#if only someone who was more articulate wrote it...

[elizaleclerc]

hi! hope you're having a good day, could i request charles dating a reader who doesnt have friends? or just feels lonely in general.. it can be shy if you're not comfortable writing that! just some comfort🥹🥹 thank you!

false god 💋

"and i can't talk to you when you're like this. staring out the window like i'm not your favorite town"

summary: gf!reader and charles get into an argument after ferrari underperforms again.

song: false god by taylor swift

author's note: wrote this bc i had that song stuck in my head oops. no warnings really- just a bit of manipulation if u squint a little. (ALSO HI IM BACK <3)

word count: 2.2k

They all warned you about times like these. The girlfriends of the other drivers looked at you with wary eyes. Most of them vowed to never date a Ferrari driver, but your connection with Charles was unlike any other that you had before. Never date a driver in red because they love that team more than they’ll ever love you, you’d been told before. You always responded with nervous smiles and shaky laughs, hoping that in reality the other girls you had come to know were just playing some sick joke. Like this was all some sort of initiation into the clique that was girlfriends of F1 drivers. 

None of their words felt true when you were next to Charles, his hands on your waist or your head cradled into his neck. Nothing had actually felt more right. You brushed off the warnings from the other girls and chose to focus on the love between you and Charles. You never brought any of this up to him, completely unwilling to cause any unnecessary drama between the close knit group you found yourself in. All of these people have known each other for years, and you were the latest addition. 

In July, with three race weekends back to back, Ferrari’s dominant streak would be tested. Red Bull and McLaren were powering ahead with upgrades and race pace, and it appeared that the powerful scarlet team was falling behind. 

You noticed the tension in Charles’s face after a bad qualifying pace or another bad race result. The boundaries were being stretched. You observed how Charles would brush away your hand at dinner or neglect to kiss you goodnight before bed. The last two weeks had been hell for you, and in the back of your mind you wondered if there was some truth in what the girls had said months ago. Maybe these Ferrari men are just too much to handle after all.   

Before the third and final race of the triple header, Carmen, girlfriend of Mercedes driver George Russel, pulled you aside to have a chat. “I know things have been hard for you and Charles.” 

You furrowed your brows, “What?” You laughed nervously. You hadn’t mentioned anything about the tensions between you and Charles recently. The only way Carmen and the other girls would have found out is if Charles was feeling the same way and he told them himself. 

“Not that I’ve heard anything, just- you know. Ferrari has been falling behind, everyone can see it. And I know Charles cares for you, but that man has loved Ferrari since he could walk. When they don’t do well- when he doesn’t do well- he’s bound to take that out on the people around him.” Carmen easily articulated her explanation, which made your mind swirl even more as the small smile finally fell from your face. 

You sighed, becoming flustered with the whole situation, and the warm sun beaming down caused a sheen across your forehead. “I just don’t know what to do.” You were unsure if Carmen was someone you could fully trust, as you hadn’t exactly made any super close friendships with them. The past couple of months, your whole focus has been Charles. 

“Just know that it isn’t your fault. Before I dated George I dated a Ferrari driver. Their passion for the team and the intensity in their competitiveness makes them unlike any of the others.” She paused for a moment before she continued, “What you have to do is really try to read his emotions and find that balance of giving him space and being there to comfort him. Stand by him when he needs it, and back off if it seems too tense.” 

“That sounds kinda hard,” You broke into a small smile, overwhelmed with the new information you had gained. 

Carmen grabbed your hand, “It’ll be okay. If I do know one thing, it’s that Charles is falling for you. Through thick and thin, I think you guys can make it.” 

A small wave of relief washed over you, “Thanks, Carmen.” As long as someone had faith in your abilities to handle Charles, you didn’t feel so alone. 

~

As most of the fans expected, the Austrian Grand Prix did not go well for Ferrari. Your heart sank when Charles finished outside of the points for the third weekend in a row. It would greatly hinder his ability to fight for the championship. He needed nothing short of a miracle to come back now. 

You knew Charles had been dealing with the press for the last couple of hours, and you didn’t meet back up in the paddock with him until it was time for the two of you to leave to go back to Monaco for the next week. 

You sat in the passenger seat of his car as he drove in silence for a few minutes, navigating his way out of the paddock. Once the two of you had made it onto the main road, you decided to read where his head was at. 

“I’m sorry my love,” you comforted him and grabbed his free hand, giving it a light squeeze. He sneaked his hand out from your grasp, resting it on the steering wheel. You couldn’t help but feel your stomach sink. 

“It’s just ridiculous, we can’t seem to get anything together.” He huffed in frustration, and you wondered if he even realized he had pushed your hand away. 

“Despite the strategy issues, I thought you had a really good drive today.” Maybe a compliment would help? 

He scoffed, “I could’ve been better. I made too many mistakes, regardless of how scrambled our strategy was.” 

You weren’t sure how to respond. You thought it was best for him to ruminate and think things out the rest of the way home. You had the rest of the drive to the airport, and then the whole plane ride to see if he was feeling any better. When you had to speak, you avoided any mention or talk about the race, or more specifically Charles’s performance. 

On the plane, you flew back with Lando and Oscar. Oscar had a fabulous race, and almost won it all. Lando on the other hand fought with Max the whole race and ended up with a DNF. So the plane ride was full of mixed conversation and feelings. Oscar was proud of his win and complimented the McLaren strategy, while Lando aired out his grievances for Max’s intense competitiveness. Charles chimed in regularly to tell them they should consider themselves lucky to not have to deal with the Ferrari pitwall. 

Still, you stayed silent, letting the three of them talk things through. You sat next to Charles in your seat but kept to yourself, trying to read your book but really you were listening to the conversation around you. Not once did Charles take your hand or give you a small peck on your cheek. As it appeared to Lando and Oscar, you and Charles didn’t even look like a couple at all. 

You began to feel that aching pang of loneliness that you were so familiar with before you had met Charles. The feeling of having no one to speak to in a crowded room. You hated to appear shy and reserved, but didn’t want to push yourself to be outgoing. You had been dating Charles long enough that he knew one of your love languages was physical touch. You loved nothing more than small moments of affection, but in the past few weeks it seemed like he wanted nothing to do with you. 

~

Charles opened the door to his apartment in Monaco, the moonlight being the only thing that shone on the furniture and pictures hanging on the walls. He languidly flicked on a couple of lamps, adorning the living room with a warm glow.

“You’ve been quiet.” He stated plainly, moving to the kitchen to fix himself a glass of water.

You took a moment to respond, “Well there’s not really much for me to say.” 

Charles turned from the fridge to face you, and looked at your face, seeming to analyze the tone of your words. After he took a sip of his water he asked, “Are you alright?”  

You laugh nervously, “I’ve been better.” 

He furrowed his brows, “What’s the matter?” 

“Cmon, Charles. You can’t be serious.” You knew you were treading dangerous waters, but this conversation was long overdue, and after the exhausting plane ride you felt yourself boiling over. 

He looked back at you expectantly, not knowing what you were getting at. 

“You haven’t noticed the way things have changed between us in the last three weeks? You haven’t noticed that when Ferrari starts struggling you push me aside?” Your voice was steady, but it shook slightly in a mix of nerves and frustration. In all the times you’ve let Charles air out his frustrations, you’ve held all of yours in. 

His lips parted and you knew he was shocked but mostly confused. All of your questions were rhetorical, of course he hadn’t noticed. “You never hold my hand, you’ve stopped introducing me to your friends. I feel like the past few weeks I’ve only been someone for you to fuck to let your anger out.” You were really letting it out now, the words flowing out of you like they could no longer be contained. 

“That’s not true.” He persisted, walking out from behind the counter into the living room where you stood. 

Tears pricked up in your eyes, “It doesn’t matter if it isn’t true, it’s what I feel.” You brought your hand to rest on your chest.

“Listen, you know I’m happy with what we have, I don’t want to change anything about it. But you know my career is important too. My loyalty to this team is important.” He tried to explain himself, but you ruffled your fingers through your hair in exasperation. 

