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[chaemaire]

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[chaemaire]

*cries in Florida summer*

Being a little too cold: brrrr i’m a little too cold !!!

Being a little too warm: i am going to kill the next person who makes eye contact with me.

[chaemaire]

Others can't understand the connection

Drew this long time ago, trying to depict the subtle atmosphere between you and Konig

Music

TEMPOREX - Around You

[chaemaire]

You sing along to Panic At The Disco or you hop out of my car and walk

[chaemaire]

I really think people have forgotten just how bad things were under the Trump Administration. Literally every day there was news about some service being cut or someone terrible appointed somewhere they shouldn't be or what have you. He constantly flirted with WW3 and military dictatorship. It was such a blur of badness that there aren't big standouts for people to point to to make him "the XYZ president." it was everything. all the time. Why do we not remember this.

[chaemaire]

April Fool’s Day is in a few days, and I just wanted to make this clear. This blog is safe, and I can promise you no screamers, nothing emotionally abusive, no fake posts, and nothing to intentionally trigger dissociation. You are safe here.

[chaemaire]

[chaemaire]

huge fan of these trailer screenshots that make freddy and bonnie look like they just took the fattest bong rips of their lives

[chaemaire]

[chaemaire]

[chaemaire]

[chaemaire]

Really want to crochet myself a whole cardigan but I have the attention span of a fruit fly so I'm just gonna keep making beanies and flip flops for my cat I guess

[chaemaire]

mood

[chaemaire]

So this was already kind of done earlier but I wanted to maybe expand on it a bit. It's totally fine if this is too similar.

I wish you would write a fic for how the Pedro boys would be with a female reader that not only does not want children but was also voluntarily sterilized (tubes removed not tied) so they cannot have children. Procedure was done well before they met.

💚🐀💜

✨send me the summary of a fic you wish I would write✨

of course @ezras-channel-rat! I have mad respect for everyone who advocates for their own reproductive choices, and frankly, I think Din would have massive respect for that too. so here we go:

(big tw for discussion of sterilization procedures. the description is super vague, but it's the central point of the convo here.)

I don't want children.

now that it's out there, you can't take it back. it surprises you how something you've known for your whole life suddenly feels so uncertain as you say it to Din. he nods, just a subtle inclination of his head to indicate he understands.

that's alright, he says.

you frown. he's half-turned now, idly adjusting switches on the dashboard of the cockpit. it feels like he's not taking this seriously.

Din, you say, louder.

he turns to you. the captain's chair creaks. the swivel mechanism needs grease. yeah?

it's not just that I don't want children, you clarify. you tug on a loose thread on your sleeve. I can't.

he tilts his head. his impassiveness irritates you. it's irrational, of course, but it bothers you that he's so nonchalant about this conversation you've been silently agonizing over for months.

I had a life before you, you know, you say, aware of the irritation coloring your tone but unable to keep it at bay. and I knew children weren't going to be part of it. so I made sure they wouldn't be.

Din hums.

you keep pushing. do you know what I'm talking about?

looking at you like that, you can tell he's rolling his eyes. of course, he says, drily. it's a common surgery among Mandalorians.

you blink, surprised. really?

Din's fingers drum idly on the arm of his chair, the leather of his gloves dampening the sound. yeah. our doctors are very good.

I thought Mandalorian culture was all about raising warriors. the words feel sick and guilty as they come out of your mouth. that fact has haunted you for months—the knowledge that raising warriors is in the Mandalorian marriage vows—that your choice might make you an incompatible partner for the man you love.

Din is quiet for a moment. then he turns to you fully, finally, spinning the chair and stopping it with his heels. is that what you're worried about?

what?

he leans forward, his elbows propped on his knees. were you scared to tell me because you thought I would... he trails off searching for the right word. ...disapprove?

your lip twists into a frown. not disapprove, you say, carefully. I don't need your approval. I made the choice for myself. but—

flicking your eyes up, you meet your own reflection in the blackness of Din's visor. his impassive gaze never wavers. it breaks down the wall of self-assurance you've built around yourself, an old insecurity bubbling up and burning in your throat.

