#this idea is just funny to me in a good way ...

[jedisaurusrex]

This is exactly the reason why despite of being a trans person I'm still a part of the HP fandom. There are unconcious biases in the books, but you will need to make a very big stretch to say that JKR was intentionally acting on those biases rather than just subconciously writing something that she thought of as normal. As someone who's parents are relatively her age, and still have many of such biases despite of being quite intelligent and open-minded people - it WAS normal back then and not all people are capable to fully get over it. And back then JKR was genuinely trying her best with being kind and supportive even if she had flawed views. You can even see that she actually judges some of the negative things that she added to her books, even though it's executed really poorly. And funny enough, there was genuinely more good things in HP than bad ones. It was the book that actually stimulated me to be honest to myself and to accept that the world might not be black and white. Honestly, I might have not even accept myself as trans by the current day without being confronted by some ideas that I had specifically because of reading HP. Bad things were so subtle that for my mind they were completely under radar and couldn't influence me - because there was always another explanation to it, and often times it was actually making me only more sympathetic with the marginalised groups. House elves loosing control over themselves when given freedom? It's not because slavery is somehow good, it's because they were thrown into the world traumatised and not knowing how to live without their master's guidance. Goblins treated poorly? It's because some goblins were genuinely acting like dickheads and gave their whole species a bad reputation. Such things, even if they were just justifications, were making sense to me back then, and to some degree I think that it might have been JKR's thought process too. Maybe it all might have not even happened if she had a more friendly enviroment - I know that there were people who tried to educate her peacefully, but judging from what I've heard it was mixed with actual death threats and traumatic experience. It's hard to hear a voice of reason when you're in a constant state of self-defense and noone even considered to get you through therapy. I completely agree that the situation has gone out of hands, but claiming that it has always been that way and that we were brainwashed is as much of a delusion as claiming that there's nothing wrong happening right now. And I don't believe that the fandom should die because of what JKR does - in fact, I believe that reclaiming it as something separate from her believes can be even more powerful because you're not shoving the problem under the rug.

ok im going to #seriouspost for a second here. I don't think Harry Potter is a manifesto. I think it was a flawed passion project that millennials latched onto because of the fantasy of sticking it to their mean teachers and arbitrarily categorizing themselves (hogwarts houses; it's the thinking millennial's astrology). I think the fact that the series got popular when and how it did was very much a product of its time.

I don't think Harry Potter is the biggest symbol of JKR's bigotry. I think the most flagrant sign of that was how she responded to critics. I watched her become radicalized in real time. I watched how she doubled down on her racism when she was called out for the ways she promoted her tragically mid fantastic beasts movies. I watched her chase marginalized teenagers with a double digit follower count off of twitter for daring to criticize her thought process, and no one with any kind of power standing against her because she was the one who was paying them. This isn't to say Harry Potter is without flaws. This is to say she really didn't give a shit about that. Getting rich and powerful is a hell of a drug, and she had enough sycophants that she had no reason to care about what her critics were saying.

She was convinced that she was a martyr; a voice for the unheard; a leader for the ages, so of course her detractors were the bad guys. And I think we should take this to heart. We should see this as an example of how easy it is to get radicalized; if you think of yourself as a paragon of virtue, you are going to think that whatever you see as good and right is an objective fact. Most people don't know this, but the majority of terfs start out as trans allies. You are not immune to propaganda! You are not immune to falling into dangerous ideologies!!!

This is why the most important thing you can do as an activist is to listen. Do NOT think you're above being wrong; do NOT develop a god complex; do NOT form an identity out of being right all the time. Involve yourselves in the groups you claim to speak for. Listen to trans women; share resources that help trans women; familiarize yourself with the diversity of experiences that trans people have and the struggles they face.

No, none of you are as bad as JKR because you don't have her money or her power. You will likely never have the capacity for harm she does. But check yourselves. Do not affirm yourselves into thinking you always have the moral high ground. Watch yourselves; humble yourselves; check yourselves for signs of cult behavior and internalized prejudice. You are always learning. You will always be learning. Do not allow yourselves to get a power trip from brushing off marginalized voices.

[vingtetunmars]

Uncharted Territory

Pairing: Eddie Munson x F!Reader

Summary: During a study session that turns into something more, a simple kiss on the forehead unexpectedly leaves Eddie completely hot and bothered.

Tags: fluff, humor, teasing, implied praise kink, new couple, established relationship, first time, reader is sunshine incarnate, tender intimacy, virgin!Eddie Munson. No description of Reader. No mentions of Y/N.

A/N: This fic is inspired by this post by @sheneedsrocknroll92 , I thought it was funny and probably something that would happen to Eddie. If you have any requests, suggestions, or thoughts, feel free to send me a message. Reblogs are appreciated. Please do not steal or cross-post it on another platform without asking. Thank you.

Word Count: 1.8k

masterlist

You weren’t supposed to notice him.

Not in the way that mattered.

Eddie Munson knew his place at Hawkins High. Resident freak. Satanic panic poster boy. The kid teachers gave up on and parents warned their kids about. People stared, sure—but only long enough to whisper, then look away.

But you never looked away.

You smiled.

The first time was in the cafeteria. You were sitting with your friends, those pastel, soft-voiced types with glitter pens and locker decorations. You didn’t look like someone who would know his name, let alone say it. But when he passed your table, you lifted your head and smiled straight at him. Bright. Simple. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He almost dropped his tray.

The next day, you waved in the hallway. He looked behind him just to make sure it was actually for him. You laughed. Said, “Hi, Eddie!” like you’d done it a thousand times.

He spent the rest of the week convinced someone put you up to it.

Except… you kept doing it.

You showed up near his locker. Lingered near Hellfire with a soda and a snack in hand. Laughed at his dumb jokes even when no one else did. It was like you orbiting around his life was normal, like he didn’t have to prove he was worthy of it.

And that scared the hell out of him.

Because you were sunshine in a person. The kind of girl people opened up to without meaning to. The kind who said things like “you look handsome today” with complete sincerity, not even knowing the chaos it would cause in someone like him. Eddie was used to being mocked, dismissed, at best tolerated. You were different.

The scary part was how fast he got used to it.

He started looking forward to you. Every hallway run-in. Every shared lunch on the bleachers. Every time you curled your fingers around his wrist like it was no big deal. And then, the moment that flipped his world upside down—you kissed his cheek and said:

“I like you, Eddie. Just putting that out there.”

Then you smiled and walked off like you didn’t just detonate a bomb in his chest.

It took him a week to build the courage. A week of sweaty palms and bad dreams and practicing in the mirror. Then he found you after school, heart in his throat, and said something completely idiotic like, “I also like. You. Like-you. You, I like.”

You just grinned, slid your fingers into his, and said, “Cool. Because I think we look good together.”

Like it was that simple.

And, god, maybe it was.

You made it easy.

Eddie had no idea what the hell he was doing. You were his first everything. First kiss. First girlfriend. First person to call him “baby” like it belonged to him. He thought he’d mess it up. He still thinks that, sometimes. But you’ve never once made him feel like he was falling behind.

You make him feel… like he could be good at this.

You play with his hair when he’s sprawled out on your couch. You cheer for him when he wins boss fights in Hellfire, even though you barely understand what’s going on. You bring him peanut butter M&M’s and wear his Hellfire shirt, even though it’s baggy on you and smells like his cologne. And you hold his hand like it’s just what people do.

He doesn’t always know how to respond. He’s still learning. Sometimes his brain fries when you lean into his side or call him “pretty boy.” But he loves the way you look at him when you do.

Like he’s something precious.

Like he’s not some loser hiding behind loud clothes and louder words.

And two months in, Eddie Munson is still stunned every single day that he gets to have you.

That someone like you wanted someone like him.

That maybe—just maybe—he’s not entirely unlovable after all.

It’s late afternoon and the sun is doing that lazy golden thing through Eddie’s window, casting long, warm streaks across his bed. The two of you are sitting cross-legged on the mattress, notebooks and worksheets spread in a hopeless mess between you. Eddie’s handwriting is still a disaster, half the math problems are half-finished, and somehow there’s a doodle of a dragon in the corner of the page.

You should be annoyed.

But instead, you’re beaming.

“Okay,” you say, tapping your pencil against your knee. “You didn’t totally flunk that one. That’s, like, a B-minus effort. Maybe even a solid B. I’m proud of you.”

Eddie groans, flopping back dramatically on the bed. “I got five out of twelve, sweetheart.”