“I fucking knew it, they were right.” You mumbled to yourself, now pacing. 

“Who was right?” Charles pressed. 

“The other girls!” You raised your voice, “As soon as we got together and you were bringing me around the paddock, they warned me. They told me to never date a Ferrari driver. That you’ll always love that damn team more than you’ll love me. They said it so. many. times. And then Carmen told me yesterday that she knew we’ve been having problems and that the more Ferrari struggled the worse you would get.” 

Tears fell down your cheeks as you continued, “I’ve tried, I’ve tried so hard. I’ve said all the right things, held your hand when you’re mad, tried to compliment you to make you feel better about yourself. None of that worked, you would still barely look at me.” Your breathing was heavy and your voice had become raspy with tears. 

Charles moved closer to you, grabbing your trembling hands, “Come on, breathe my love.” You took a deep breath as he moved one of his hands to wipe away your tears. “I’ve never said anything to the other girls about us, I don’t know why they said those things to you.” 

“But- the way you’ve been acting-” you sniffled, looking into his eyes that were filled with such care. You hadn’t seen that look in what felt like forever.

“I know, it’s been tough for me lately. I’ll take full responsibility for not treating you properly. You didn’t deserve any of that.” He gave your hand a slight squeeze, waiting a few moments before speaking again. “I do love this team, and I will push to be the best driver I can possibly be, but…” he swallowed, “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t falling for you. You are becoming more and more important to me by the minute, and I’d quit racing today if you asked me to.” 

You let out a dry laugh, “You don’t mean that.” 

“Every word.” 

You were quiet, just looking in his eyes. You could tell he really did mean it. This thing between you and Charles was becoming more serious as the days passed. You knew that you were falling for him too, which is what made these past few weeks all the more confusing. 

“If I could give you any more assurance, it’s that racing- this career- will never ever be a priority over you.” He leaned in to place a light kiss on your temple. 

“I just hate to see you struggling like you have been. I like it when you’re all happy.” You curled your lips into a small smile, and he grinned back. 

He shook his head slowly, “Trust me, I know.” You wrapped your arms around his neck, resting your head on his chest. His lips kissed the top of your head, and everything felt right in the world again. 

You pulled away, locking eyes with him. “It gets lonely sometimes, in the paddock. I feel like I’ve failed to make any genuine friends.” 

He planted another kiss on your forehead, “Well, you could always keep to yourself. Be above any drama and gossip. You’d surely be the coolest one there. Then, when it’s all said and done, we have each other.” 

You giggled into his kiss on your lips. Maybe you could eventually trust the other girls eventually, but their cold welcome to you was definitely unappreciated. But you had Charles, and more importantly, you trusted Charles. And you knew that bond wasn’t going away anytime soon.

[rodolfoparras]

Oh gosh, hi hello howdy. I’ve always quietly lurked on your blog because it makes me so fucking feral but I’m too nervous about saying anything. But!! I’m being brave, saying hello, and idk bringing a little treat too I suppose

idk what specifically got me hooked onto this idea, but it was def something you wrote that was scream worthy but but all it did was make me imagine:

Price just being this perfect soldier, perfect leader, gruff and hard around the edges because he has to be in his line of work. Sharp voice, stern face, no-nonsense and all authority. Then reader comes around. Price is all bark and bite, but oh with reader—something shakes loose in his chest.

It doesn’t come up in the field. It doesn’t come up on base either. It’s some little dinky bar where the team has holed up in after a rough mission to celebrate a safe return and lick their wounds in relative, drunken peace. And it starts with just the brush of your arm against Price’s neck. It was an accident. You reached for something over his shoulder, Ghost handing you another drink or you swatting at a laughing Soap, and it was really just the loose fabric of your sleeve against Price’s skin.

Price has spent so long being alpha alpha alpha. It’s what’s expected of a military man, what’s expected of a captain and leader. But something about the touch against the back of his neck—of you touching his neck, holding him, collaring him. It’s lucky the lights are low enough no one notices the flush spreading across his face and the music is too loud to hear that soft little whimper.

Anywayyyy love the blog hehe <3

Hello sugar cube!! I’m so glad you popped in pls know y’all are genuinely always welcome here I can understand feeling nervous but believe me I absolutely love talking to y’all! 🥹🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

Also before I say anything else I just have to say you articulate yourself in such a beautiful way I absolutely love the way you write sugar🧎🏻‍♂️

Second of all I’ve always loved the thought of price giving up control

Imagine price who’s always been forced to take charge and make decisions, always been captain or lieutenant, someone important before he’s been a mere soldier, always carrying so much responsibilities on his shoulders

When you came around he hadn’t expected to start a relationship with you it kind of just happened much like he just happened to give up control to you

Price would always be up on his feet before anyone else, preparing coffee and making sure him and his team have everything they need for their mission, but now he’s woken up by the smell of coffee and met with the sight of your smiling face holding out a cup for him .

He takes it gracefully, sipping on it contentedly, feeling himself become more and more alert as the caffeine enters his system.

He’s just about to say how he needs to prepare for the upcoming mission when you abruptly cut him off with a kiss, ever so carful not to tip the cup of warm liquid on him.

He happily accepts your kiss, a contented sigh escaping his lips and it’s your smile that finally breaks the kiss.

“I’ve already prepared everything,” you say, smile still painted on your face.

He only manages a surprised “oh” in response, brows raising high at your words before he bashfully thanks you for what you’ve done.

Once he’s done with his coffee you put his mug down on the night stand before you take his hand and pull him out of the bed, playfully tugging him over to the bathroom where you’re quick to start up a shower for him.

He mumbles something under his breath probably something along the lines of how he’s a grown man and can take care of himself and doesn’t need you to prepare showers for him but he secretly loves it

As soon as he steps foot in the shower, you’re hot on his tail, pouring shower gel into your hands, and soaping them up before burying your fingers into his hair.

A groan escapes his lips, eyes fluttering shut as he leans into the wonderful feeling.

Maybe you’re going over the mission with him or maybe you’re just humming some tune or maybe you’re trailing kisses down his neck while massaging his tense shoulders

Ether way he absolutely loves it feels like he’s in heaven because of it and of course the sweet thing gets so worked up, all hot and bothered from having someone pampering him this much, cock all hard and weeping between his thighs and there’s no way you’ll have him this tense before a mission so of course you sneak your hand between his legs and gently pumping his length

He’s clawing at your arm, head lolling back onto your shoulder as groans and whimpers escape him.

It doesn’t take much before the sweet thing is inching closer to his release, head burying into your neck and begging you to let him finish and who are you to deny him?

You quickly dry him up and help him dress before you ready yourself for the mission.

Youre checking your weapons and gear going over whatever you’ll need before taking the liberty to check his stuff and he’s all red in the face muttering curses under his breath but he absolutely loves everything you do for him and the rest of tf141 knows it as they stand there quietly chuckling in the background

Well out on the field you’re hot on his heal, your form towering over him, chest flushed to his back, hand on him to keep him in close vicinity while moving quietly

And if a bullet happens to graze him you’re lashing out at whoever wasn’t properly covering him getting all up in their face and cursing them out so much that Price has to pull you back by the waist while trying to suppress the smile tugging at his lips

And on your way back home you’re checking up on him constantly, even sitting next to him in the helicopter, thighs flush with his, arm around him, letting him lean his body onto yours, and checking every once a while on the injury he’s got

And of course when you’re back home you got him sprawled out on the bed, head buried between his legs, making him cum over and over, til there’s nothing but pathetic spurts of cum coming from him.

As he lay there, sated and fucked out, Price realizes he’s finally let someone else have control for once.

