has nothing else to talk about, and cannot be negotiated with. Him and I used to love having sparring matches of wit, picking topics to debate in good faith. Now, any hint of a challenge and he becomes enraged, petty, and belittling. He somehow maintains this hypocritic fallacy in his mind that he is a good person, that he does everything to make my life better, and that humankind must come together to make a better future. Just, not *those* people, I guess, not them or them or them who aren't even people to him.

And I must occupy some gray area in his mind, Schrodinger's political prisoner. Because even though he knows I am a democrat, that I am a woman who will be affected by these laws, that I study climate change in the work that he supposedly supports, I must not be to him, one of 'those' people. I'm not like 'those' democrats, 'those' women, 'those' climate change cronies. Except when I am, because if we argue, if we discuss policy at all, I am just a girl, under his roof, and I have no idea what I'm talking about - because I'm young, because women aren't capable of understanding His greatness, because Elite Academia has brainwashed me into being a liberal. That my mom and I are ganging up on him, constantly, to paint him as the villain when he's only the victim. He's going to elect the man who will save us all, whether we want it or not. Our say doesn't matter, because we just don't understand.

I miss the father I knew. He was always petty, always ready to poke and prod - he hurt my feelings plenty, but I could deal with it. But I felt he was genuinely good at his core, that he tried his best. Now, I don't know him. I don't recognize him anymore. I've imagined so many times what I would say to him if I could give a speech, or write a letter, where he could not talk back and just had to listen. I don't know if I'll ever get that chance, or take it. But I know he has truly no idea how hurt and betrayed I am, and he wouldn't believe me if I told him. He knows no shame, and he does not apologize.

I'm not looking forward to spending the winter at home with him every day for two months. I don't see how I can look him in the eye. And how dare he look me in the eye after fucking me over.

I love my father, no matter what, and that's why it hurts me so badly to see him change into a stranger, and wonder if there was anything more I could have done to change his mind before this transformation completed. Knowing that it's not my responsibility to argue with him to try and make him see reason when he's too far gone and all it does is make me feel like shit, and yet.

I'm sorry to everyone who may relate to this within their own families. It's probably going to get worse. These men will feel empowered to speak their minds and force you to hear it. They try to provoke you, just so they can say you're hysterical or overreact as women do, when you get reasonably upset. Know that you're not alone in this, Trump has truly torn families apart in ways that I don't think will ever heal.

[abigailywrites]

dress. [din djarin x reader]

part three of indebted.

ao3 / ko-fi rating: t word count: 4.1k warnings: none

There’s a hole in your jacket near the elbow where one of the patches is coming loose. It’s the first day of your break, and there’s no way you’re spending your hard-earned nothing-salary on scrap fabric. So, the fabric for the patch comes from the leg of your pants. That’s fine. It’s not the first time you’ve done it. Pants that used to come down to your ankles now hit about mid-calf, that’s all.

As you’re getting ready to sew the patch on, Karga bursts into your room without knocking. “I got something for you,” he tells you.

Slowly, you look up from your work and blink. “I thought this was my day off.”

“Didn’t you hear me?” Karga questions. “I said I have something for you. It’s a gift.”

No employer has ever given you a gift before. Even if they did, you have very specific rules for what you’re meant to do with gifts: sell them immediately and put the money toward your debt. Nevertheless, you stand to follow him to the living room.

Draped across the sofa is a dress. A burgundy, knee-length thing with a deep neck, no sleeves, and a subtle golden pattern on the hem. The fabric is light but sturdy— perfect for the Nevarro climate. And there’s no doubt that it’s nicer than anything you’ve ever worn in your life. 

You look down at the patchwork jacket in your hand. Most of the patches are faded, blue variants or some kind of brown. But you can’t tell what the original color was anymore, and strings are hanging off of it where the hem has frayed and been stitched back and frayed again. It’s dusty, too. You haven’t had the chance to wash it all week. It’s not much, but it’s completely yours. It’s the only thing that’s completely yours.

“Nice, isn’t it?” Karga asks, picking the dress up off the sofa and holding it up to you.

“Sure,” you agree with a shrug.  

Karga gives you an exasperated look. “Sure?” he echoes. “It is. You should wear it next time you go to the cantina.”

“Oh,” you say. “So, it’s not a gift. It’s a work uniform.”

“Would you just put it on?”

Rolling your eyes, you snatch up the dress and drag it back to your room. It feels funny on your skin when you put it on, but it does technically fit.

Karga seems to think so anyway. He smiles when you walk out in it and says, “Ah, there we are! Give it a spin, let me see.”

You turn in a lazy, disinterested circle. “This is ridiculous,” you huff as you face him again.

“It’s only ridiculous if it doesn’t work.”

You look down at the dress and back to Karga. “What exactly is it supposed to do?”

Karga folds his arms over his chest and sighs. “Listen, I don’t know how you did it,” he sighs. “But somehow, you got Mando to change his mind. There’s something about you he must like. And if we can play that to our advantage…”

“To your advantage, you mean,” you correct him.