You raise an eyebrow, grinning. “You got two right last week. That’s progress.”

He peeks at you through his hair. “Baby steps, huh?”

“Exactly.” You crawl closer, lifting a hand to brush the bangs from his forehead. He freezes beneath your touch, a familiar stiffness he still hasn’t grown out of. It’s not discomfort—it’s reverence. Like he still doesn’t understand how you touch him so gently, like you don’t think twice about it.

You lean in and press a soft kiss to his forehead.

Simple. Sweet. Warm.

And that’s when it happens.

You pull back like nothing’s changed. But Eddie is suddenly dead quiet. His body tenses, his arms shoot around his torso like he’s guarding something, and before you can even blink, he’s curling up into himself like a human shield.

“Eddie?”

He lets out a strained noise. High-pitched. Embarrassed. “Yeah, no���I’m good. Just. Just need a minute. Maybe a few minutes. Don’t look at me.”

You blink. “Wait… are you—?”

“Don’t say it.”

“…Did a forehead kiss really just—?”

“Don’t say it,” he groans, pulling a pillow into his lap like it’s a weapon, dragging one of his old Metallica hoodies across himself in record time. His ears are bright red. His hair’s a mess from how fast he moved. He looks like he’s about to combust.

And you… start laughing.

Not cruel, not mean. Just startled, delighted giggles spilling out before you can stop them. Because this boy—this five-ten, metal-loving, D&D-obsessed chaos gremlin—just got hot and bothered over a forehead kiss.

“Oh my god,” you wheeze, wiping your eyes. “You poor thing.”

He groans again, flopping backward like he’s dying. “You don’t understand. It was too sweet. Too nice. My brain short-circuited. I didn’t even know that could happen.”

You slide closer, biting your lip to suppress another laugh. “Eddie, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not okay! You just kissed my head and now I’m having a hormonal crisis. That’s not normal. People don’t just do that.”

“Actually,” you say gently, brushing your fingers through his curls, “they do. It’s just that most people don’t feel everything all at once like you do.”

You duck your head until your forehead rests against his. “It’s okay, Eddie. I love that about you.”

He stares at you. Flustered. Overwhelmed. And still very much refusing to move his pillow.

“…Okay, but like, next time maybe warn me before doing something that affectionate.”

You didn’t stop smiling.

Even after his dramatics. Even after he tried hiding under the pillow like it was a shield from the embarrassment of having a boner caused by a forehead kiss. You just kept looking at him like he was the cutest thing in the world.

Which, unfortunately, did not help his current situation.

You leaned over him, voice light and teasing. “Y’know… this is kinda flattering.”

He peeked up. “You’re flattered?”

“Yeah,” you giggled, poking his ribs gently. “It’s nice to know I can wreck you that easily.”

Eddie let out a low, half-strangled groan. “You are so unfair.”

“I’m very fair,” you said, tilting your head. “I just didn’t expect forehead kisses to be your weakness.”

“It’s not,” he muttered. “It wasn’t. It—god, I don’t know, it felt like you were taking care of me.”

You stilled a little at that. Your voice softened. “Well… I was.”

He looked up at you.

You bit your lip thoughtfully, then reached down, brushing your fingers through his curls. “You know… I could keep doing that. Taking care of you.”

Eddie blinked. “Wh—what, like… now?”

You nodded. Your voice was calm, careful. “If you want. We don’t have to. But if you do want… I’ll be gentle. I’ll go slow. I just want you to feel good.”

Eddie swallowed hard, pupils blown, breath catching in his chest. He was pretty sure his brain had left his body a few minutes ago. You were so soft, so sweet, so stupidly beautiful, and you were looking at him like he was the precious one.

“Okay,” he said, voice low. “Yeah. I… want you to.”

You smiled at him like that was the best answer he could’ve given.

“Alright, baby,” you whispered, removing the pillow and climbed into his lap with slow, careful movements.

Eddie’s hands found your waist instinctively, holding you like you might vanish if he let go. You brushed your nose against his, pressing a light kiss to his lips first—then another, and another, deeper each time.

It started slow. Gentle.

Then his fingers tightened.

Then your hips rolled.

And by the time his head tipped back against the pillow, both of you breathless and warm, you were rocking slowly together, hips bumping in a soft rhythm, mouths never parting for long.

Your hands cupped his face.

His arms circled your waist.

And the world outside his bedroom melted away as you kissed him deeper—teaching him, guiding him, loving him like no one ever had.

Eddie was still staring at the ceiling when you flopped beside him with a satisfied sigh, your limbs brushing his.

There was a long pause.

Then, in a dazed voice, he mumbled, “I think I saw God.”

You burst out laughing, burying your face into his shoulder.

He turned to you, blinking slowly, curls a mess, skin flushed pink across the cheeks and down his chest. “Like. I’m serious. She looked just like you. But like—glowier.”

You nudged his side with a grin. “Are you trying to flirt with me after we had sex?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “Because now I really don’t want you to leave me.”

You laughed again, kissing the tip of his nose. “Baby, I’ve been your girlfriend for two months.”

“Yeah, but now I feel like I need to propose. Or like, write a ballad. Or get your name tattooed on my—”

“Eddie.”

“I’m kidding. Mostly. Unless you think the tattoo thing is hot. I’ll do it.”

You rolled your eyes, cuddling into his chest. “You are absolutely ridiculous.”

He let out a breathy chuckle and pulled the blanket over both of you, his arms curling around your shoulders. “Ridiculous and lucky.”

You smiled into his skin, fingers drawing slow shapes across his ribs. “You did great, baby.”

There was a pause.

Then, a groan. “Don’t say that again right now.”

“Why not?” you asked innocently, already giggling.

“Because last time you said that, I got bodily betrayed, and I don’t know if I’ve got the energy to recover twice in one night.”

You leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Okay, okay. I’ll let you rest… for now.”

“Threat noted,” he muttered, but he was smiling—broad and crooked and deeply in love.

And so were you.

[sydwritess]

Group Chats With Y/n

F1 grid x fem!reader

Summary: texts in the F1 group chat with y/n

Notes: requests are open!

01 02

Y/n Y/l/n has made a group chat

Oscar Piastri changed to Pastry 🥐

Max Verstappen changed to Maxine✨️

Lando Norris changed to Lanlikesfish

George Russell changed to Georgie

Kimi Antonelli changed to Pasta boi

Charles Leclerc changed to Charlie

Lewis Hamilton changed to Roscoe's dad

Yuki Tsunoda changed to Red bull #1

Carlos Sainz changed to Carlos 🌶

Ollie bearman changed to Bear minimum

Alex Albon changed to Alexandria

Daniel Ricciardo changed to Riccardio

------------------------------------------------------

Lanlikesfish

Alright, who made this?

Y/n

The one and only ✨️✨️

Maxine✨️

Well I can see you have favorites.

Y/n

It's okay. If your nice to me I'll change your name 😊

Max

I will change it myself. 😒

Y/n

And I set the setting so you can't. Hehe

Bear minimum

Am I a favorite?

Y/n

Of course, cause your nice 😊😊

Y/n changed 'Bear minimum' to Bearman #1

Bearman #1

Awe thx

Y/n

Ofcc

Pasta boi

I like this name. It's suits me well.

Lanlikesfish

Ugh I hate fish!

Y/n

Haters gonna hate.

Pasta boi

For realll

Georgie

Hater's gonna hate hate hate hate and the players gonna play play play play

Y/n

HAHA WHAT THE FUCK YOU SWIFTIE 😭

Georgie

What can I say?

Pastry🥐

I am no pastry

Y/n

Yes you are. white as a ghost dude

Red bull #1

I like being a favorite. Honeslty guys it's not hard being nice to her. She's nice to 🙂

Y/n

Awe thnx yuki. That's why your my fav. Unlike... others

Lanlikesfish

HOW CAN I BE FAVORITE TIPS AND TRICKS

Roscoe's dad

you guys... i can't believe i ran over a ground hog.... 😪

Charlie

he lived a good life mate

Carlos 🌶

oooo I like my name!! Chile pepper just means i'm spicyy

Y/n

How the fuck did y'all get into F1 y'all are so unserious lmfao

Maxine✨️

I take my job very serious.

Y/n

Oh yeah, because crashing into George on purpose is very very ethical.

Maxine✨️

Yeah because.. I had reasons.

Y/n

Boy can't even think of a straight answer.