[slytherinslut0]

ignore me for a second because this is literally just going to be insistent nonsensical rambling but what i really crave more than anything else currently is a story dissecting tom riddles one fundamental flaw; his inexperience/inability to feel selfless, genuine love.

i have, for the most part, written my tom very removed from canon but i just feel like a story surrounding this could be so beautiful if articulated right. i think of how i wrote mattheo in beg for me—he was so reluctant to let himself feel love because along with it came fear; fear of abandonment fear of vulnerability fear of what it could mean to have something worth losing. tom’s fear would be tenfold.

i don’t know if i’m crazy but i just need that angst from him right now. i love self assured emotionally detached composed tom riddle but a tom riddle who finds himself enamoured with you to the point he’s wishing he never met you because he misses the man he was before you—the restrained man with nothing to lose—yes, the thought of that does something to me.

not to mention i’ve been listening to sleep token nonstop and if these lyrics don’t fit tom then idk:

“I’m not here to be the saviour you long for, only the one you don’t.”

i love this line and i feel as though this would be something tom says to you as you’re attempting to push him away. such a prose fits him so well because he’d be trying to tell you that he may not be the hero in your story but his presence is still significant in its own right. he’s never claimed to be the good guy but that you could gain something from him you may not realize yet.

“I’ll take a pound of your flesh before you take a piece of my paystub.”

a threat spat through a clenched jaw and hunger blown pupils. uttered from the lips of a lying man who knows he’d never lay a finger on you and would kill anyone who dared to try. he’s still in denial of his feelings, you’re in denial of yours. the two of you so alike you’re destined to butt heads.

“Turn me into your mannequin and I’ll turn you into my puppet queen.”

tom often presents himself as someone willing to be molded to gain trust. it’s different with you because you know this. you’ve accepted it. you need eachother—you feed off eachother—you’d be a fool to ignore it. he uses you for one thing and you use him for another. you can’t fall victim to his tricks if you know that’s all they are. surface value. mutual manipulation.

alright i will stop rambling. i’d love to write this but i don’t think i could ever do him justice.

[olderthannetfic]

The yaelokre thing is reminding me of something I did when I was about seven or eight years old.

I had a bunch of toy horses and had invented extensive lore for them. It was a sprawling fantasy world, and each toy horse was a specific character in that world with specific relations to the other horses. These weren't just random toys I'd pick up when I was bored, the box of horses was an ongoing creative endevour that I had poured a lot of time and effort into (there were convoluted family trees drawn on graph paper and an in-universe newspaper I wrote with coloured pencils and handed out to my parents and siblings).

Anyway, one time a neighbour girl came over and played with the horses, which I was OK with in theory (and not sharing one's toys was some sort of high crime in my mom's book), but the neughbour girl made the pink princess pony be a bratty child instead of the adult diplomat character I'd developed her has.

I pitched a fit.

Absolute screaming meltdown. I could not tolerate someone taking my creation and doing it wrong. It genuinely hurt me to see my creation misused and twisted in that way, and the only way I had to express that was to scream at the neighbour girl for playing with a plastic toy wrong.

The difference between me and Yaelokre is that I was eight years old and Yaelokre is old enough to use twitter. And Yaelokre had the option to not post their characters on the internet, while I, because of my mom's rules, did not have the option of not sharing my horse characters with the neighbour girl.

So I undestand how Yaelorke feels and I sympathize with them, but I'm also going "dude, you had a choice here and you brought this on yourself".

--

(Anon who threw a fit at age 8 because someone played with a toy horsie wrong) I remember trying to explain to my mom, through the tears and the meltdown and an eight year old's grasp of things, that my horse characters were personal and meaningful and having someone "ruin" the story like that felt like a violation. And mom just got mad at me for being selfish and refusing to share my toys "It's just a toy horse, she didn't break it or anything". But I wasn't upset about the neighbour girl waving around a piece of plastic wrong, it wasn't the toy horse I was upset about, it was something iddy that I had created, and what upset me was my perception that I was being ignored and my thoughts and feelings were being misused, not the plastic horse. Yaelokre can probably understand and articulate their own feelings better than I could when I was eight, but they also seem to be feeling the exact same way, so if any of you are going to try to confront them about this, just know that laughing at them or getting mad at them will probably make things worse and make them feel even more trampled and violated than the fanworks existing in the first place, and will not make them go "oh well, it's just fiction, I'll learn to live with it". Because it probably isn't just fiction to them, it's an expression of their id.

I hate it when adults don't grasp this about kids' stuff. It's so common.

The more yaelokre keeps at this, the more they're going to find out the hard way how the internet treats people who regulate their emotions like a small child.

[thedevilrisen]

Cool Continuations

Quinn x Reader!oc

Word Count: 900 words!

Authorial Note: Part two of ‘Concrete Impressions.’ This is also a part of Cookie’ Universe! Thank you for the overwhelming amount of support on this au so far 🥺🫶🏼. NOTE THAT THIS IS ALSO A NORMAL QUINN FIC, IT IS A READER INSERT THAT ALIGNS WITH MY AU.

Warnings: Mentions of War in a classroom context.

‘The Vietnam War, started on the first of November, 1955…’ Quinn rested his chin on his balled-up fist. The bottom, bony part of his elbow was turning red and beginning to ache from how much weight he was resting on it. He wasn’t paying attention to the lecture at all. Normally, he only paid attention if it was dire or if he had an exam fast approaching. But today was different. He glanced periodically over at Cookie, paying attention to someone else entirely.

Quinn was hunched over, day-dreaming himself silly over the idea of being her prince charming. He imagined teaching her to skate, maybe even getting her to come to one of his games, wearing his jersey...

“What was that date again?” Y/N sighed, looking pensively at her iPad notes. Quinn’s heart jumped—he wanted to answer her, just to see her smile. He quickly Googled it, then read her the answer. In doing this, he learned he could be the one to make her smile, something he had already decided was his favorite thing. He pretended to absorb all the professor’s information like a sponge, even jotting down a few notes when she did.

Soon, he was noticing even more details about her, things he couldn’t help but find adorable. She was so particular about her academics; her notes were methodically typed and organized. She used both a physical calendar and an online one, and had a habit of thinking out loud. During a small writing task, she mumbled to herself, like a human articulation machine. She would say a word, then scrunch up her face, muttering something about there being a better one. He found himself smiling whenever she did this, realizing he didn’t just like seeing the joy on her face when she found the right word—he loved it.

‘Homework is due by 9 p.m. on Friday… dismissed!’

Quinn watched as she wrote this down in her physical planner: left side, third row down. He barely knew her, but he already felt himself sliding from curiosity to borderline obsession. He wanted to know every little thing that made Cookie unique, down to the tiniest detail. "What are you doing for the rest of the afternoon, Cookie?”

He watched as Y/N meticulously packed her notebook and iPad into her bag, slinging it back onto her shoulder. She adjusted her hair, tucking it over her ear. “I’m heading back to my dorm to have a pretty tame night. I’ll probably finish homework for this class, as well as my work for bio! It’s Tuesday though, so I’ll be ordering Indian and watching Gilmore Girls!”

Quinn smiled to himself gently. “Sounds like a packed evening there!”

“It will be, but it’s relaxing to me.” She quietly thanked a classmate who held the door open for them. Once they were in the corridor, Quinn lingered, desperate to absorb every second he could with her.

“Do you have anything on tonight, Quinn?”

The dazed look in his eyes dulled, and he snapped back to the moment. “I have hockey training tonight. We’ve got a game on Thursday, against BU.”

“Fun!” she said with a beaming smile, removing her heavy bag to hold it in front of her. Quinn noticed this and put two and two together—she’d been holding it too long, and it was getting heavy.

“I hope you do well in that game, Quinn!”

Quinn scratched the back of his neck, letting out a sheepish laugh as his eyes crinkled with a smile. “I was actually wondering… I know it’s sudden and short notice, but would you like to come? I could get you a ticket.”

He watched as surprise washed over her features. “You would want me to come?”

“Yeah!” What he really wanted to say was, I’d love for you to be there, but he managed, “I think it would be great if you were there!”

She smiled, a small joy-filled expression that just about melted Quinn. “I’d love to be there if it’s not too much hassle to get me a ticket?”

“Not at all! I can get you one and message it to you… I would need your phone number though!” He was trying to play his cards right. Even though he barely knew her, he knew these hours were some of the most formative and important he’d ever lived.