He uncrosses his arms and puts his hands firmly on his hips. “No, to our advantage,” he insists. “There’s a bounty I need him to take. Hardly any of my hunters have dared to go after it, and the few that have… Well, there have been unfortunate endings. I need Mando to take it, but the problem is this isn’t the kind of thing he usually goes for. Direct commission work. If you can convince him to take it, I’ll take another five percent off.”

Those few words flip a switch in your brain, and you hate it. Suddenly, something you’re terrified to even try becomes something you’re desperate to accomplish. The dress still seems excessive, but if it helps, then why not? And you still have no idea what you could have possibly said to Mando to get him to take four pucks, but you could figure it out. Over all of these thoughts echoes the constant chorus, “another year of my life, another year of my life, two whole years of my life.”

“Okay,” you agree after only a moment’s hesitation and next to no thought. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”  

In the next couple of hours, Karga hatches the beginnings of a strategy. He debates himself on the best way for you to get the job done. You interrupt him only a few times with some pertinent questions. 

 “Isn’t it going to be difficult to gauge his reaction?” you ask at one point. “Should I ask him to take his helmet off?”

This earns you a stern look from Karga. “That’s a joke, right? Tell me that’s a joke.”

It very much is not. Still, you scoff. “Oh, come on,” you say. “Of course, it’s a joke.” That’s the end of your questions for a while. 

Eventually, Karga decides that you have as much of a plan as you need for the moment. “Besides,” he says. “Mando won’t be coming back for months. We don’t have to worry about this until then.”

You don’t know anything different, so you don’t argue, figuring that anything you need to know can be learned later. But it’s time you don’t have. It’s only a month later when Karga hurries over to your usual seat at the booth. “I got a page from the shipyard master,” he tells you. “Mando’s Razor Crest is landing.”

“What?” you question.

“I know, I didn’t expect this either,” Karga says. “Just get out there, and stick to the plan.” 

“But we never finished the plan,” you remind him in a half-whisper, half-shout. “You said we wouldn’t have to worry about it for months. It’s only been one month.”

Karga isn’t hearing it. In fact, he’s practically pushing you out of the booth. “Just do whatever you did last time.”

“I don’t know what I did last time!”

“Would you just go?”

At this, you stand and smooth out the skirt of your dress. You’re still not entirely used to it. It’s been difficult to see it as anything other than a uniform. A tool. Not yours. Now is the time to put it to the test. How effective is an errand girl in a dress against a hardened warrior? It feels more absurd than ever. “Alright, fine,” you mutter as you walk away.

You make it to the shipyard as fast as you can, and the shipyard master hands you a holopad and directs you to Mando’s Razor Crest. The ramp is still up when you get there, but you’re gripping the holopad like it’s the only floating thing on a planet of ocean. But when the ramp begins to lower and you see him standing right there? That’s when you have to remind yourself not to break the thing.

When Mando sees you, he stops halfway down the ramp. The moment of silence that passes is nearly unbearable until he says, “What is this?”

You look down at yourself and back up to him, eyebrows furrowed. “Um… a dress?”

“No,” he says, continuing down the ramp until he’s standing over you. “You. What are you doing here?”

You hold the holopad closer to yourself. “Karga sent me to take inventory,” you tell him.

“He sent you to the shipyard… in a dress.”

You shrug. “It’s just an outfit.”

“It’s impractical. You look uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t my idea,” you tell him, growing frustrated. “Karga thought you might—”

“Might what?”

The way he’s staring at you, you get the impression that he already knows but wants to hear you say it anyway.  “Might…” you huff, your face going warm. “Might appreciate… it.”

“Appreciate you in it? Is that what you mean?”

You fold your arms over your chest, holding the holopad tight against you as a barrier. Maker, you wish you had your jacket. Wish you had some fabric on your arms. “Yes, I guess, that was the plan,” you answer.  “Like I said, it wasn’t my idea.”

“What does Karga want?” he questions. 

You shake your head and shrug. You could lie, but if there’s one thing you remember from the last time you negotiated with Mando, it’s that he doesn’t mind brazen honesty. “It’s some kind of direct commission bounty he wants you to pick up,” you explain. “He said it was high-dollar but not your usual gig.”

“And Karga wants you to convince me to do it?”

You tilt your head to the side, but you don’t look him in the eye… visor… whatever. “Offered me another five percent if I could. Anyway, I managed it last time, didn’t I?” 

That silences him for a moment. “Let me be clear,” he begins, finally. “I saw four good jobs, and I took them. I don’t do anything because someone begs me to.��

The way your spine goes stiff and your throat tightens is almost immediate. First, he calls you a slave, now this. On your planet, no one would have dreamed of calling— of implying—  “I’m not a beggar,” you tell him, your voice low, and your gaze snapping onto him. “Don’t call me a beggar.”

“Then what are you?”

“I already told you. I’m a servant. An indentured servant. That’s all. Not a beggar, not a slave.”

“If you’re not a slave, why not leave?” he questions. “It’s your grandfather’s debt, not yours.” 