Alexandria

Alexandria? Really?

Y/n

Yes. it fits. A vibe

Pasta boi

Might go get some pasta after this premier

Georgie

Funny kimi kardashian

Y/n

OMG THAT IS A BETTER NAME!

Y/n changed Pasta boi to Kimi Kardashian

Kimi Kardashian

Ugh. Not cool

Georgie

I'm quite excited for it actually

Y/n

of course you are.

Georgie

Are you not going?

Y/n. I can't be in the same room as brad.

Maxine✨️

why?

Y/n

He just ruins the movie.. entirely. For me at least

Lanlikesfish

*cough* I agree *cough*

Y/n

FINALLY someone agrees.

Georgie

Really Lando?

Lanlikesfish

look all I'm saying is I don't like that I was only in there for like what, 30 seconds? That's a of a stab to the heart mate.

Roscoe's dad

Yes but the main character is also Brad Pitt for a reason

Landlikesfish

It should have been me. I'm way better looking

Y/n

Okay you narcissist

Landlikesfish

It's all about personality and confidence

Hey loves! Different from what I normally write but I thought it was a unique idea! Comment to be added to the tag list! Requests are open!

[sillygoose067]

This is the first time I’ve ever requested something. I love your writing so much. Would you be willing to do a Joaquin Torres hurt/comfort with a female reader where she doesn’t talk to her family since she graduated high school, and all of a sudden they’re inserting themselves back into her life? If not that’s totally fine.

Omg I'm so honored to be your first request! Sorry it took so long 😓 summer courses are kicking my ass.

I love this request so much and it's actually funny you asked because I'd been thinking about writing something of the sort anyway — you just gave me more of a reason to go ahead and do it. Yay!

I'm not sure if this is what you were looking for since I added some of the ideas I had into this one, but hopefully you like it!

:)

———————————————————————————-

The Light You Carry

Joaquin Torres x Reader

Warnings: mention of self harm, toxic family

It starts with a message.

No greeting. No punctuation. Just a photo.

The porch.

Sun-drenched and colorless, like an old bruise. The same cracked step you once tripped over as a kid. The plastic chair that never matched anything, still stationed by the door like it’s waiting for someone who never came home. The paint is peeling, the sky is pink, and the caption—if it can be called that—says only:

“Your uncle’s birthday is Saturday. Everyone’s coming.”

No “how have you been?” No “I miss you.”

Just a date, a place, a presumption.

You feel it in your gut first — the slow tightening, the curl of something cold and sour deep in your stomach. Then your hands, suddenly unsure of what they’re holding. Then your chest, which seems to forget how to do the simple work of breathing.

You haven’t heard from your mother in four years. Not on your birthday. Not when you moved cities. Not when you were hospitalized for that emergency appendicitis scare, when Joaquin slept on the fold-out chair and held your hand like it was the only real thing in the world.

You reread the message anyway. As if repetition will unlock context, will conjure some hidden line beneath the silence. It doesn’t. It just stings in new ways.

Joaquin finds you like that — still, back half-turned toward the window, the dying light soft around you like dust. Your phone dangles from one hand. The other is clenched into a fist you hadn’t realized you were making.

He doesn’t speak at first. Just steps into your space with a gentle kind of gravity. When he finally does, his voice is soft, careful, like he’s brushing snow from your shoulders.

“Querida… what’s going on?”

You hand him the phone, and with it, a silence you don’t know how to fill. He reads the message once, brow furrowed — not in confusion, but understanding. Like he already knows this isn’t just about a party, or a porch, or your uncle. It’s about them. About her.

He doesn’t ask the obvious questions. He doesn’t need to. He just lowers the phone, places it on the table between you, and looks at you like he sees every shattered piece you’re pretending not to step on.

“She hasn’t reached out since graduation, right?” he asks quietly.

You nod, voice brittle. “Not a word.”

“...She didn’t even ask how you’ve been.”

“Why would she?” You laugh, but it’s the kind that folds in on itself. “It’s not about me. It never is. She just wants me to show up. To prove to everyone that I’m still the good daughter. Still obedient. Still theirs.”

Joaquin takes a slow step forward. His gaze never leaves yours.

“Do you want to go?”

You exhale through your nose, hard. “No. Yes. I don’t know. I want to know why she’s texting me now, but I don’t want to walk into that house and become someone I spent four years clawing my way out of.”

“You’re not her anymore,” he says. “You won’t ever be her again.”

You blink fast. Something behind your ribs tightens.

“I thought I’d stopped hoping for this,” you murmur. “For her to say something. Anything. But the second she does, it’s like I’m sixteen again, waiting for her to notice I’m bleeding.”

Joaquin doesn’t flinch. He’s a solid thing in a room that suddenly feels paper-thin.

“I want to tell her to fuck off,” you say quietly. “But I also want to… see. Just see. If maybe something’s different.”

He nods, like he’s already made up his mind. “Then let’s go.”

You stare at him. “What?”

“I mean it,” he says. “Let’s go. We’ll drive down. You won’t have to walk through the door unless you want to. You don’t have to smile. You don’t have to stay. You can leave the second your chest gets tight. I’ll have the car running. You just squeeze my hand, and we’re gone.”

You hesitate. The thought of it makes your skin crawl — and ache. Both at once.

“I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“And maybe you’ll never be,” he says, gently. “Maybe that’s okay. But maybe… just maybe… this gives you the power again. To walk in on your own terms. To face it — not for them, but for you. So that you get to decide whether there’s anything left to heal, or whether the wound’s better left closed.”

You press your forehead to his chest. He smells like wind and soap and something warm you don’t have a name for. He wraps his arms around you like he’s been waiting to, like he’s been carrying this weight in halves until you were ready to set it down.

“You’ll stay close?”

“I won’t leave your side.”

“And if it all goes bad?”

“Then we get tacos and drive home with the windows down and talk about anything but this.” He leans down, presses his lips to your temple. “You’ve already survived worse, mi amor. Now you get to choose what kind of ending you want.”

You nod into his shirt, the fabric damp where your cheek rests. And for the first time in hours — maybe longer — the fear doesn’t feel like it owns you.

“Okay,” you whisper.

And he doesn’t say are you sure?

He just says, “I’ve got you.”

---

You shouldn’t have come. You knew it before you knocked, before your mother’s eyes flicked past you like you were a guest she hadn’t expected. But you came anyway.

The house is loud — not with joy, but with posturing. Dishes clatter in the kitchen. The TV blares something no one’s watching. Laughter bubbles in awkward, lopsided bursts. People you haven’t seen since you were seventeen glance at you like you’re something that grew back wrong.

You try to breathe, try to smile like it doesn’t sting.

Joaquin stands beside you, tense and watchful, like he knows something’s about to go wrong. And then it happens.

Your cousin — the one who used to lock you out of your room and then gaslight you about it — sidles over with a red cup in his hand and too much amusement on his face.

“Well damn,” he says. “Didn’t think you’d show your face again. Thought you’d finally run off and made a mess of your life, like everyone expected.”

You freeze.

The room doesn’t.

Someone snorts. Someone else shifts awkwardly, but no one intervenes. The moment hangs — sharp and slicing, like cold metal between your ribs.

You barely open your mouth to respond.

But Joaquin steps forward — fast.

And he explodes.

“What the hell did you just say?”

The room goes dead quiet.

Your cousin flinches, stumbling back half a step. “Relax, man—”

“No, you don’t get to say that and pretend it’s a joke,” Joaquin growls, voice like fire under pressure. “You don’t get to act like you weren’t part of making her life hell and then laugh in her face when she has the guts to walk back in here.”

“Jesus, calm down—”

“Don’t tell me to calm down,” Joaquin snaps, eyes blazing. “You think it’s funny she stayed away this long? You think it’s funny she left without anything? You want to talk about expectations? She expected basic goddamn decency and never got it from any of you.”

Your heart’s hammering in your chest.

No one speaks.

Even your mother has gone pale, mouth parted like she might say something — but nothing comes out.

Your cousin’s still holding his cup, frozen mid-drink.

And then Joaquin turns to you, breath still fast, hands clenched.

“We’re done here.”

His voice isn’t loud now. It’s sharp. Final.

You’re still too stunned to react, so he reaches for your hand, warm and strong, and laces your fingers through his with a fierce kind of tenderness.

He’s practically vibrating with fury as he pulls you gently toward the door.

And just as you pass your mother, she says — quietly, sharply — “You didn’t have to cause a scene.”