“Here, pass your phone—I can put it in!” Quinn placed his phone in her small, delicate hand and watched as her nimble fingers typed in her number before she handed it back carefully. “I have to go, but I’m sure I’ll see you again, Polka-dot.”

“Polka-dot?” Quinn looked down at her, bewildered. “What kind of nickname is that?”

“You’ll just have to find out!” She grinned at him, her hair waving as she turned and made her way toward the exit, her bag slung back on her shoulder. Quinn felt dazed, in awe of everything about her—her beauty, her kindness, and most of all, her effortless ability to be herself.

As she left, he realized she’d agreed to come to his game, and he had her phone number. Now, he just needed to make sure he didn’t mess this up. The next priority was securing that ticket for her, which meant that soon, all his teammates would know.

This was going to be interesting. But Quinn already knew it would be so, so worth it.

[jake-g-lockley]

Intoxication (Din Djarin x reader)

Masterlist | Spotify Playlist | Wanna be tagged?

A/N: oh look it's more Din fluff cuz I’m scared of what's gonna happen in the finale… Soft Din is the only way I cope okay 😭. Also I wrote this in a bad thunderstorm and I was scared as hell. Anyway, enjoy soft!din with teacher!reader.

Word count: 1.7 k

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Intoxicated was one way to put it. Din Djarin watched as your hair bounced as you skipped along, a fragrance like no other meeting his senses and creating a symphony of emotions in his head. He so badly wanted to hook his arm around your waist and pull his helmet off, sinking his nose into the crown of your head and suffocating on your scent and your scent alone.

You skipped around, greeting people as Din practically floated behind you. Din didn’t even realise he was blindly following you until you turned around. You both were in front of your school, children greeting you.

“Good morning!” You said, smiling up at the big Mandalorian in front of you.

Before Din could say anything, his son answered on his behalf, squealing and stretching his little arms out to you. Your smile widened as Din handed you Grogu, who immediately snuggled his big green head into your neck, making you giggle softly.

Din stood there watching you, trying to say something, his arms dangling uselessly at his side. All that came out of his mouth was directed to Grogu.

“Be good.” He said sternly to his little green bean who was now looking up at you with his giant brown eyes.

“Like I say everyday, he’s one of our best, you don’t have to worry, Mr. Djarin.” You ended your sentence with another of your blinding smiles that almost ended Din’s entire life too.

And just like everyday, Din wanted to reply with “Just call me Din.” But his mouth stayed shut and he gave you a single nod before patting Grogu’s head.

He turned on his heel a little clumsily and toddled away, scratching the back of neck as you tilted your head amusedly at the Mandalorian who had a spring in his step. You giggle a little when his hip crashed into a box, offering him a little wave when his helmet turned to you.

“Your dad is silly, little one.” You giggle and Grogu mimics your giggle, making your heart so happy.

Din was watching from afar, his hand over his own heart as he swayed, watching you walk into the school with his baby boy.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“You’re being too obvious!” Hissed your colleague as you craned your neck again, trying to look for the flash of shiny beskar.

Din was due to bring Grogu his lunch and you hadn’t touched your food in anticipation of him. You frowned slightly, realising that the little green bean would be hungry soon. Suddenly, you see the familiar shadow of his helmet, your lips twisting into a smile, only turning into a stern expression as the Mandalorian rounded the corner.

“You’re late.” You said sternly and Din hung his head.

“Sorry, I had a meeting that I couldn’t get out of.” He said, pulling his cape slightly to hide the wound on his calf, wincing under the helmet.

You scowl lightly and take the lunchbox from Din, spinning around and unintentionally flipping your hair towards his helmet. Din wishes he didn’t take a deep breath because he felt like he was about to collapse where he stood.

“Wait!” He called out and you stop in your tracks, turning and walking back faster than you intended to.

“I might be a little late for pick up today.” Din’s hand was back behind his neck as he bowed his head lower.

Internally, Din wanted to compliment you, tell you how beautiful you looked today. He had rehearsed them in front of the mirror today, trying to articulate his words, but he couldn’t do it in the split second where you were in front of him.

“Oh, okay! I’ll make sure there’s someone here with Grogu.” You said, definitely intending to wait for the little green bean yourself.

“Thanks. Also, your hair looks nice today.” Din blurted out suddenly, causing you to blink in surprise.

Din lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, loving the feeling of saying what he needed to say.

Your hand comes up to your curls that hang at your waist and your stern expression immediately melted into a smile.

“Thank you. I, umm, I guess I’ll see you then.” You said, glancing up at his beskar covered face, waiting for the nod.

Instead, Din brings his hand up and pats your hand that was holding the lunchbox, making you blush.

“Bye.” You whisper as the Mandalorian makes his way out.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

It had been an hour since the last person had left and the rain had started to come down uncontrollably. You read to Grogu, cozying yourself in the book corner so that he can be distracted from the terrifying sounds of the thunder outside. You winced every time the thunder would crack, pushing your back further into the wall and holding onto Grogu a little tighter, showing him the words you were reading.

Suddenly, your ears catch the sound of a knock over the thunder and you immediately jump to your feet with Grogu still in your arms. Checking the security footage, you quickly run to the door and swing it open to reveal the soaking wet Mandalorian. He looked so pretty in the rain, solid, unlike the rushing downpour.

You stood there staring for a while until the sound of thunder humbled your thoughts, making you jump towards Din, who quickly placed a protective hand on your arm, pushing you back into the school. Grogu jumps into Din’s arms and snuggles into his dad.

“I’m really sorry for this, you could’ve been home by now.” Din apologised, cradling Grogu as he whined from the sound of another loud crack of thunder.

“It’s alright, Mr. Djarin.” You say, walking towards the cupboard that you knew stocked some towels.

“I think we should wait here for a while, the rain doesn’t seem to be stopping. I’ll walk you home after this.” Din says and you nod, handing him the towel.

With one arm, Din quickly dried himself as you made yourself cosy in the reading corner again. Grogu jumps out of his arms and runs towards you, head butting your side, making you giggle. Din stared longingly as you started reading to Grogu who sat cross legged and listened to you.

You looked up to see Din’s helmet turned towards you and you patted the spot beside you. Din’s legs moved before his brain could think and he suddenly found himself beside you, the signet on his shoulder pauldron rubbing against your arm. You smile at him before going back to your book, reading until comfort enveloped the three of you.

Din found himself imagining a scenario that he had yearned for so long. You, wearing a pretty dress as your daughters sat around you, smiling at each one of them, Grogu annoying the girls. You would sing to them as Din braided their hair, one that he hoped would be inherited from their mother. He would put little beskar slides into their hair and kiss their heads before moving to kiss you, joining in your singing.

“Din?” Your voice breaks him out of his little day dream and he looks at you.

You called him Din. He couldn’t believe it, his heart going a million miles an hour and he replayed that sound in his head.

“Yeah?” He managed to whisper.

“Look.” You said, pointing to the green bean beside you.

Grogu was sleeping with his little butt in the air and face smushed into the floor and Din resisted the urge to laugh at his son. He pulled a blanket from behind you and wrapped his boy carefully so that he wouldn’t wake him. You watched in awe, holding your breath as you witnessed the softness of the Mandalorian beside you. Din settled Grogu onto the crook of his crossed legs and slowly bounced him until the snores were steady.

Your heart tried to break out of your chest as Din turns to look at you. It was then when you realised that the thunder had stopped and you could hear Din’s soft modulated breathing in the silence.

“Can I say something?” You both start, nervously giggling at the mistake.

“You go first.” Din quickly says, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You’re a good dad, I’m sorry if I made you feel any other way this afternoon.” You said, your eyes avoiding his black t-visor.

A gloved finger curled under your chin and tips your head up anyway. Your eyes widen at the man before you as your eyebrows knitted together.

“You were doing your job. Thank you for caring for my son.” He said firmly, before dropping his hand.

You felt the Mandalorian closing off as he bounced his leg slightly faster. You let your hand drift to his arm and you silently asked him to speak. You hear him take a deep breath and your heart pounded with anticipation.