“Because,” you tell him. “My grandfather and my father died paying it off, and I’d rather die than disrespect that. This is the custom where I’m from. It’s shameful to be indebted like this, but it’s worse not to bear it gracefully. So, you give everything you have to the one who holds your debt, and you work for them for as long as you have to. The last thing you give is the clothes on your back, and you do not try to run from it.”

It isn’t the first time you’ve had to explain this to someone, but it’s never any less tiring. A brutal reminder of all the life that has been lost in the wake of a debt you’ve carried with you as long as you can remember only ever serves to exhaust you. But it does nothing for your present self. So, you sigh and straighten your shoulders. “I’m not here to explain all this to you,” you eventually decide. “Karga’s waiting, and I’m just here to take inventory.”

That seems to be enough for Mando. He stalks away without a word.

You’re sure you just fucked up that entire encounter. It’s definitely not what Karga had in mind, anyway. But what else were you supposed to do? Just stand there and take insults from a— a walking, talking suit of armor? 

You can almost hear your father’s voice reminding you that not upsetting your employer also means not upsetting your employer’s friends. Then it’s your grandfather’s voice reminding you that there’s nothing that upsets people more than hearing about other people’s difficulties. And then, of course, it’s your own voice. “Stupid,” you whisper to yourself through gritted teeth. “Fucking stupid.”

That’s about when the actual shipyard crew to take inventory comes to take over, and that reminds you that all you were supposed to do was stand there in a dress and look pretty. And you failed at that so spectacularly you almost want to laugh. The dress was never going to work, anyway. It’s time you finished patching up your jacket.

✦✦✦

He knows exactly what Karga’s trying to do by setting you up just outside his ship. You’re supposed to be the first thing he sees. There’s no way he’s going to believe that the same girl who didn’t know how to open his profile last month is suddenly in charge of taking inventory. You’re a strategic pawn. Meant to either soften him up or break him down. What he doesn’t like to admit even to himself is that neither option is impossible. 

You’ve been on his mind lately. Most of his thoughts consist of what the hell is Karga thinking by keeping an indentured servant? But the fact that you keep showing up in his thoughts at all… The fact that your name has been stuck on repeat in his head ever since Karga said it… 

No, he knows what the hell Karga is thinking. Now that he’s seen you again, he knows exactly what’s going on. Karga isn’t stupid. Karga knows he took twice as many pucks as usual and why. And Karga’s counting on it working a second time.

He’s hyper-aware of the fact as he enters the cantina and approaches Karga’s table. The bastard is leaning back like he’s not on the edge of his seat waiting to see if his scheme paid off.

“Ah, that was fast,” Karga remarks. “Did you catch them all?”

He responds by tossing all four fobs on the table.

Karga looks over the fobs and nods. “Good, I’ll begin the offload.” 

Karga barks instructions in Huttese to someone nearby while he unclasps his rifle, sets it down on the table in front of him, and sits. Karga spends too long rifling around in his satchel until he produces payment and sets it down in front of him.

“These are Imperial credits,” he says.

“They still spend,” Karga points out.

“I don’t know if you heard, but the Empire is gone.” 

Karga leans back in his seat. “It’s all I’ve got.”

That’s all he needs to hear. He grabs up the fobs and begins to stand. 

Karga reaches for the fobs. “Save the theatrics!” he says. “Fine. I’ll… I can do Calamari Flan. But I can only pay half.”

Another of Karga’s games. Paying him what he would’ve gotten for just his two usual fobs anyway, but he's not in the mood to fight it. “Fine,” he agrees, taking the Flan. “I want my next job.” 

“Of course,” Karga agrees, reaching for the unclaimed pucks. “Hmm… I have a bail jumper. A bail jumper, another bail jumper, a wanted smuggler.”

That’s four. That’s what he’s got to start taking from now on if he wants to keep the heat of speculation off. “I’ll take them all.”

“No, hold on. There are other members of the guild, and this is all I have.”

“Why so slow?”

“It’s not slow at all, actually. Very busy. They just don’t want to pay Guild rates. They don’t mind if things get sloppy.”

He can sense where Karga is trying to lead the conversation, but he can’t avoid it. So, he grits his teeth and asks, “What’s your highest bounty?”

“Not much. Five thousand.”

“That won’t even cover fuel these days.”

To his credit, Karga doesn’t immediately jump on that. He takes a second. Hums. Raises his brows in thought. “There is one job.”

There it is. No way Karga was going to trust the entire thing to you. He’s had this orchestrated for a while now, probably even beyond what you know. “Let’s see the puck,” he decides.

“No puck. Face to face. Direct commission. Deep pocket.”

“Underworld?”

“All I know is no chain code. Do you want the chit or not?” Karga holds it up.

It’s a second before he makes up his mind and takes the chit. Holds it for a second before standing to leave. It’s a year of someone’s life, after all. Anyway, it is the highest-paying bounty.