Joaquin stops.

Slowly, he turns, eyes blazing.

“You should’ve stopped them before I had to.”

Then he opens the door and walks you out, hand tight in yours, breath shaking.

Outside, the cold air hits like a slap. You make it to the car before the adrenaline catches up and your knees go weak.

Joaquin’s already helping you in, carefully, silently. But the second the door closes, he punches the steering wheel once — not hard enough to break it, just enough to let it out.

---

The car hums softly around you, a gentle thrum like the steady pulse of a heart trying to slow down after running a long race. The night outside presses close, thick with the scent of wet asphalt and distant jasmine, the world muted in the lull between storms.

Inside, the silence stretches, not brittle but heavy and tender — a cocoon stitched together from the aftermath of everything that just happened. Joaquin’s hand rests over yours, warmth seeping through skin like a whispered promise.

He chews the inside of his cheek, eyes dark pools reflecting the streetlight’s pale glow. His breath catches, a low catch almost too soft to hear.

“You okay?” you ask, voice small, fragile, like breaking glass held in careful hands.

He turns toward you, the shadowed lines of his face softening. “You’re the one who just faced hell,” he says, voice rough with raw edges. “I’m just the guy who lost it watching you get hurt.”

You try to smile, but it trembles like a candle flame in a draft.

He reaches out, fingers gentle, tracing slow, deliberate circles on the back of your hand — a slow rhythm meant to anchor you back to the moment, back to safety.

The car slows, and he pulls onto a side street, a stretch where the city noise fades into a whisper. He kills the engine, leaving the world to settle around you in a hush.

His eyes find yours, steady and fierce in the low light.

“Hey,” he breathes, voice threading through the silence like a song. “I’m sorry. For yelling. For breaking loose. I just… I saw the way they looked at you. Like you were a ghost haunting a house they’d rather forget.”

Your throat tightens. You swallow the ache that blooms there.

“I wanted to protect you,” he says, voice trembling just enough to betray the storm inside. “Because you didn’t deserve any of that. None of it.”

You nod, blinking back the shadows gathering at the corners of your eyes.

“You think they even remember what it’s like? To care?” you whisper.

He shakes his head, slow and sure. “No. They don’t deserve you. Not even a fraction of the light you carry.”

Your breath falters. A single tear escapes, trailing warmth down your cheek.

Without thinking, he lifts his hand to your face, fingers brushing the tear away like it’s a secret he’s been waiting to find. His touch is soft, reverent, as if you’re a fragile flower unfolding after winter.

“I wanted to defend you,” he murmurs, voice breaking with the weight of it, “but I know sometimes you just want to disappear instead.”

You let out a shaky laugh, the sound fragile and raw. “Yeah… sometimes.”

He leans closer, forehead resting against yours, breath mingling in the small space between you.

“You’ll never have to disappear again,” he promises, voice a vow, a benediction. “I won't let you.”

You close your eyes, the world narrowing down to the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm, the soft brush of his breath, the sanctuary in his arms.

And finally, you let go.

Your tears fall slow and quiet, the kind of sorrow that fills empty spaces and leaves behind something soft — a healing.

He wraps you close, fierce and tender all at once, as if holding together every cracked piece of your soul.

“You didn’t overreact,” you sniffle into his hoodie, voice still thick.

He exhales, the tension unraveling in a slow, shuddering sigh.

“Good,” he says. “Because I was ready to burn that whole damn house down.”

You laugh again — this time, genuine — shaky but real.

“I believe you,” you say, voice trembling with something like hope.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, thumbs stroking your cheeks with a reverence that humbles you.

“I love you,” he says, voice hoarse and fierce and soft all at once. “You know that, right?”

You nod, words lost but heart loud.

“I love you, too.”

[iatrophilosophos]

Hmm well my thoughts are as follows

I am an anarchist and thus not invested in how we build systems of knowlege that effectively interface with the legal system because i do not believe we should have a legal system, generally speaking, so none of my responses here are actually going to answer that for you.

The dichotomy of "science vs vibes" is both incredibly funny and incredibly annoying to me, and a complete failure of imagination or grace on behalf of all who propose it.

This is of course what thr academy dose and why I hate it. It's the cornerstone of maintaining the western progress narrative: academic ideas are good and order, all others are chaos and vibes.

Science is a tool. It is also a religion rivaling Christianity in scale, scope and obsessive-yet-liturgically-uneducated believers. I am interested in science as a tool; I am fully disinterested in fundemental faith assumption of science (that the universe is governed by consistent and knowable laws). Science as religion pleads an optimism about how its *supposed* to work and discards objects of criticism as heretical. I refuse to engage with this perspective. The purpose of a system is what it does. However, i am going to endeavor to talk about the fundemental flaws of science that would still be present without capitalism and specifically bad-faith (academic def; do not earnestly believe what they have said to be true) actors. I am doing this because I DO think this critique is essential to understanding the limitations of science and how we utilize it + other systems to our best advantage.

Science is a toolset for generating a predicitive model, because humans love predicitive models. They're very useful! They help us make choices like how to care for plants and the land, what foods to eat, what medicine to take. There are actually many other tools for generating predicitive models, and I will speak to one shortly. Science accomplishes this by identifying an observation, hypothesis and variables, running scenarios in different configurations to see what may happen, and concluding something either about the experiment itself or the nature of the world. We accomplish those conclusions these days through the application of statistics, which can do some really nasty shit--not just making results seem more promising than they are!

Science is optimized for big answers on a fast timescale. It is a really useful tool in a lot of applications. In the medical field, I can say wholeheartedly that im a big fan of the scientific model as applied to communicable pathogens. I like cultures and i like testing novel antibiotics to see if they do what we want them to do. The situation of a mass outbreak is one where we want a big fast answer.

However, this tool has a lot of limits that I dont think are adequately described by just talking about the replication crisis or specific scientific atrocities. I want to push back on the idea that its "throwing spaghetti at the wall"; cuz i think we both know thats not actually true. Its testing hypotheses based on observations.

Observations are cultural. I firmly believe that one of the problems with psychiatry is that the perceptions, the "common knowlege" as is being derided here, of what Madness is and how it works predate science significantly, and they're ugly. The lobotomy is not throwing ugly evil shit at the wall and seeing what it does. The lobotomy is the "observation" that a certain kind of mad person is the way they are because they are over-active, too much, want stuff too badly, are plagued with an urge to sin so great that it must be excised before they can be saved by willpower and prayer (therapy). The hypothesis then follows: if we have "observed" that Mad people are "too much", we cut part of them away. If we have "observed" that Mad people desire incorrectly, we inhibit their ability to desire. In this way, the logic of the lobotomy is still active in the world and still being used to generate atrocities that I firmly believe we will look back on as a horrific stain on the history of official medicine in 10, 20, 50 years.

Psychiatry and psychology are easy to poke holes in, but this issue is at play in other areas of medical science as well. I am less well versed, but my associates in cardiology will very-unhappily tell you that a similar caliber of "observations" into the nature of human beings, specifically Black people, plague their field and cause deaths they themselves have witnessed firsthand.

The other foundational problem with science is statistics. This is why science as a legal basis actually sucks shit, though as I said im not really interested in constructing more legally-appriopriate knowledge sets. Statistical analysis as the bar for evaluating experimental results can tell us what works most of the time in most cases; especially in those high-quality mass-scale studies. There will be a number of cases where something doesnt work that works most of the rest of the time, and a number of cases where something works that doesnt most other times. I fucking care about statistical outliers. I am one. People i love live in this space. Land i love lives in this space. I believe there is value in high-reward low-risk low-likelihood interventions being widely available. I fully and completely reject the cultural value that most people is good enough, let alone the bar to strive for.

So, alternatives? There isnt one alternative because I dont subscribe to science as religion and thus I do not require it to be an all-encompassing world view or thrown on the trash heap; and i feel this way about other predicitive modeling tools. I believe in doing things that get the results i want for myself, my loved ones and social relations, and the land we participate in; without exploiting others in the process and in a way that hopefully supports others in achieving the same. Many tools fit in that box. I will however take this moment to soapbox about what im gonna term "conversational knolwege" because I think its an interesting model that kind of precursors our modern understanding of citations but retains a lot more nuance.