“Would it be an act of favouritism if you went out with one of your student’s parents?” He said, so softly that you almost didn’t catch it.

It took you a few seconds to compute what Din had just said and you sighed in relief. You didn’t know why you were relieved but you found your whole body relaxing at his question.

“It's pre-school, I hardly think there ever will be favouritism.” You whisper, picking at a hangnail.

“Okay.” he says and you see his helmet nodding in your peripheral vision.

“Okay.” You whisper.

A long silence gathers between the both of you and you somehow know exactly how to punctuate it.

Quickly turning to your side, you pressed a chased kiss onto the curved indent of his helmet, hearing a soft gasp escape Din’s mouth under the helmet. You pulled away and continued looking down at your hands when suddenly a gloved hand covered your vision, followed by a faint hiss.

“Keep your eyes closed.” came Din’s unmodulated voice and you quickly nodded your head.

His lips gently touch yours, and your hands find his face, gently running your fingers through his soft beard, his moustache tickling your upper lip as you pressed your lips a little harder to his. Din was right, he was intoxicated with you, wanting you to literally suffocate him with your everything. You both pull away after a while, leaning against each other’s foreheads.

“Call me stupid, but does this mean you’ll finally ask me out, Mr. Djarin?” you giggled slightly.

“Only if you call me Din, angel.” He chuckled back.

“Okay, Din.” You sighed, grateful for the thunderstorm that led you to this moment.

Reblogs are appreciated~~~

Taglist: @fandxmslxt69 @joygirlmelii @wolfbook87 @randomnessfangirl @minigirl87 @alexxavicry @marygraceee @bloodredwolfsbane @euphoricosmo @violet-19999 @kierramofficial @ryebreadsworld @your-voice-is-mellifluous @lil-stark @absolutelybloodyhopeless @mintpurplemnm @bubblezuku @cookielovesbook-akie @mandoloriancookie @magic-schoolbusdropout @undermoonknightwalk

[clangenrising]

Ah, I don't see any rationality or direct nuance with Sardine, lol. I don't think I articulated myself well. I was mostly talking about how, as someone who likes analyzing characters and their societies can shape the way they think despite that not being a good reason to justify what they had done to others in the first place, I was having a harder time doing so in this case! ^^

I hope this makes better sense, I wrote that "essay" very late at night, and when it comes to using my words right online, it's a struggle

I understand and that's why I started off by saying youre completely valid in feeling that way. Sardine is particularly malicious and I don't expect anybody to see him as sympathetic. He and Razor may have started in a more sympathetic position but we only get to see where they are now which is full blown fascists who enjoy hurting others. I would never expect people to ignore that.

I went on to talk mainly about the other cats in the city since that felt like a more compelling topic to me. Sorry if it felt like I was talking past you.

[fuck-customers]

I'm the anon who sent in abt the gluten free pizza. Noticed a bit of discourse in the comments and just wanted to make a quick amendment:

To the ppl saying 'there's no difference between an allergy and a preference' yes, there very much is. Anyone who has worked in a high traffic kitchen (as I do) knows modified orders (especially allergies) are a real time eater. If someone requests a gluten free pizza, but only because they're on a low carb diet/prefer the taste etc, I can save time by not having to adhere strictly to allergen protocol. If the customer is celiac, however, I have to make sure I get fresh prep, that the surfaces and equipment are clean, and also ask the severity of the allergy; because we don't have a dedicated oven for GF pizzas, so cross contamination is a possibility I can't let some people risk. That's a lot of time and attention taken away from several other orders. There's no point in going through all that trouble every time if it's just a preferential thing. Saw a few people in the comments saying as much, so thanks to them- y'all clearly get it

As for my response: I don't think I articulated it well considering I only highlighted one part of the interaction, but this lady was INCREDIBLY rude throughout her whole order. It was more then what I wrote, she was being snippy and condescending the entire time even beforehand, and the GF thing was just the cherry on top. If I were less of a person, I could very well have just gone 'well f you bitch, have fun in the hospital' and not bothered to take any amount of care with her order. But I'm not, and I didn't. I'm not going to risk my source of income to be petty, and the idea of intentionally fucking with someone's food makes my skin crawl (mostly cause I wouldn't want that to happen to me- I'm a germophobe and take hygiene very seriously). In saying that, if I want to have a dark thought entertaining the idea over some lady who wanted to treat me like I'm the human equivalent of dogshit on her shoe, sue me. Blowing off steam =/= actually fucking doing it, chillax lol

Posted by admin Rodney

[nekropsii]

Also that June post sucked I wrote it on sleep meds at like 6 in the morning I articulated myself like shit. Not an excuse, but it is an explanation.

Further rambling under the cut.

I was trying to make the point that it’s deeply frustrating to me how much of a big deal was made out of it (in a negative sense) and how much harassment ensued especially right in the moment when nothing had even really happened yet and still hasn’t really happened but I said that Badly.

The JKR comparison was not a statement of there being any bigotry present, it’s just literally the only example most people - me included - can think of when talking about an author confirming some kind diversity before it even happens, if we see it at all. I’ll admit part of why I’m so cynical is that I grew up in an era where queerphobic jokes and queerbait were just about the only thing you could get in mainstream media, and everyone would still tout that as if it’s real representation, so I’m always prepared for people to just be lying to me.

So, I see that June gets confirmed in 2019 because someone won a treasure hunt, and we still haven’t really seen her, and I’m just instinctively deeply skeptical it’s even gonna happen. Especially considering we got that fuckin’ Roxy Detransition arc first.

Another sticky point is the canonicity of Postcanon, period. I do not see any works outside of Homestuck proper to be canon, especially not in the way that Homestuck itself is canon. I’ve said this several times on my blog and didn’t feel it worth reiterating but it’s kind of important, especially given the JKR comparison. I think June is awesome, it’s a really cool progression of her character, especially considering Homestuck was once pop culture and she’s the literal main character. But part of why I kept saying it was “literally nothing” was because I was operating under the mindset of “it’s not even canon anyway, why are you harassing people for being excited about it?”. It’s stupid to act like a character or person coming out as trans ruins everything for you in general, but it was especially stupid to me for this to be such a federal fucking issue when basically all we had to go off of at the time was a Tweet, especially in a fandom that proclaims itself to be so progressive, and especially when so many people who were denouncing June as being “not real” due to being in Postcanon got so excited when Roxy was turned into a trans dude. It’s just stupid and unfair and transparent, and I hate it.

The Junecourse situation was super fucking messy and really hard to navigate, and it frustrated me a lot because a lot of people were being kind of silly or even just outright bigoted. It was strange that people got so mad about it, it was strange that some people acted like June was a real person, it was strange that people got badly harassed no matter what they did or said. It was stressful and weird, and it was dumb to me that all that warring and all those lies were circling around a tweet, for the most part, and plenty are still operating under the simple tweet confirmation.

I should acknowledge that there’s apparently more than just the lone tweet now. I’m sure I’ve seen all that before, but I’ve got pretty bad memory issues and, again, I was writing it at 6 am on sleep meds, so it genuinely spaced my brain. That is completely on me and I apologize for contributing to false narratives. The post’s been deleted. I’m not asking for forgiveness or anything, I’m just explaining myself. It was a bad post, but I wasn’t making it out of malice, though I do recognize that in situations like this, intent doesn’t matter nearly as much as actions and impact does. That was a failure on my part. I’ve since deleted it.

I’m apologizing here not because there’s a fire being lit under me or anything - I’m not being pressured - but because this is a genuinely important issue to me. Sadly, I am merely an ally and still in the active process of reading theory, so I lack the general polish one acquires from lived experience and actual real learnedness. Transmisogyny is not a reality I have to live with every waking moment of my life, and as a TME man it is a systemic force that works directly in my favor, so I’m liable to accidentally perpetuate it, even if it’s something I do not believe in personally and am making strides to, for lack of a better, less cringe-inducing term, “be a better ally” about.