✦✦✦

There’s enough time for you to run back to the house and grab your jacket before returning right back to the shipyard. The final piece of Karga’s grand, pointless puzzle is in place. You were the first thing Mando saw when he arrived. Now, you’re supposed to be the last thing he sees before he leaves. Karga’s purpose in this meticulous staging is still a mystery, but never let it be said you don’t follow orders. You simply refuse to twiddle your thumbs while you wait for Mando to get back.

So, you find a crate to sit on and get busy finishing up the patch that you didn’t have the chance to almost a full month ago. It feels good to have your jacket in your hands again. Patching the bulky, heavy, rough thing is doing a spectacular job of keeping your mind off of the fact that Mando is going to be back soon. Probably no more convinced than he was a couple of hours ago. Probably still pissed. 

Keep it out of your mind. Keep working on the jacket. Why stop at a patch? You could fix the hem that’s coming loose, too. 

You feel it when he enters the shipyard, and you can’t explain that at all. All you know is that the hair stands up on the back of your neck suddenly. A shiver passes through you, and when you look up, he’s walking towards you. 

There’s a new beskar pauldron on his shoulder that wouldn’t look as impressive on anyone else. It adds something that you can’t describe in words but makes you keep staring as he approaches instead of shrinking away from even looking at him.

“So, did you take the puck?” you hear the sound of your voice asking before you have time to make yourself nervous about it. 

He doesn’t answer which tells you that he doesn’t want you to know. Which you’re pretty sure means he definitely took it. 

“Well,” you sigh, going back to your hemming. “Good luck.”

He’s still standing there, and some part of you is bracing for a lecture. A warning. Some kind of confrontation dealing with the attitude you took with him a few hours ago. But his next words are so unexpected that it stops your hands from working. “I realize I offended you,” he says instead. “I apologize. That wasn’t my intention.”

That’s… surprising. There’s no face when you look up at him, of course. Just the helmet, tilted down to look back at you. But if you squint, you think you can almost make out an expression. Something genuine in the way he’s holding himself.

You blink through the shock and give him a half-hearted, close-lipped smile in return. “Hey,” you say. “You didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. I was begging. You were right.”

“No,” he says. “You were doing your job, and I was ignorant and disrespectful. It won’t happen again.”

Nothing about this encounter is what you expected. No one has ever apologized to you like this before. No one has ever felt the need. You’re just a servant, after all. Unsure how else to respond, you shake your head. “Um… it’s alright,” you tell him. “Indentured servitude where I come from… it’s like the antithesis of religion. Instead of dedicating your life to getting closer to something immaterial, you dedicate it to getting away from something material. But I know that’s not normal, and you couldn’t have known anything about it. It was an overreaction, and I’m sorry.” 

He doesn’t respond. Good. You’re not sure how you would handle a response. You’re still reeling from the fact that this is coming from the silent, stoic Mandalorian. The silence seems to be the natural thing, and it suits you fine.

“What are you doing?” 

You look down at your work and back up to him. “Fixing the hem of my jacket. It’s time I got rid of this dress. Karga kinda threw it on me.”

“He does that.”

You shrug. “Evidently.”

By all means, that should be the end of the conversation. It’s here you would absolutely expect Mando to walk away, fly off, and not speak to you again. But he doesn’t. Instead, he looks over his shoulder and back at you. Takes a step closer. “What if he couldn’t anymore?” he says.

You furrow your brows. “What do you mean?”

“You could tell me what Karga’s planning before I’m even on-planet.”

You stare at him a moment, unable to form a coherent sentence. “Why would I do that?” you eventually sputter.

“It would save you the work of convincing me to take a job.”

Good point. It takes a second of utter confusion to think of a counter. “It could also screw up my so far amazing track record that’s taken two years off my debt so far.”

“I’d compensate you.”

“Like an inside job?”

“Like an inside job.”

You drop the needle on your lap, plant your hands firmly on the edge of the crate, and lean back. “I don’t know,” you grumble. “It’s a good idea, but how would I even do it? Karga monitors my personal frequency. He’d catch on before long.”

He pauses for just a moment. Then he reaches for his utility belt, pulls out a comlink, and tosses it in your lap. “Karga can’t monitor that,” he tells you.

Slowly, you reach for the comlink and turn it over in your hand. “Holy kriff, you’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” The way he says it makes you believe he thinks you’re wasting his time with pointless questions. But in all fairness, it seems unlikely.

And yet, you can’t think of any reason to refuse. “I…” you start, trying to make something up. Karga would be pissed but after the humiliating dress debacle? That’s more of a perk, and nothing else comes to mind. “Could you do an advance?”

Mando nods and retrieves a piece of Flan. A whole piece of Flan. Two months of pay for you. Slowly, you reach for it and squish the coin between your fingers. 

“Get back to Karga,” Mando instructs you as you examine the gelatinous currency. “Contact me as soon as you know what he’s planning.”

When you look up to face him again, he’s already walking away. You have no idea what almost compels you to call after him. Gratitude, you guess. But gratitude doesn’t usually feel like your insides are being wrung out. No, that’s what fear feels like, but you’re not afraid either.