One benefit of science, and i think WHY it lends itself to systems such as legality, mass medicine, and so on: it endeavors to replace interpersonal trust and deep individual basis of knowledge. Who this benefits is a hell of a question: on the day to day scale, we can say it benefits the average person. It's nice not to have to trust your doctor, a person you probably dont actually know, who has financial and social interests that might diverge from your own, to have your best interests at heart: let alone agree with you on what your best interests actually ARE or have the knowlege and decision making skills to help you get there. Its nice to believe that everything will be okay, that there is an answer, and that you arent personally responsible for making hard decisions in the world. On the mass scale, this way of living doesnt benefit us, it benefits power. Medical codification as a stage of empire is an entirely different can of worms i could talk about forever but suffice to say: medicine is a constant cultural practice present among all people. States get big. In the same way they endeavor to retain power over people by preventing them from feeding themselves etc; they outlaw, burn, and replace the common medical culture with a system more conducive to control. Prescientific medical models have also been used in this way; as are the state-backed nonscientific medical models traditional Chinese medicine and Ayurveda (medical nationalism is another can of worms we can talk about with all three, western industrial, tcm, ans Ayurveda, but especially tcm...its rlly fucking interesting. Don't even get me started on the medical models of colonized countries that fall somewhere between these three powers. Aaaa! I love this shit. Anyway).

Point being: this benefit is damage control for a society that perpetuates itself via deskilling the population. What does generation and transference of knowlege look like in populations with high individual skills?

One answer is conversation. It goes like this:

Person A spends their life engaging with an area that they are passionate about and have a high aptitude for. Maybe its a field of medicine, drug production etc, maybe its a field of engagement with the land like food production or having trails that dont erode to shit or building structures that work well for the beings using them. They come to an understanding of the world based on what they personally see happen (notably, not "vibes", watching something over years is NOT the same as reading half of three news articles and adopting a worldview based on it, I think we can all agree that the latter is an unhelpful way to engage with information). They collect students who learn those worldviews. Maybe they write a book or in oral traditions, pen a folktale with something important to say about the world. Person B is one of their students just starting out in the world. They compare this worldview to what they experience. They travel, sometimes hundreds or thousands of miles, to meet a person with the same role as person A in a different community. Person B learns different things and, by transporting what person A knows into a new context, finds problems with it, and finds where it succeeds. Person B teaches. Person C, a student of person B, has a both what person A and person B thinks, and continues the process adding their own voice to the conversation. Person C carries these three perspectives and communicates them to person D, by saying who told them what they have to repeat and in what context. This "citation" is then allowed to carry elements of personality, reputation, and nuance in trust. This happens over and over again for thousands of years. Every lifetime makes it better.

The problem with this engagement of knolwege is that it is slow. It leads to understandings of the world that are not as good at adapting to the chaotic and rapidly changing conditions of our modern world and its documented to be not as good at responding to drastic shifts (e.g. natural disasters) in history. It requires every individual to participate to at least some degree in the stewardship of knolwege. It requires willingness to break from dead ends and acknowledge we were wrong. Ugly things have happened when we fail to do this and especially when social configurations make it harder: for example, societies that abuse their children are responsible for some of the gnarlier and more shocking historical medical practices, because doing something to someone when they are a child is an easy way to make humans keep doing stuff that sucks (sumn we're otherwise fairly good at avoiding).

What it is very good at is creating skillsets that are nuanced and treat situations as individual; it is good at making knowledge systems that account for statistical outliers. In part, it is because its a system that DEMANDS an answer to *why* something is known: even moreso than science, because a citation doesnt suffice, we are forced to interrogate to trust.

Maybe, especially to folks who are already fully bought in to the logic of the academy, this system cannot shine a candle to the imagined benefits of a perfect science. As I said, I refuse to engage with the imagined benefits of a perfect science, because we might as well start talking about what we should do if the moon is made of cheese. And what the real world right now has to say is that a large swath of interventions generated in these traditional modes WORK, when trialed in good faith; with limitations for drastic shifts in climate, bodies etc occurring over the last few hundred years, +/- the severing of many of these traditions and thus their ability to grow and change approximately concurrent with industrialization and the acceleration of *gestures* All This Shit. (For example, many plant-based drugs that were exceptionally low risk 100, 200 years ago now carry much higher risk or unknown risk profiles in an age of pharmacuetical prescriptions and way more possible drug interactions).

So, that is a way of answering "how do you know?" That is neither a scientific citation nor "vibes". I am personally most interested in hybrid strategies and novel study models because of my aforementioned investment in working with statistical outliers AND the rapid shifts in the world that are occurring in our lifetimes. I think it is imperative to reject science as religion and the comforting position that we'll solve all problems by following the right rules. I also think that its a mistake to resign ourselves to "the best we have", because the best we have doesnt fucking cut it, definitely not for me or people I care about.

So idk if thats the weigh-in you wanted but its what I got. Im not gonna put hella cites in a fucking Tumblr post i wrote before breakfast for one friend, and anyway most of this info is the synthesis of rlly diffuse inputs across historical texts, medical anthropology, conversations with mentors across the spectrum of academy to licensed practice to traditionally educated practitioners to wingnuts like myself, and a ton of dives into random questions about topics across the above spectrum. I can provide my standard entry reading list upon request and as always my #1 reccomendation for people who are new to medical anthropology is The Expressiveness of the Body by Shigehisa Kuriyama. Peace ✌️

"these researchers published a paper on something that literally any of us could have told you 🙄" ok well my supervisors wont let me write something in my thesis unless I can back it up with a citation so maybe it's a good thing that they're amplifying your voice to the scientific community in a way that prevents people from writing off your experiences as annecdotal evidence

[izzih22]

heyyy i LOVE your writing and this is my first ever request and thought it would be kinda cute <3

can you do one where azzi cuts paige’s hair and paige is being super perfectionist about it? loll thought it was a funny idea

Trimmed With Trust

Note: I never know what to put her but sorry it’s short.

“I’m serious,” Paige said, legs crossed on the closed toilet lid as she stared at herself in the mirror. “You mess this up, I’m shaving my head and transferring to a monastery.”

Azzi stood behind her, holding a comb and a pair of hair-cutting scissors, expression unbothered. “You’re not even Catholic.”

“Details,” Paige muttered. “Do monks care about religion or vibes?”

Azzi laughed once under her breath and gently ran her fingers through Paige’s tangled curls. “Your hair’s not even that bad.”

Paige made a strangled noise. “You literally heard me rant about how uneven it is last week.”

“Yeah, but I thought that was, like, your monthly drama cycle.”

Paige let out a snort. “Okay, rude.”

Azzi grinned. “You want the truth or the trim?”

Paige paused. Then shrugged. “Both. But lie to me sweetly while you cut.”

Azzi leaned down, lips brushing the shell of Paige’s ear. “It’s gonna be perfect. Promise.”

That got Paige quiet.

Because as much as she loved to joke and spiral and monologue and be overly precious about her hair she did trust Azzi. Deeply. Unshakably. She wouldn’t let anyone else touch her hair. She barely let her trainers adjust her tape without side-eye. But with Azzi? She handed over the scissors willingly.

“Okay,” Paige mumbled, still watching her reflection. “But not too much. Like barely a trim. Like whisper to the hair that it’s gone, not scream.”

Azzi chuckled, fingers parting sections with practiced ease. “Half an inch. I already measured.”

Paige squinted suspiciously. “Did you actually?”

“I know how dramatic you are,” Azzi said, eyes focused as she gently combed down a strand. “So yes. I measured. Twice.”

“God, I love you.”

“I know.”

First snip.

Paige visibly tensed.

Azzi paused, set the scissors down, and slid her arms around Paige from behind. “Hey.”

“What.”

Azzi kissed the crown of her head. “You’re good. I got you.”

Paige leaned back into her chest for a second. Just breathed.

“I know.”

Azzi started again, working methodically. She was quiet when she worked focused, steady. Paige watched her in the mirror, the way her eyes tracked every strand like it was precious. Like she wanted to do it right just because it was Paige.

“Where’d you learn to do this?” Paige asked softly.

“My mom used to cut my hair when I was little,” Azzi said. “She made it a thing. We’d play music and take our time. I guess I picked it up.”

Paige smiled. “You’re really gentle.”

Azzi smirked, glancing at her in the mirror. “Yeah, well. You flinch like you’re in a horror movie.”

“That’s because I’m picturing the moment you sneeze and I end up with a rat tail.”

Azzi didn’t laugh. She just tilted Paige’s head gently to the side and whispered, “Do you really think I’d ever mess you up?”