TLDR; I fucked up and made a sloppy post that contributed to false narratives surrounding a confirmed Transfem character and the discussion of her online. It sat around 77 notes as of deleting, though most were thankfully just likes rather than there being a whole lot of spread. Still sucks, though, and I’m sorry.

Thank you for reading.

[ex-foster]

I want former foster kids to know how easy it is to publish a book.

I was following a podcast about side hustles and one of their episodes focused on a children's book author. He wrote the story and he paid someone to illustrate it. He allowed the book to be available for amazon kindle subscribers for free for a limited time which gained him some 5 star reviews which bumped him in the algorithm and resulted in sales. Now he makes passive income from it.

So many former foster kids have stories and perspectives that they want to share and I think books are a great way to do it plus it's a passive income stream and that's pretty fabulous.

I know society has normalized sharing our deepest traumas and vulnerablities online but honestly it is not a safe thing to do. People will target you for harassment and use your traumas against you. I'm not saying that publishing a book will eliminate nasty comments, but at least when you put out a book it is a paywall so only invested readers are going to read it not some random anon troll with no stakes in the situation. Books also allow you to get your message out without being interpreted. Being a former foster kid (especially those who age out of care) means you are a really tiny minority. People don't understand your perspective and voicing your opinions online is so unproductive because you just get dog piled by people. Completely outnumbered by people who refuse to see your perspective because they haven't walked in your shoes. Being able to actually write what you need to say uninterrupted is so important.

And despite what some people say, people DO care about former foster youth voices. I'm a former foster kid and I read FFY memoirs. I find it relatable. It's nice to know I'm not alone. It's refreshing to have someone put words to feelings I couldn't articulate before.

Then there's that whole problem with the orphan horror trope. It would be really nice if there were more depictions of foster kids like Lilo from Lilo & Stitch. A quirky little girl that audiences adore. Not a psychopath villain that is revealed to have a tragic history in foster care which explains his murderous rampage. Sometimes people will completely ghost you after knowing you are from foster care so it would be nice if there were some narratives that didn't add to the stigma of foster kids.

[infiniteglitterfall]

"...All of the punditry about diversity and free speech and criticism of Israel has extravagantly missed the point.

"The problem was not that Jewish students on American university campuses didn’t want free speech, or that they didn’t want to hear criticism of Israel."

(The problem is also not that Jewish students didn't support Palestinians or want a free independent Palestinian state. One of the biggest problems, in fact, is that the pro-Palestinian movement consistently implies that the only way to support Palestine is by calling for the destruction of Israel.

While activists in Gaza protest Hamas, activists outside of it follow Hamas's lead: framing this as a battle between all Palestinians and the existence of Israel.

This has effectively excluded activists in Palestine from the movement to support them. Which is a neat trick. /s)

"Instead, they didn’t want people vandalizing Jewish student organizations’ buildings, or breaking or urinating on the buildings’ windows.

"They didn’t want people tearing their mezuzahs down from their dorm-room doors.

They didn’t want their college instructors spouting anti-Semitic lies and humiliating them in class.

They didn’t want their posters defaced with Hitler caricatures, or their dorm windows plastered with Fuck Jews.

They didn’t want people punching them in the face, or beating them with a stick, or threatening them with death for being Jewish.

"At world-class American colleges and universities, all of this happened and more."

(I've added links to each of these examples. I couldn't find an incident of "fuck Jews" plastered all over dorm windows, but I did find it written on a chalkboard, left in a note by someone robbing a Jewish student, and graffitied in a music building bathroom.

That last one was at UCLA, where there was also an incident in which Students for Justice in Palestine held a public beating of a Netanyahu piñata while an organizer with a bullhorn led everyone in a chant of "beat that fucking Jew!")

"I was not merely an observer of this spectacle. I’d been serving on now–former Harvard President Claudine Gay’s anti-Semitism advisory committee, convened after the October 7 Hamas massacre in Israel and amid student responses to it.

"I was asked to participate because I am a Harvard alumna who wrote a book about anti-Semitism called People Love Dead Jews.

"As soon as my participation became public, I was inundated with messages from Jewish students seeking help. They approached me with their stories after having already tried many other avenues—bewildered not only by what they’d experienced, but also by how many people dismissed or denied those experiences."

Dara Horn says "the foundational big lie," in one version after another throughout the centuries, has been "that anti-Semitism itself is a righteous act of resistance against evil, because Jews are collectively evil and have no right to exist."

"In 2013, David Nirenberg published an astonishing book titled Anti-Judaism.

"Nirenberg’s argument, rigorously laid out in nearly 500 pages of dense scholarship and more than 100 pages of footnotes, is that Western cultures—including ancient civilizations, Christianity, Islam (which Nirenberg considers Western in its relationship with Judaism), and post-religious societies—have often defined themselves through their opposition to what they consider 'Judaism.' This has little to do with actual Judaism, and a lot to do with whatever evil these non-Jewish cultures aspire to overcome.

"Nirenberg is a diligent historian who resists generalizations and avoids connecting the past to contemporary events. But when one reads through his carefully assembled record of 23 centuries’ worth of intellectual leaders articulating their societies’ ideals by loudly rejecting whatever they consider 'Jewish,' this deep neural groove in Western thought becomes difficult to dismiss, its patterns unmistakable.

"If piety was a given society’s ideal, Jews were impious blasphemers; if secularism was the ideal, Jews were backward pietists.

"If capitalism was evil, Jews were capitalists; if communism was evil, Jews were communists.

"If nationalism was glorified, Jews were rootless cosmopolitans; if nationalism was vilified, Jews were chauvinistic nationalists. 'Anti-Judaism' thus becomes a righteous fight to promote justice."

(This second piece is a rip-off of Brazilian artist Carlos Latuff's 2008 comic celebrating a Communist event in Brazil.

It's also a particularly excellent example of how both "Jews are capitalists" and "Jews are communists" represent the core antisemitic trope of "Jews morally corrupt society.")

"This dynamic forces Jews into the defensive mode of constantly proving they are not evil, and even simply that they have a right to exist."

Dara Horn's piece has some super-fun examples.

"Around 38 C.E., after rioters in Alexandria destroyed hundreds of Jewish homes and burned Jews alive, the Jewish Alexandrian intellectual Philo and the non-Jewish Alexandrian intellectual Apion both sailed to Rome for a 'debate' before Emperor Caligula about whether Jews deserved citizenship.

"Apion believed that Jews held an annual ritual in which they kidnapped a non-Jew, fattened him up, and ate him. Caligula delayed Philo’s rebuttal for five months, and then listened to him only while consulting with designers on palace decor.

"Alexandrian Jews lost their citizenship rights, though it took until 66 C.E. for 50,000 more of them to be slaughtered.

"In medieval Europe, Jews were forced into disputations with Christian priests that placed Jewish texts and traditions on public trial, resulting in Jewish books being burned and Jewish disputants exiled. Later legal trials expanded on this concept, requiring Jews to defend themselves against the absurd charge known as the blood libel, in which Jews are accused of murdering and consuming non-Jewish children—a claim that has echoes in current lies about Israelis harvesting Palestinians’ organs."

fucking exhausting is what it is

I want to share more of this essay, and talk about it more. But this is more than enough for right now. This is way more than enough.

[asthedeathoflight]

Okay so I was thinking someone should do something adjacent to this band au by @emilywaters but with Rembrandt as the lighting director but i fear that i may be the only person capable of this considering you know. Thats actually my job. But i have too many wips so you're getting this au in post form. Everything I changed from the original post is due to me writing out this entire post before I successfully tracked it down so like it's not me disagreeing I simply forgor.

I'm not sure what like level of fame they were supposed to be in the original but i need them to be doing stadium shows purely for Rembrandt's sake okay she deserves it theyre touring with an ma3 just believe me.

I think Cleon was originally their lead singer but she had to step down for. Reasons. Idk. So the Warriors are hard up bc their producer is on their ass about getting demos recorded for their next album but none of them really feel good about replacing Cleon.