I thought if I told you I can't have children, you wouldn't want me anymore. because it's so important to you. I can't give you warriors, Din, and I don't want to. that's just how I am.

for a long moment, Din is completely silent. the only sound in the cockpit is the low hum of the Razor Crest in flight. he breaks the silence with the creak of leather and metal as he slides out of his chair. your eyes widen as he crouches in front of you and offers you his hands. his gloves are warm under your bare hands.

you thought I would—what? leave you for that? he asks. disbelief is thick in your voice.

yes, you say, sourly. you don't appreciate him belittling your concern.

his tone shifts, less skeptical, more caring. mesh'la, he says, rubbing circles into your palm, do you think so little of me?

no— I— that's not... you trail off, pinching your lips tight.

I don't care that you can't have children. I'm glad that you can't. his hand stills its movement over yours. our life isn't fit to raise little ones.

except Grogu. you offer a wavering smile.

except Grogu, Din agrees. but he has powers. it's different. he isn't helpless.

staying quiet, you keep listening. this is the only time you've ever heard Din speak about children.

I don't want children, Din says. he's looking down at your hands. I don't want a child to have my life. that part of the creed—I've never liked it. why would you have a child just to raise it to fight? wouldn't you want your child to live better than you?

there's rawness in Din's voice now. you've never heard him doubt his own culture before. you didn't know he was capable of it.

I admire it, he says, looking up at you. choosing for yourself. I'm glad. you're more than your ability to have children. I know that. I'm glad you do too.

Din, you murmur. there are too many words rising up in your chest, so you pack all of the emotion into the single syllable of his name. are you sure? what if you change your mind? what if you— I don't know—what if you retire? get old and decide you want a family? I can't give you that, Din. what then?

he says your name, solid and firm. his grip tightens on your hands. I know what I want. I've always known, just like you. I'm not going to change my mind.

I need you to be sure, you press.

I'm sure. you, mesh'la. I want you. not a different version of you. you. do you understand me?

throat thick, you nod silently.

come here. he reaches for you and you slip out of the chair and into his strong arms. he gathers you against his chest and smooths his hands down your back.

slowly, under the gentleness of his touch, the fear woven through your ribcage unravels and disappears. you've had this conversation with others—other men who wanted you to be something else, saw you as un-whole unless you could give them children. it always felt like they saw you as a toy they could customize, taking every part of you they liked and replacing the ones they didn't. like you were perfect for them, right up until you couldn't give them what you wanted they wanted most. it always made you feel lesser than. like they saw you as incomplete because you hadn't fulfilled what they considered to be your purpose. just thinking about it makes your blood burn.

but Din isn't them. you've always known that. Din is different and strange and caring and steadfast. of course he wouldn't leave you for this. that's what he told you so long ago, isn't it? that you're different? that you see him?

he sees you too. he always has. he saw this, too, even if you never shared it before. and he loves you inclusive of it, not despite it. you bury your face in his cowl and inhale the heady scent of his skin and his soap and his sweat.

thank you, you mumble.

if you have to thank me for this, I need to hunt down every man you've been with before, he comments drily.

that makes you snort. that's Din for you: caring with action. your fingers dance along the thin strip of bare skin exposed between his helmet and cowl.

I love you, you whisper.

I love you too, cyar'ika.

his arms stay strong around you. you never needed to doubt him.

[fin]

tagging various people who might be interested (feel free to ignore bc the topic is heavy!): @ezras-channel-rat @c4psicle @jazzelsaur @writingawaymylife @androah @lady-of-glass-and-bone @javierpenasimp @owljumper @artpoppstar

[chaemaire]

At Babbacombe Model Village

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THE MUMMY (1999) dir Stephen Sommers