And just like that, Paige stopped talking.

Because no she didn’t.

Not really.

Snip. Comb. Snip.

The bathroom filled with soft silence, the kind that only happens between people who are completely at ease with each other.

Every now and then, Paige would say something under her breath an exaggerated “Oop!” or “Careful, Fudd, you’re getting cocky” and Azzi would just roll her eyes and murmur, “Shut up, Paige,” without even breaking rhythm.

It wasn’t annoyed. It was fond. Always fond.

“Okay,” Azzi said twenty minutes later, setting the scissors down and fluffing Paige’s curls with her fingers. “Done. You survived.”

Paige immediately stood and spun toward the mirror, twisting and turning to inspect the results.

She was quiet for a full ten seconds.

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Well?”

Paige turned around and stared at her. “Why do you know how to do this like a real stylist?”

Azzi leaned against the counter. “Because I cared about getting it right.”

There was a softness in her voice that shut Paige up more than any snarky comeback ever could.

Paige blinked. “It looks… really good.”

Azzi just smiled. “Told you.”

“You kinda ate.”

“I always do.”

Paige stepped closer, arms circling Azzi’s waist. “You always do when it comes to me.”

Azzi didn’t say anything just pressed their foreheads together, hands sliding into Paige’s newly trimmed hair.

“I know I make everything complicated,” Paige whispered.

Azzi kissed her temple. “You do.”

“But you never get annoyed.”

“I do get annoyed. I just love you more than I get annoyed.”

Paige made another snort-laugh and dropped her head to Azzi’s shoulder. “You’re so good to me. It’s disgusting.”

“You’re lucky I think disgusting is cute.”

Paige stayed there, breathing her in.

Trust wasn’t just about scissors or snips. It was about knowing someone could handle the messy parts the control freak tendencies, the spirals, the insecurities and still show up steady. Still love you through all of it. Still cut your hair without making you feel dumb for caring so much.

Azzi had always done that. Always would.

“I like you a little more with the ends off,” Azzi murmured, fingers tugging lightly on the fresh curls.

Paige looked up, smug. “Because I’m hotter now?”

“No,” Azzi said. “Because now when people check you out, I get to say I did that.”

Paige wheezed. “That is unhinged and also valid.”

“I know.”

She kissed her again soft, deep, familiar.

And Paige let herself melt, fresh curls and all.

[farfromharry]

What the fuck? | Lando Norris

Transformers au

Summary: A successful date turns into a living nightmare when Y/N comes face to face with the alien living in Lando’s garage. Oh, and it also doubles as his car too…?

w/c 3155

a/n i rewatched transformers the other day and this came to mind idk, its pretty random but i had to get it out of my head

━━━━━━━━━♡♥♡━━━━━━━━━

Lando Norris was hot. 

For months he had been coming into your work for coffee. He was that customer that every worker fawned over. There was a cat fight every time the bell above the door sounded and he stepped inside. Everyone wanted to be the one to take his order. He was polite to everyone, as he should be. There was only one person who he flirted with though. Y/N. 

On the off chance that everyone else was busy and she finally got the opportunity to serve him, they chatted for ages. He was constantly asking her questions that had obvious answers, just so he could talk to her for longer. They talked about their days, he complimented her and she always drew a little heart by his name when handing him his cup.

Really it was only a matter of time before he asked her out. 

For weeks he had been building up the courage. Coming into the cafe and pretending to stare at the menu until she was free. He saw how they bickered when he came in. It would have done wonders for his ego had he not been trying to impress someone specific. She hadn’t picked up on it though. Y/N thought it was just luck that everyone else was busy. If only she knew that he was there for her– he didn’t even like coffee.

“Would you like to go out sometime?” She was clearly caught off guard. “With me, I mean.”

Nervously, her eyes darted to the side, where an older lady stood watching them. It wasn’t the first time he had seen her around. He assumed she was the manager or something of the sorts. His mouth formed an O shape. Now wasn’t a good time for them to talk about this.

“Your total is £3.86.” 

The man tapped his card, nodded at her and then moved off to the side to wait for his drink. There was no mention of his offer when she called his name to collect, but as he was leaving he did notice the number and the smiley face jotted down on the side of his cup. A laugh bubble in his throat. The little minx. 

When a text from a random number came through to Y/N’s phone a day later, she grinned to herself. Lando was persistent, she would give him that. 

It took all of 2 minutes to spill it to her roommate and given how often she talked about the hot customer that came in practically every day, she insisted she go for it. Who was she to turn down a man that looked like that and was very clearly interested in her? She was very quick to say yes. 

He picked her up from her apartment, his pricey Porsche practically sparkling under the street lights. She was in awe. The dark green exterior was gorgeous, to die for. It must have been cleaned recently, but he did seem like the type to take care of his car. He was leaning against it when she emerged from her building, his arms crossed, stretching the material of his button up tightly over his chest and his arms. Those arms… She had no idea how she was going to survive this date.

But she did and she had a great time. He was funny, charming and a mighty good kisser. They could barely keep their hands off of each other. In the car on the way back, his hand rested on her leg, bordering on dangerous with how close it was to the hem of her dress. She loved it though and as soon as the car was stopped she was the first to launch herself at him. He was slightly caught off guard, but quickly kissed her back. 

She didn’t expect him to push her away. Fear filled her. The idea that she had read something wrong or gotten mixed signals was horrifying. It must have been written all over her face. His hand settled on her cheek, silently asking her to look at him. When she did he was smiling. 

“I’m not rejecting you.” That was a good start at least. He pulled the keys from the ignition and winked at her. “Just think we should head inside.”

The dread that had once been written all over her face was quickly replaced by lust. With how he looked in the moonlight right now, curls falling over his forehead, facial hair he was too stubborn to shave and just the right amount of buttons undone on his shirt, there was no way she was going to turn down that offer. “Lead the way, Norris.” 

When she stepped out of the car the wind bit at her face, the chill sent down her spine forcing her to wrap her arms around herself. How she would love a bit of Lando’s body heat mixing with hers right now. Even just when his hand touched the small of her back she immediately felt warmer. 

Like the gentleman he tried so hard to be, he unlocked the front door and let her in first. Only when she stood in the doorway awkwardly did he remember she had never been in his house before; she had no idea where she was going. 

Lando laughed. “Right. My bad.”

After closing the door behind him, he laced his fingers with hers tugging her in the direction of the couch in the living room. He sat down first, sinking into the couch, legs spread and head leaning on the back, eyes staring up at her with a silent invitation. He looked edible. Any normal person would probably see the empty space beside him and claim that, but not Y/N. The most inviting place for her right now was that of his lap. Why waste time? 

Apparently straddling him was a good idea. Helped set the mood. Lando enjoyed it anyway. Big hands came to hold her sides, the smirk sneaking onto his face annoyingly attractive. 

“Hi,” he whispered. 

A hand came to rest on his shoulder, another finding its way into the long curls at the back of his neck. Not yet tugging, but considering it. “Hello.” 

Neither of them were sure who initiated it. One minute she was practically drooling over the way he was gazing up at her, eyes dilated and lips slightly parted, the next he was mentally thanking whatever miracles had allowed him to be in this moment. Soft lips met his, stealing his breath. Their noses bumped. Teeth clashed. Lando never wanted it to end. 

A loud crash from somewhere in the house stole her attention. Their lips briefly separated. As much as she would have liked to keep kissing him, the noise was loud and distracting. “What was that?” she asked, trying to ignore the way his thumb stroked her cheek. He was incredibly intoxicating in the best way. 

He tried to shake it off. Of course he had heard it, but he knew exactly what the culprit was and really didn’t want to share. “I didn’t hear anything.” In his mind, denial was the best way to go, followed by distraction. The perfect distraction would be his lips in this case.

Gently, he grabbed her chin between his thumb and index finger, guiding her face back to his. Their lips connected again and she sighed heartily against his mouth. He smiled briefly, but it disappeared as soon as he found himself lost in the kiss again. His other hand was on her hip, keeping her pressed tightly to his body. He didn’t want even a centimetre of space between them. If anyone were to look at them they wouldn’t know where he started and she ended. The way she kissed was intoxicating. 

Bang. 

There was that noise again. Y/N pulled back, but Lando wasn’t done. Swollen lips found her neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses on her skin. Her eyes fluttered but she quickly snapped herself out of it. Letting herself get distracted by his touch was exactly what he wanted. Whether he liked it or not, she was going to get to the bottom of that noise. 