Mercy is a mistreated burnt out pop idol who's just kind of getting listless at this point because she's basically just a prop for a brand and she can't even give a fuck about her music anymore. She meets Swan at a party and they hit it off and get blackout drunk and Swan wakes up the next day with a recording on her phone of Mercy doing a demo of one of the songs she wrote. She takes it in to their producer like here fine theres a demo are you happy and shes like??? Hello???? This is incredible??? Who is this singer??? And Swan is like hahaha. About that.

The producer reaches out to Mercy's management and theyre like um absolutely not she does not want to join your band she's a solo act but then Mercy gets Swan's number somehow and is like i DO wanna join your band actually but im stuck in this goddamned contract. So then its about them getting their record label to go up against Mercy's and get her out of her contract so she can be their new lead singer.

And also more importantly (to me) is the subplot about the like relatively young and inexperienced lighting girl from their home venue who Cleon insisted on hiring for their first tour and who just kind of stuck around and became part of the group. They tour with a disproportionately nice rig bc Rembrandt is a fucking nerd and none of them can resist her puppy dog eyes about getting shiny new toys. And like yeah she's kind of quiet and doesn't talk much in a group but she can hold her own against the fucking overhires giving her shit at whatever venue and not taking her seriously and she gets stars in her eyes when Ajax asks her about programming so like needless to say Ajax is a little bit obsessed with her. Rembrandt's job is half ordering around men twice her size and age and half real-time computer programming live in front of an audience. Ajax never stood a chance. There are always fans trying to see Ajax after the show and Ajax is always in the booth while Rembrandt talks about the latest patch grand ma pushed out and how she hates everything about it and everyone at that company is trying to ruin her life (she will have adapted and forgotten about this in two days until the next patch which alters her workflow .00001% upon which time she will again believe her career is over and she needs to call them to revert the console)

I think probably their relationship is more of a flashback moment bc obviously The Warriors can't be touring while they're looking for a new singer but I think when they're not on tour Rembrandt lives in Portland and does like weird indie performance art shit and Ajax stays in LA with Swan and the others and the long distance is kind of killing them. Could Ajax stay with Rembrandt in Portland for a few months and fly back down when they're actually recording stuff? Absolutely. Does this idea terrify her existentially for reasons she can neither articulate nor overcome? Also absolutely. But on a more fun note Rembrandt drags Ajax to USITT with her every year which is actually kind of fun for Ajax because in addition to Rembrandt being so excited nobody there is impressed at all by her being famous but they ARE impressed that she knows how DMX works. So. Who's laughing now Swan. The flashcards worked.

[daintybrute]

WIP of my SECOND favorite rarepair from Stardew. As an opposites-attract fan, it's no surprise that I sometimes swoon for these two!

Back when I wrote "Slim to None", I had to make a brand new tag for Elliot/Maru on AO3, because they are even rarer than Penny and Seb, and I think for more reasons than the obvious ones.

It's clear they aren't alike. Left brain vs. right brain. Logical vs. Creative Scientific vs. Artistic. Straightforward vs. Poetical. You get the idea.

But the more I think about these two, the more interesting their dynamic becomes.

Because I strongly believe that people like Elliot, who are extremely expressive and artistic, tend to be easily burdened by their own deep feelings - especially when they don't know how to show these feelings to someone they profoundly care about, because they want it to be conveyed perfectly and beautifully.

While people like Maru who are more pragmatic, logical and practical, may not be very receptive of romantic expression initially - especially the elaborate and flowery kind of affection that Elliot would probably try to offer her.

But I imagine what's going through Maru's mind is 'He's just doing it to be nice.' Basically trying not to fall harder for him than she already has, because she's already done the premature damage control in her brain, rejecting herself on behalf of him, so not to get hurt.

Because allowing yourself to fall in love is scary, right? Especially in the case where it turns out the one you feel deeply for, feels nothing for you in return.

So, Maru tried to resign herself, chipping away her own fondness for him (Which only sort of worked when he wasn’t around). Love had zero applicable positive in her life. Her unearthed feelings had the potential to seriously encumber the way she's systematically ordered her life, and that is a serious problem for someone like her.

Plus, Elliot would never go for someone like me, right? She convinces herself, What gorgeous, sophisticated man in their right mind would pick the scrappy girl with machine grease spatters on her face and arms, when he could have anyone he wanted?

Little does she know (because she refuses to believe it herself), the more Elliot spends time with her, the less capable he is of stopping himself from thinking about her. His mind was consumed. Countless hours lying in bed, staring at the ceiling wondering how she was doing. If she had any interest at all in the book he was writing, or if she would find it boring and dull... What it would take to get her to not avert her eyes when she glanced his way.

"I just like her..." He whispered plainly to himself, somewhat humiliated that he couldn't formulate a better way to say it.

Not that he didn't try.

All the articulations he mustered to piece together, it seemed as if all the poetry and literature the world had to offer would fall short, unable to capture the weight that rested squarely on his heart when his mind simply drifted to her – as it so often did now. His words are far too inadequate to covey his insurmountable feelings.

This is displayed in his canon ten heart event. For a man who is usually suave and elloquant with his speech, Elliot fumbles over what he's tries to say; "Um... [Player]... How do I say this?" "N-no! I'm not saying I want to cut all ties with you!" "... Let's see, how do I put this...?"

Never had he been at such a loss for words as he was during Maru's 8 heart event. Standing in front of Maru. Alone with her in her room. Letting her carefully apply burn cream to his hand after her project demonstration didn’t exactly go as planned.

“That kind of ruined the moment, huh?” She sighed with glistening eyes and flush cheeks, clearly very disappointed in herself.

He’d said hardly anything since he’d even arrived. What could he say? He knows nothing of this stuff… Regardless, now was the time. It had to be! Even if he didn’t exactly know how he was going to say it, he couldn’t conceal his appreciation for her any longer.

Instead of gracelessly blurting out his feelings, he chokes his inadequate words down, stepping forward, aching to simply hold Maru in a perfect moment. Longing for her to carry his bursting heart in her palm. To inspect and refurbish his yearning spirit as she would a malfunctioning gadget or broken machine.

"You, uh," Maru tenses, blushing deeply as he does so, taking a small step back, "You don't have to do that." She chuckles awkwardly, knowing he couldn't possibly...

His heart palpitated wildly as he pulled away, unable to keep himself from feeling hurt and embarrassed by her unexpected rejection, "Maru...?"

"I know gadgets aren't really your kind of thing.." Maru's voice trembled as she looked away, "And I do appreciate that you're showing interest in what I do... but you don't have to overdo it. I mean, thank you for humoring me, but, especially after that… You've already done enough...."

All his hope and desire clattered to the ground. Practically drowning in his own confusion and humiliation, a small moment passed as Elliot's mind began to spin with all the details that lead up to this moment. All the looks Elliot caught her sneaking his way, the way she grew bashful when talking to him about herself, how he could have sworn she was about to ask him to dance with her at the flower festival this year, but never did. The way even just now, how blithely she invited him in to her room to show him what she’d been working on.

After all that?

Determined not to let it end here, Elliot gingerly took either side of Maru’s face, prompting her to look deeply and directly into his eyes. A single word fell from his lips...

"No." Elliot hushed, pupils dancing back and forth between hers.

Maru's brow crinkled.

He repeated himself, "No. I have not done enough." With a light shake of his head and a breezy chuckle, "In fact, I've hardly done anything for you at all."

She again averted her eyes, "Elliot, y-"

Cutting her off, Elliot insistently pulled her face back, tilting his head to meet her eyes again, firm and intentional. The words that he had were simple, yet inspired, "No, Maru... Not enough."

Elliot's soft expression and lowered voice was enough to make Maru's eyes mist. He seemed so genuine; she couldn't find any way around the cold hard fact that faced her in this moment. There was no answer key or user's manual for this kind of thing, there were too many variabls in the equations. But right now with her face cradled in his palms, Maru couldn't calculate (or re-calculate) this moment to equal anything less than the total of what it all added up to;

Elliot adored her.

A smile bloomed on Elliot's face, repeating himself yet again, “No… Not enough.” wrapping his arms around her once more, "Not even close."