Hesitantly, you stand and start walking back to the house. Back to your room, with your jacket slung over your shoulder, the comlink you hid in the pocket making it heavy. By the time you get there, it’s dusk. From your window, you can see the shape of Mando’s Razor Crest taking off. That wringing, twisting feeling is still there. It’s taking over your whole body, making you numb in your limbs.

It doesn’t help when Karga bursts into your room without knocking… again. 

“Oh, he’s taking off, huh?” Karga asks, walking to stand next to you in front of the window.

You shrug your shoulders and wrap your arms around yourself. “He took the puck, right?” you ask him, after a while.

“He took the job,” Karga confirms. “I could give you the five percent for it, but I’m not sure if it was you that convinced him or me.”

You don’t bother arguing or even reacting. All you do is face him and pull out the piece of Flan. “I got this from Mando. I’d like it to go towards my debt, please.”

He takes the piece and examines it. “How did you get this?” he eventually questions.

“I agreed to things,” you answer, purposefully vague. You’re almost positive Karga is going to take it the entirely wrong way. Good. He doesn’t need the context.

Karga exhales slowly as he pockets the Flan. “Well, congratulations,” he says like it’s physically painful to do so. “Five percent it is.”

You exhale with the weight of another year’s worth of debt coming off of your shoulders, but you find that you’re not as light as you were the first time it happened. Once again, you fix your eyes on the Razor Crest fading from view. Once the ship is out of sight, you turn back to Karga. “What happened to the hunters who went after this thing?”

“You mean the few that actually dared?” he asks. Then he shrugs. “All killed. But I wouldn’t worry about it. If anyone’s got a shot at this thing, it’s Mando.”

“But he could die,” you point out. “I helped you convince him to go on a hunt where he could very well die.”

“What are you so worked up over? It’s not like you’re the one pulling the trigger. You did good,” Karga says as he pats your shoulder and walks past you.

You should be happy, you know that. In the brief amount of time you’ve been on Nevarro, you’ve accomplished the impossible twice. Ten percent of your debt is gone within the span of a couple of months. But that suffocating feeling you used to get when the Mandalorian was around is coming to you as he’s leaving, and the fear that it might never change is keeping you underwater.

You sigh and turn to walk back to the house. One month down. Eighteen years to go.

[karasbroken]

I am still in escape-from-reality mode, so have an essay on John being smart, I guess?

I loved this photo of the shuttle interior, though of course I can't view it without sparing a few thoughts for the crew who lost their lives for our quest to be free from being trapped in our one, beautiful, complicated, suffering planet.

But what it made me think about next was Farscape, of course. It's so briefly mentioned, and never referred to again, but the Farscape mission was John's third trip to space, minimum. He'd been on two previous space shuttle missions. And they must have been significant and successful roles because he was commander for the Farscape project. So this overwhelming morass of switches and readouts was familiar to him. He could probably name what every control did, what every blinking button meant.

John's ability to adapt so quickly to alien technology doesn't seem so improbable when you consider how much Earth technology he was used to dealing with. He struggled mostly with the stuff that had no labels or details to guide him, like handles that turn unintuitively back and forth instead of up and down, or doors that open by waving the right way at specific unmarked spots. (I feel like PK techs also found the doors of Leviathans baffling because they engineered specific glowy pads for all of Talyn's doors.)

I'm positive that John knew every subsystem on this shuttle. There's a reason they let a guy go up to space in a ship of his own design, and it's not just because he's the son of a famous astronaut. (Good for publicity at a time when the space program was struggling for mind share and funding.) He might use half his brain for pop culture and Aeryn, but the rest of it was more than enough to make John that rare super genius who can put his math and science into practical use building shit. So of course the vast majority of the time we see John being idle, he's taking something apart or putting it back together.

When he goes back home, John claims not to understand how the hetch drive works, "he just installed it", but his friends know that's bullshit. Of course John knows how most of it works, but he doesn't have full grasp of the math and science because he's had to deduce everything from tinkering and an under-trained Pilot without full grasp of the science himself. John is being coy partly to not bias what other scientists can figure out from their own experiments and partly because he doesn't want to get stuck all day every day being interrogated for his knowledge. Kinda been there, done that.

But anyway, this picture made me think things, about Earth tech, and our wonderful, adaptable human in the wilds of constant space magic and a hundred species worth of tech....

(Okay, just one more rant: I'm convinced Aeryn becomes a tech herself at least partially because she hangs out with John a lot, and she hates being idle, so she started messing with tech too.

I can just see him opening something up and asking a lot of questions that irritate her because she has no idea why any of her equipment works and it has never been necessary to know how to fix it, yet the way he asks questions makes her feel ignorant. But then after he pokes around enough to figure out what the red squiggly button does, he shows her and wants her to understand it too. Which she wouldn't be interested in, except she can shut him up faster if she makes him show her how to put it back together, freeing him up to go play with the next thing that catches her eye.

Or he'll go into this rant about how this particular thing is always breaking and should really be redesigned and she tells him she'll fix it, again, just to shut him up.