When she climbed out of his lap like a woman on a mission, his heart dropped. He had to keep her out of the garage at all costs. 

“Y/N, hey. What are you doing?” The look on his face was far from calm. It would be obvious to anyone in a 10 foot range that he was hiding something. And if anyone was listening, she was praying it wasn’t something weird because he was just so hot. 

“Tell me what that noise is.”

It wasn’t a question, it was an order. 

Looking right at him was a face of fury. She had just wanted a good night, a normal date for once in her life. Lando was supposed to be a good one. The night had been going so well and now here she was. The man visibly deflated. Clearly she was upset, annoyed– a whole mix of different emotions, but none of them good. Maybe coming clean was the best idea. 

A sigh, then a longing look at the Porsche beside them.

The next time he looked at her it was with such desperation that her chest actually ached for him. He didn’t know what to do. “Look, what I’m gonna say is…” How was he supposed to put it? There was no sane way of coming clean here. “It’s crazy. But I need you to know I am telling the truth. If you promise not to freak out I’ll show you.”

Understandably, she was hesitant. There was something in his eyes though that told her she could trust him on this. “Okay.”

With a nod, he tapped the roof of the car twice. “Show her.”

She wasn’t sure what she was witnessing was real. Right before her eyes the Porsche in front of her shifted from a car into something that resembled a… person. It even blinked, waved at her. She thought she was losing her mind. Surely this was some illusion, a trick of the light or something he used to impress women. When she turned to look at him, he looked completely unbothered, like this was something he was totally used to.

“What the fuck?” she yelled, eyes blown wide as she stared at the car turned… thing that she couldn’t even find a logical explanation for. Had she taken a drug that she didn’t know about, or maybe her world was turning upside down? Either way, she sort of felt nauseous. Lando’s hand was quick to come up and cover her mouth when she screamed again. The last thing he needed was his neighbours getting worried that someone was being murdered in his garage. 

Wide eyes were frantically darting all over the place, trying to conjure up a reasonable explanation for whatever the fuck was happening. 

Lando was just trying to soothe her. “Listen to me, I need you to calm down.”

That was a rich suggestion. Who was he to tell her to calm down? It wasn’t everyday someone saw a literal car transform into something almost human. Her chest was heaving, clearly startled, scared out of her mind. Maybe there were better ways he could have broken this news to her. 

Just as he thought he might be starting to make progress, the robot opened its mouth and sent her spiraling all over again. “Hello.” It even waved. 

Lando cursed, shooting the Porsche quite a harsh glare. Then he placed his attention back on Y/N, placing his hands on her arms in an effort to keep her focused on him. “Breathe with me. Come on.” 

It took a while, but eventually she managed to match his breathing. Her mind was still racing, but she was definitely more relaxed. He smiled. 

“Good. You feeling better?”

She let out a breath. “I think so. But can you please explain what the hell is going on?” She looked desperate. He was starting to feel guilty for dropping this on her. 

The thing is, he didn’t really know himself. Months ago, Lando had been going through a crisis and thought the best way to fix it was to buy a run down version of one of his dream cars. Then he would fix it up, make it all shiny and new again. Only, one day had entered his garage to find it was exactly how he pictured it in his mind. He had paused, stared at it blankly for a few seconds and then it had done it for the first time. The car, his car, literally transformed into some sort of robot. It even spoke to him, assured him he was harmless. At no point did he explain why or how he was here, and Lando had never really asked. 

“Um, well, he’s an Autobot, from space.” It was a shitty explanation, one that did nothing to make her feel better. This thing was an alien and Lando was standing here acting like this was normal. “He’s harmless, I swear. His name’s Mirage.” He added that extra bit of information like it would make everything better. 

The next thing either of them knew she was hitting the group with quite the thump. Faintly she might have heard Lando’s panicked gasp, but she wasn’t sure what was real anymore.

When her eyes fluttered open she assumed it was a few hours later. It was darker now outside and she was laying in an unfamiliar living room. She groaned, rubbing at her head that was throbbing slightly— probably from how hard she hit the floor. Lando was by her side the second he realised she was awake.

“Hey, gave us quite the scare there. Feeling okay?”

She smiled softly, rather happy with how attentive he was being for a first date. “Yeah. I had such a crazy dream,” she laughed, “your car—“ Her brain seemed to suddenly catch up to what he’d said, her brow furrowing and her eyes darting to him. “Wait, who’s us?” 

He smiled sheepishly. There was a tap on the window. Part of her wanted to ignore it, but another part of her was desperate to know if what she’d just witnessed was real. Even if it was terrifying. This time he didn’t try to stop her, just let her sit up and peer around the arm of the couch to look out the window. The moment she noticed was obvious. Her body went rigid. “Oh my god, it was real!” 

His laughter was strained. This was the last way he thought this first date was going to turn out. She probably thought the same thing. The only problem was that even if she never wanted to see him again, he had to make sure she kept his secret. Unfortunately she was going to have to stick around. 

“Look, about this whole thing… you can’t tell anyone.”

She scoffed. “Lando, you’ve just shown me an alien and you expect me to keep quiet?”

A frown crept onto his face. If he didn’t think he could trust her, he wouldn’t have told her the truth. He would have made something up to throw her off the scent. But things had been going well and she seemed like the kind of person that could keep a secret if she knew it was important. This was the most important thing in the world to Lando. 

“No, Y/N, I’m serious.” His eyes were pleading with her. “Please, if anyone finds out about this I don’t know what they’d do to him. He left his planet to escape war, what do you think is gonna happen if people find out about this?”

It was understandable. Her fear was clouding her rational judgement. Once she managed to get her breathing under control, she felt like she could think more clearly. Lando’s words meant more sense. It wasn’t fair to ruin someone’s life because she was scared. 

He could see her start to calm down.

“Okay.” She nodded. “I won’t tell.”

Lando let out a breath and his whole body sagged. The relief he was feeling was blatant. “Thank you.”

Silence settled between them. It wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable per say, but neither of them were sure what to say. It was a weird situation. Certainly not one people found themselves in every day, or ever for that matter. She didn’t know how to handle it. No one knew about Lando’s secret. Not even his closest friends. This was something he hadn’t had to deal with before, he didn’t know what to do or what to say. 

“Do you, um, want to meet him properly?” Maybe if she could actually talk to him, see what he was like, she would understand. At least he hoped so. 

The look on her face was hard to read. Clearly she was weighing out the pros and cons of meeting an alien. If Lando had been given that choice when he and Mirage had first met, he probably would have panicked too, probably even ran away. On the brightside, she had someone by her side to make this whole thing a little less stressful. He didn’t have that back then. He sure would have liked to. 

“Okay.”

A sigh passed his lips. “He’s friendly, really.”

She didn’t seem convinced, but Lando was already taking her hand to guide her outside. Uncertainty was drowning her, but he seemed so sure. The thing– Mirage, she guessed– was waiting patiently outside to greet her. Upon first rational glance he seemed rather polite actually. She was surprised. 

Lando felt like a parent introducing his child to someone. “Say hello.” Gently he nudged her forward. He knew his car well and he wouldn’t be on anything but his best behaviour. 

“Um, hi there.” An awkward wave followed. 

The man tried to stifle his laugh but considering the glare she shot his way, he suspected she might have heard it. 

Mirage sort of smiled. “Hello.” He held out his hand, a hand shake being a gesture that Lando had taught him in a bid to make him more used to people. 

Her eyes were wide. Nonetheless she took his… hand, and shook it. Her head was spinning. “This is fucking crazy,” she whispered.

Lando was beaming, his grin stretching from one ear to the other. He whispered right back. “I know, right.” 

Looking at him now, she couldn’t believe she used to think he was just a normal guy that had become a regular at her job. “You’re, like, the coolest guy I’ve ever met.”

He really liked the sound of that. The compliment literally went straight to his head and he had no shame about it. “So, does that mean there’s gonna be a second date?” 

She laughed. “I’m about to propose, so.”