OR Maybe it's not that deep and I just think they'd be cute together :) Thanks for reading my headcanon ramblings.

Side note: it's supposed to be a heart floating off of Elliot in the doodle of them kissing, but instead it looks like someone threw a pretzel at him and it bounced off his jacket 🥨😂

[adrian-sheppy]

Sorry if this is completely wrong igore if it is LMAO but I noticed you seem to have different hcs for how mind lost his eye!!! Like in Seattles Going Under it was lost in a vague fight or something, but in art w/ the resonance cascade he lost it prolly during the ambush? I was wondering if you had info to share on it/infodump abt or if its just whatever makes the art more fun!

hehe youre observant and actually right on the money. yup!  so essentially i just have different eye trauma head canons for whichever version of freemind im drawing; since he doesnt actually lose his eye in canon, its up to everyone to fil in the blanks if they wanna use the popular headcanon. i wrote .  a good chunk of stuff .  so i put it under the cut . but heres a picture to be like a . tldr

I sorta like his eye already being gone before the resonance cascade (in a non-freemanverse scenario). he does verbally say something like "my eyes" in the series, indicating he has two, BUT . well.  its a headcanon. so we can have fun with it . my eye loss pre-rescas freemind stems from my original freemind design (before i ever started posting half-life on the internet) where he had short hair, but i needed a way to distinguish him from og gordon, so I used thr popular one eye headcanon. then I realized him losing his eye bc of the military goes perfectly with martini losing an arm. that bothered me for a while until i realized i could just have multiple freemind designs + headcanons. if theres different variations of Gordon  and martini, why can't there be some of Freemind as well? grins grins

i left it open ended in my SGU because people have their own headcanons and I thought anyone could just fill in their own. if I did every make a canon eyeloss event prequel thing, he would've lost his eye during college in some sort of either freak accident (like tripping on something and injuring himself bad; I like this one because he'll lie and say he was in a fight) or, like u said, a fight . for SGU, college was a low point in his life of him struggling with freedom from his parents for the firsr time, but them and their ideals still holding him hostage. he is simultaneously more repressed and more emotionally volatile than present!gordon. then, when his parents die, hes just given a clusterfuck of emotions. so why dont we add physical trauma? whatever the sgu canon event eye loss was, it was definitely related to substance abuse issues. whether that be he was high/drunk and got into an accident, or fought someone... not sure! yet. the only thing that i can say was that no fire or chemicals were involved, since his tearduct is (unfortunately for him) wholly in tact!

but for freemanverse!freemind, he should lose his eye during the rescas since its like thematic and stuff if (almost) every Gordon Loses Something. also, angst. whenever I draw freemanverse (even in a domestic setting) in my head, i always think of them surviving the rescas together! i have. convoluted freemanverse headcanons. the eye loss is an important freemanverae event because, like martini, it gives him a valid reason to REALLY dislike benrey (but in my au, benrey isnt the big bad, so he "redeems" himself kinda sorta) . and then it ALSO opens up freemind to be upset and vulnerable, which allows him to bond with his fellow freemen.

...

also I want barmey to tend to his wounds and call his scar(s) badass. im not immune to buttermind and i never was.

honorable mention: sims freemind, who has both eyes physically but only can see from one. this is due to me unable to properly texture a glasses + eyepatch combo, that and i have no experience with 3d modelling (I did try!).

i hope this is a satisfying enough infodump!! I'm sorry if it's a bit vague; a lot of my ideas tend to be fluid. i also like taking inspiration from what other people think! some of you guys are way super smart and have awesome ideas. i am not immune to well articulated essays and thought out headcanons

[liketwoswansinbalance]

I think I've discovered that, for some reason, one of my favorite themes is often something about doing harm to people you love as opposed to some perceived, worse alternative.

I'm not sure I've ever articulated it or thought of it in this exact way until I had an irl conversation about it with someone. I think it's been in my head for so long though, and well, recently, I wrote an essay (not related to SGE) about it, this strange phenomenon: harming a loved one because it's in the loved ones' best interest.

And then, partway through the unrelated essay, I thought: who is the embodiment of that?

Rafal, again, of course. What an easy reference point.

And then what?

Does it go back to that impressionable concept of: "The most dangerous person in a fairy tale is the one who will do anything for love?"

I started to think (the essay also handled murder and secrecy and a second, even more recent essay of mine discussed confinement): there's also the dual meaning of the word "commit."

Remember how Rafal narrates that he's "recommitted” in Rise?

The word "commit" can be used in the sense of committing a crime and committing oneself to a person.

So, that contains some implications to unpack.

Just how far from each other are those meanings in practice? Especially when you have a loved one to be dealt with?

Anyway, Rafal commits crimes in the name of Rhian, quite often, as his greater, driving purpose.

And he commits himself to Rhian, a commitment which often obligates him to commit violent acts on Rhian’s behalf (like the murder of Vulcan) due to that binding commitment and being the only one who can commit violence and preserve his self- and public-image for (not despite) it. (The "Good" brother can't after all.)

In sum, Rafal’s tagline should be: Love, Loathe, Leverage.

[liquidorcard]

I'm listening to streams I missed while doing my stuff right now.

At the 1:01:07 mark, what Malcome says here-- as a CSA and regular ol' adult SA survivor myself I can't stress enough how much appreciate him bringing this up and how he articulated the point. Making this distinction between the kinds of ways victims process shit and what Lily does.

TW: very mildly graphic discussion of coping with sexual trauma.

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There's what I can only really describe as a catharsis of sorts to (within healthy limits) expressing the messy, ugly, complicated feelings you're left with battling for the rest of your life when it comes to having to go on living in a body that's been so deeply violated like that. Not always in Psychosexual or in intentionally titillating ways, but ways often others will read as such by it being inherently related to sex, etc. Ways that will just not make sense to people who have never had that experience, sometimes in ways that don't make sense to other survivors.

Not to psychoanalize myself too much here-- but I strongly suspect my deep fascination and love of body horror, which I've had quite literally as long as I can remember, in some part is because it was my only outlet (especially as a child) to metabolize and cope with things that happen to me I both had no framework to understand and no words to express. From a very young age, I have been writing and drawing some extremely violent shit that, to me at the time, wasn't intended to be sexual (I mean, I was a kid. I didn't really have a concept of that shit yet.) But like, I could see how someone could twist it that way if they wanted to be an asshole. This is very much not an uncommon behavior (and a warning sign, btw) for children who have been abused.

Should I have gotten therapy for it? Yes. But that didn't happen. Would it be horribly embarrassing if the horrific fanfics I wrote when I was 12 and could barely spell in English resurfaced full of a traumatized mentally ill kid's understanding of sexual violence resurfaced? If my old DeviantArt account got clocked? Yeah. Again, I could see someone with no understanding of the circumstances in which that live experience puts you in twisting that into the same thing the nightmare mode horny cesspit shit Lily's done.

I do believe that part of why Lily wrote shit like Stockholm has IN PART, something to do with the trauma she went through as a kid. But that she was;

a) old enough that she had to have understood more of what she was doing.

b) continued to write the same kinds of stuff, just less mask off and more layered under a veil of implication and plausible deniability with shit like Poke Madhouse.

c) shown a million red flags that she doesn't regard this shit as horrific inherently and continues to frame it as such in and out of her fiction. When, even when I was a kid-- like, obviously the point of the pieces I did was to express a sense of horror. I framed what I wrote and drew from the position of the victim-- not even as a conscious choice, but because that's what I was. That's what I was trying to express even though I wasn't exactly aware of that-- my feelings as a victim.

Even as an adult, I gravitate towards extreme horror in both my creative work and the media I consume--- not WHOLLY because of all the ways my childhood wasn't that great, but I can't really deny that's part of it. Especially with my professional work as an artist and (hopefully soon) as a writer, even in directly or in a metaphorical way, I draw a lot of my own unpleasant life experiences as my primary idea pool. I don't think that's inherently a bad thing.

It's Lily's PRESENTATION of these kinds of concepts that end up being her telling on herself.