Because she quietly loves being in his frittery, high energy presence; there's enough John to fill up a squad's worth of space and he helps her feel less lonely on this giant empty tomb of a ship. But she wishes he talked less because she can't not pay attention to him and three quarters of what he says is nonsense. John earnestly messing around with something too intent to even talk is perfect. She'll happily sit there and clean parts or do the tedious soldering if he just limits himself to occasional mutters and "youreekas!", whatever that means.

John, of course, being a super genius, eventually figures out the pretty girl will sit with him all day--really close to him actually, their knees will bump a lot--if he tells her he really needs help assembling backup circuits or whatever. But only if he shows her how to do it once, provides minimal feedback from there, and limits himself to two Earth pop culture references per arn.)

Flight Deck of the Space Shuttle Columbia image credit: Eric Long/Smithsonian Institution                          National Air and Space Museum

[munsonsmixtapes]

hellooo could you write something that goes like teacher eddie munson hooked up with student reader and they don’t talk with eachother anymore and the reader is sad because she thinks that he doesn’t care about her anymore and sees chrissy flirting with him and so she thinks that he’s in a relationship with chrissy and she avoids him every now and then but in the end eddie and the reader gets back together (PLEASE WRITE THIS IM DESPERATE I LOVE UR WORK BTW🥰🥰)

You knew the whole thing was wrong from the very beginning, but you couldn’t help it. Him being older and your teacher made him that much more appealing. It was just once, but it lived in your head rent free every second of every day. You can still hear his moans ringing in your ear and as much as you try your best to chase the high, you just couldn’t. You wanted to get over him by getting under someone else, but it was impossible. 

Especially when you saw him every week when you sat in his class. Every time you saw him as his podium, images of him bending you over it as he fucked you from behind, telling you just how bad of a girl. You could practically still feel the sting of where he smacked your ass over and over, making it damn near impossible to focus on anything he was saying. 

You hated that you had fallen for him so easily. But he didn’t seem to feel the same as he had never called you after you had given him his number. And seeing him flirting with Chrissy Cunningham after class and the way he was staring at her, you knew that whatever you and Professor Munson had was over. 

You don’t know why, but you get it in your head that they’re together as you watch them, slowly making your way towards the door. They’re giggling about something and you can’t help but feel your blood boil, wanting to tell them to at least have the decency to do that in his office.

But you don’t. You can’t without revealing that you had a thing with him previously. So you flee the room and head down the hall, grateful that you don’t have anymore classes so you can go home and pout. You know it’s silly, and maybe a little stupid, but you got attached to him and even though he had every right to see whoever he wants, it hurts. Especially since the girl he’s seeing is another student.

So you go home and drown yourself in ice cream and tears as you watch the movie Eddie had put on that night. You just can’t get yourself to let go of him. You don’t know why since he was quick to throw you aside for someone else. And that got you thinking about how many other girls he had done that to. 

You’re about to storm down to his office when there’s a knock at your door. You slowly get up to answer it, unsure of who would show up at that hour and you start to think you’re hallucinating when you look through the peephole and see Eddie on the other side. 

You unlock the door and rip it open, feeling your heart suddenly melt as he puts on that smile that always makes your knees weak. But it quickly falters once he takes in your tear stained cheeks. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He asks, his voice soft, and you hate how easy it is for you to forgive him. You feel so pathetic, hating how easy it is for him to play you. 

“Nothing,” you turn your head away from him, crossing your arms over your chest. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk,” he replies, reaching out to take your hand, but you step away out of his reach. 

“About what? You really shouldn’t be here,” you tell him. “Chrissy wouldn’t like it.” 

Eddie’s eyebrows furrow at your words. What does Chrissy have to do with any of this? He had seen you watch the two of them after class, but it had been nothing but a student talking to a teacher. He doesn’t even see her like that anyway as he only has eyes for you. 

Just when you think the whole thing can’t get any worse, Eddie laughs. He laughs. And the sound echoes in your brain, making you somehow feel even more embarrassed. 

“What are you talking about?” He asks, the laughter dying down into a light chuckle. “Chrissy and I aren’t together. I-I came over here to see you.”

“Really? And for what reason would that be for exactly?” You ask and Eddie laughs again. He hates that your mad at him and is trying his best to lighten the mood. 

“To see you,” he says as if it should be obvious and it is. “I wanted to tell you how good of a time I had the other night.” He’s been thinking about it ever since and he knows he should have said something earlier, but he had assignments to grade and time just got away from him. But he’s here now and really hopes that you’ll give him a second chance.

“The other night, as in over two weeks ago? You couldn’t have just texted me that?” 

“I got a new phone and a lot of the numbers from my old one didn’t transfer over.” He holds up the phone he had in his jacket pocket and you notice that it’s completely different from the one you had put your phone number into. 

“Eddie,” you sigh, stepping closer to him. “I’m so sorry. I feel so stupid.” And you do, so much so that you almost want to run. But you can’t as his hands grab onto your waist, pulling you closer.

“No,” he shakes his head. “I would be mad if the roles were reversed. So I don’t blame you at all. And the real reason I came over was to ask you out. Because I like you and don’t want what we have to be a one night stand.” 

“I don’t either,” you reply and he pulls you in for a kiss, the two of you smiling into it as you pull him inside, slamming the door behind you as you lead him to the bedroom where you spend the rest of the night until the early morning, whispering “I love you’s” over and over until they didn’t even sound like words anymore.

[hyenabeanz]

You find the commonalities. You don't get bogged down in converting the parts where you disagree. Our brains react to arguing the same way they do to painful threats, by drawing in, doubling down on what we believe to keep us safe.

We can't challenge beliefs head on. Not getting this is part of why we're in the mess we are right now.

I'm horrified. These people have set policies in place that might kill me.

But it's done. So the best any of us can do is affirm our humanity and build community. It's sort of how the most effective form of activism for queer acceptance in the mid-aughts was simply coming out, with bravery, even and especially to unwelcoming community.

It's easy to hate that faceless leftist, that faceless queer. To be ok with them being hauled off to wherever.

It's harder to be ok with them hauling off your niece or your grandson or Alex or Jamie from work or the community group. They're not a bad person, they shared cookies with me, they help pushed me out of a snowbank.

You don't have to agree with them, or hide that you think they're wrong. But deradicalization works by connection. You can't logic and argue out of it. You dismiss it.

They bring up how great a horrific policy is, you go "I don't agree with that at all, I think it is harmful, but I don't want to talk about that. I'd rather talk about [common ground]." And you keep redirecting.

And oh god yes it's hard. And we don't owe it to them, at all. But this isn't really about them, not really. It's *tactical.* For us.

no matter how the election turns out, our path forward is the same. engage in your local community, not just through voting but through all kinds of grass-roots activism. learn about indigenous groups near you, their needs, how you can help them. support local black activist groups. form an affinity group. start a community fridge. get to know your neighbors, the ones who are sketchy and dirty and speak weird and are hard to get along with. the way out will always be through community. no supreme victory or crushing defeat; we must choose over and over again, forever, to live through the good and the bad together, as one.

[sammyluvr]

People don't talk abt academic rivals trope with Sam enough. There's nothing I need more than to debate this competitive petulant "umm actually" mf. He is such a quick learner and so kinddd (he tutors other students!). But with the reader? Also a competitive petulant mf? Absolute war. Teacher needs to stage an intervention every once in a while to ensure everyones safety. The students in the class are texting their parents to come and pick them up bc their scared. Teachers either trying to make both of them even more competitive or trying to play matchmaker. I acc hate the booktok thing where the guy pulls something like "hE liEs WhEn sHe AsKs HoW mUch hE got oN the tEst to lEt hEr Winn" NO. Sam is going to be so mean (lovingly in a I have such a bad crush on this person I need to be put down kinda way trust.) when he gets a better score than you. He also holds sm respect for the reader not only because Sam is abnormally (he took a gender studies class ur honor) chilvarious, but bc he isn't an asshole. God I need this so bad.

🛻- anon out

mean in a "I have such a bad crush on this person I need to be put down kinda way" I'M CACKLING LMAO THAT'S SO HIM HAHA i love this so much actuallyyyy ugh. sam who's kinda mean to you because he needs to feel good about himself but who can't actually be truly mean to you because he respects you too much. sam who is secretly in awe with the way that you think and problem solve and just act and look in general. and wants so badly to just have a civil conversation (that lasts for ten billion hours because you both have so much to say and you stimulate each other's brain and make the other think in new and interesting ways). but he can't because you have this established dynamic and he's too prideful to be the one to switch things up. and he also thinks you're hot when you get worked up about this shit. and cute also.

sam who gets pissy and annoyed as all hell when you do better than him on something, but wants to ask you about it and hear you explain it. sam who gets furious when you gloat but wants to be the one who tells you he's proud of you for doing so well. sam who gets caught staring and tells you there's something between your teeth to play it off and tease you.

sam who needs an external force to push the two of you together (because you're just a prideful and stubborn as he is), but sam who breaks first and kisses you passionately after fighting, but embarrassingly tripping and falling over you while trying to walk away all haughtily. sam who still argues and competes with you when you start dating, but now gets to kiss you for doing well on an exam and have those all-nighter conversations. sam who never stops telling you how smart you are and how sweet you are and how much he loves you and still calls you dumbass at least twice a day (remedies it will kisses to your knuckles)

[austinslounge]

I honestly tried to like Kaia, I truly did, but I can’t stand this shit anymore. Her desperate attempts to be popular, seem interesting and ”deep” are driving me insane at this point. I know it’s probably not her fault, but her parents’, they made her this cringy attention-seeker after all. I can’t understand what Austin sees in her other than her family’s connections or just a plain PR agreement. She has no personality, she always tries to gain popularity by copying her mother(or people she’s dating). It’s funny how she doesn’t even look that much like Cindy, sure, she’s beautiful, but Presley literally stole Cindy’s face. Her attempts to seem intelligent are also miserable. I’ve never seen any of her book club readings, because for me, most of her book recommendations are just airplane reads, but I’ve seen many people say that even when she’s talking about books, it seems scripted and staged. Like someone just gave her a summary and she retells what happened in the book, that’s it. I mean, what intelligence? She never even bothered to take basic acting classes. Her comments about nepotism speak volumes too. During the pandemic she bragged about having dinner reservations and partying with her friends. Her merch is awful. With all her money and resources, she could have made some really good stuff, but why would she?Her small insane fan base will pay 50$ for an ugly white shirt with a caption either way. She’s desperately clinging to anyone who can give her even the smallest amount of fame, her following people and then unfollowing them if they don’t follow back. The way she was clinging to Austin hardcore in July, dragging him away from his fans, when he wanted to interact with them. Her stupid cake for his birthday. Don’t even get me started on how she makes out with her female friends constantly or throws herself on her male costars or short SNL guys. I don’t know why I feel so annoyed and disgusted by her all the time. I swear, this girl spoils my excitement for Austin and his work every fucking time. Nepotism is not always a bad thing, there are talented nepo babies, but she’s like the epitome of everything I hate about nepotism. I don’t know how she can rub shoulders with people who actually have talent, get invited to all these awards and red carpets. Kaia had plenty of time to prove that she’s worth something, she’s been in the industry since she was a child, but no. Why would she prove anything? Her mother is Cindy Crawford, her father is a millionaire worth 400 million, her boyfriend is Austin Butler. I just wish she will go away finally. No matter how hard I try, I can’t warm up to her. Sadly, looking at the state she is now, you can clearly tell that the girl has issues, but sadly,having no brain,she can’t understand that she’s a tragedy about to happen.

💯

Girl! I wish I could give you an award for this post. You basically hit the nail squarely on the head with the many various reasons why a lot of us in Austin's fandom don't like this girl! I'd be saying the exact same thing if Austin were dating another woman just like this. I'm actually verrry surprised that people haven't called Kaia out on her very obvious clout-chasing by now.

I'll be honest, I never really cared for her even when she was dating Elordi. I don't hate her, she's just meh to me. Always has been. So my thoughts and feelings about her are not about Austin. It's more so about what I've observed about her over the years.

Her dating Austin just makes things even more unbearable though -- especially when you know that he could do so much better. 😩 But hey, it's his life, not mine!

When I realized they were dating however, I really did try to like her too, or at least give her a chance. I saw that Austin was with her, so I was trying to be a "good fan"and see what he may see in her. But last year, I started seeing more and more negative things that I just didn't like about her.

I really don't have much to add to this wonderful post, because you basically touched on the many various reasons why a lot of AB fans don't really care for her. I also think she makes Austin look cheap with her weird behavior and interests. 👀 She really cheapens his brand imo. But that's a topic for another day lol.

[oopsiedaisiesbaby]

I can't stop thinking about John giving Gale a token, the way that boys in the 40's would pin their girlfriends.

My mind is all over the place with this one 😍

I was trying to think about how this would translate into them being in the military together and my initial thought was dog tags. Yes, I know it’s a ‘no, no’ and wouldn’t really work but idc.

I’m thinking about John leaving for Greenland and despite his cockiness about being a bad ass pilot, he’s actually lowkey anxious about going alone before Gale. They’ve been attached at the hip since day 1. So John, being the romantic that he is, gives Gale one of his dog tags to wear. He has no expectation of it being returned but Gale readily gives John one of his too because he’s just as nervous. It makes their captures in Germany wildly difficult but we’re keeping it light today lol

This also got me thinking about letterman jackets. Gale hates that stupid sheepskin but John is always trying to drape it over his shoulders. “You look a little cold Buck.” “Can’t have you shivering, Buck, it’s bad for morale.” “It’s a little nippy out today, huh, Buck?” and he’s not subtle at all.

Sure, Gale runs cold, but he doesn’t need a whole ass sheepskin on top of the jacket he’s already wearing. Gale of course rolls his eyes every time and pretends to put up a fight, but the moment that hideous thing is on his body he’s discreetly burying his nose in the collar and letting the scent of John’s aftershave soothe him.

My brain also went to John wearing 2 crosses. One’s his and one’s an a heirloom. The night before Gale goes on his first mission, its just the two of them pressed together somewhere private exchanging kisses and being sappy about not going up together and some ‘I missed you’s’ thrown in there. John’s petrified for Gale, he’s been up, and the thought of sending his fella up there with nothing has his gut twisting and a fist around his heart.

He knows Gale is agnostic at best and John’s willing to look past that because he’s stupid in love and he’s not really a good little catholic boy these days anyways. But, Gale’s always fiddling with the crosses when it’s just the two of them. So he takes off the heirloom one while Gale is mid sentence and hooks it around his neck, running his fingertips over it where it now rest against Gale’s chest. Gale swoons a bit and John’s like “So I can protect you even though I’m not physically up there with you.”

He took it to London to get cleaned, so Gale wasn’t wearing it when he went down, but we’re keeping it light today!

What other tokens do you think these dorks would exchange?