━━━━━━━━━♡♥♡━━━━━━━━━

[socialobligation]

Salutations. 🤓🤚 (this is kinda rambly sorry)

How we feeling about Todoroki not understanding social cues and completely messing shit up w/ shawty. (Personally I think it's a hilarious idea.) "Ommgg get outtt" "...okay?" Dips the fuck out. I think it could be a funny smau thingy or a drabble or WHATEVER it'll be good cus ur hella funny!! (ALSO I SAW UR KIRI× ALT-ISH READER AND I KNOW THAT WOULD ALSO EAT WITH LIKE AN ALT READER X TOKOYAMI OR SHOJI literally my favorite characters and I always thought that alt reader was very similar to dadzawa reader person so aizawa v. Readers bf would be funny too) okay I'm stopping nooowwww much love

get out | s. todoroki

what starts as a miscommunication lesson slowly unravels into something much softer, where teasing turns into quiet confessions, and maybe—just maybe—you're both a little more obvious than you thought.

it’s been months now. the two of you have fallen into that rare kind of friendship that feels effortless—the kind built from shared late-night study sessions, stupid inside jokes, and a surprising amount of mutual patience. shoto isn’t someone you expected to become your closest friend; he’s too formal, too literal, too composed. and yet somehow, he became your person. steady. dependable. stubbornly honest.

he's smart, meticulous, and considerate in ways that sneak up on you—the way he memorizes your coffee order, the way he lends you his umbrella without comment when he knows you forgot yours, the way he notices when you're tired and offers to carry your books without asking. but even after all this time, he still stumbles over basic social cues like they’re potholes on an otherwise flawless street.

and honestly? it's a little endearing. a little dangerous, too, when you’re harboring a crush you can’t quite figure out how to hide.

case in point: today.

when you shove his shoulder lightly, laughing as you say, "oh my god, get out," he reacts without hesitation.

he stands up.

"okay," he says, already halfway to the door with the solemnity of someone obeying a direct command.

you blink at him, stunned. "wait—no, i didn't mean—"

he halts mid-step, looking at you with genuine concern. "you told me to get out."

"it’s a figure of speech, dude," you groan, dragging a hand down your face. "like… 'no way!' or 'shut up!' it doesn't actually mean leave."

he blinks, processing this new data. "i see."

"do you?"

"not entirely."

you laugh, shaking your head as you pat the cushion beside you. "sit back down, you're fine."

he hesitates, then retraces his steps with careful precision, lowering himself stiffly into the chair across from you, posture perfect like he’s bracing for another misunderstanding.

you snort into your drink. "you're so formal. it's like hanging out with a very polite cat."

he tilts his head slightly, considering. "is that meant to be a compliment?"

"sure," you say, grinning.

he looks genuinely pleased, though the slight furrow between his brows suggests he's filed the statement away for later analysis.

you pull your legs up onto the couch, scrolling lazily through your phone while he watches you with quiet attentiveness, like you might do something critical at any moment. it's not weird. or at least, it’s not weird to you anymore. shoto pays attention to people he cares about.

he just doesn’t always know how to show it.

"you can chill, you know," you say, glancing up.

"i am chill."

"you're sitting like you're about to recite the national anthem."

he straightens further. "good posture is important."

"relax, mr. posture," you tease, grabbing the nearest pillow and tossing it at him.

it smacks him in the face with a soft thud. he doesn’t even blink.

he catches it carefully, setting it on his lap like it’s a fragile object.

"thank you," he says, genuinely.

you burst out laughing.

"okay," you say, setting your drink down, "lesson one. when someone says 'get out' while laughing, it usually means 'i can't believe you just said that, that's hilarious.' not 'please leave.'"

he nods slowly, committing it to memory with grave seriousness.

"lesson two," you continue, leaning forward a little, "if i call you 'stupid' or 'dummy' while smiling, it doesn't mean you're actually stupid. it usually means i think you're being… cute."

he processes this with a blink. "so verbal insults can sometimes signal affection."

"exactly."

he nods again, more confidently.

"lesson three," you say, gesturing to the pillow he's still holding, "if someone throws a pillow at you, it's usually affectionate. like, it means they like you."

he stares at the pillow. then at you. back at the pillow.

"oh," he says simply, like a puzzle piece clicking into place.

you clear your throat, suddenly needing to look very intently at your shoes.

"not—not always like, like-like," you add hastily, stumbling a little. "sometimes it's just friendly. but… sometimes it’s… y’know."

he watches you for a long moment, his gaze steady, thoughtful.

"is it… like that?" he asks.

you glance up, heart hammering.

"maybe," you say, soft, unable to summon anything cooler or smarter.

he tilts his head again, as if weighing the information.

"good," he says finally, in that same plain, almost reverent voice.

you blink. "good?"

"i like you too," he says, with all the certainty of a fact he's double-checked.

he tosses the pillow back at you—lighter this time, more casual—and there's a flicker of a real smile tugging at his mouth.

"reciprocal," he adds, because of course he would.

you catch the pillow against your chest, laughing despite the way your heart is doing somersaults.

"lesson four," you say, regaining your composure, "if someone says something obviously ridiculous, like 'i could totally fight a bear,' you're supposed to play along. not start listing reasons why it's inadvisable."

he looks genuinely troubled by this. "but fighting a bear would be strategically unsound—"

"shoto."

he stops. reconsiders.

"you could absolutely fight a bear," he says, voice deadpan.

you cackle, tossing the pillow at him again. he catches it without effort, a glint of humor in his eyes now, subtle but unmistakable.

"you're getting there," you say, sinking back into the couch with a grin.

"thank you," he replies, a little looser, a little lighter.

he's still shoto—precise, literal, impossibly sincere.

and now, maybe, a little yours too.

[mickyschumacher]

[SO, KISS ME!]

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: rumour has it that no one can prank dean. but a little video has you believing otherwise. or in which you find out how clingy dean truly is.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: fluff, established relationship, possibly cringe af, shit spanish and dutch ♡︎ // not really proof-read

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: dean huijsen x gf!fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 1.3k+

𝐀/𝐍: based on the tiktok trend which lowkey makes me crash out in hopeless romantic. someone requested a dean fic but i cannot freaking find the request soooo if you're reading, here it is!!

🏎️ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | ⚽️𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

This idea had come from TikTok, as most usually did nowadays. The post had been sent by Arda's girlfriend: a video of a girl pranking her boyfriend by refusing to kiss them. She thought it'd be funny if you had done it to Dean.

It was definitely an idea... to say the least. You could barely prank Dean. He was an absolute menace. His theatrics would increase and despite you starting it, somehow you would be the one pleading for him to stop. Your boyfriend had a flair for the dramatics.

But this... this you could get behind. Seemingly innocent. The consequences: harmless.

Kisses from Dean were routine. Staple. From morning, noon, and night, he couldn't keep his hands off you. You were argue he was clingy. He would argue it was natural when it came to you.

So when Dean had arrived to your house after training, you had opened the door and he had expected you to lean up on your toes and kiss him like you usually did. Like you did almost every single day.

But much to his surprise, you had only smiled at him (the action still enough to make his heart fall out of his chest) and left him follow after you.

Dean furrowed his brows, hand gripping the strap of his gym bag tighter. Maybe you had just forgotten.

"Qué tal el entrenamiento, guapo?" You asked, walking over to the kitchen counter. How was training, handsome?

Dean placed his gym bag on the floor next to the sofa. He watched you quietly pick out some fruit from the centre bowl while he walked towards you.

You press your lips on a thin line, trying to not grin as his arms wrapped around your waist, body towering over you as he leaned down to rest his chin on your shoulders. "Bien," he murmured, hand rubbing circles into your skin. Good.

You hummed in acknowledgement, feeling his head lift, already aiming towards your lips. Quickly, you turned your head more to your left, blocking him as you reached over to grab a knife from one of your drawers. "Apple?" You queried innocently, finally looking over at him.

Dean blinked, nodding slowly. "Sure," he mumbled, tentatively still keeping his arms around you while you washed the fruit and began cutting it. He eyed you carefully. What the hell was going on?

He cleared his throat. "What did you do today? Finish your assignment?" He asked, pressing a brief peck on your shoulder.

You sighed and nodded. "Finally," you murmured, still reeling. It was your first year of university and it was kicking your ass to say the least. You didn't think it would be that difficult but oh how quickly you were proven wrong.

Dean smiled softly, giving your hip a small encouraging squeeze. He knew you were finding it to be difficult as well. But the way you were getting through it, it reminded him why you inspired him so much. "I'm proud of you, cariño," he reminded.

You paused, turning to him. You couldn't help by smile at the soft sleepy eyes looking down at you, satisfaction swirling through those blue orbs. "Thank you," you replied.

Dean only nodded, leaning down once again to kiss you but was quickly met with an apple slice in his mouth instead. Phew!

"Eat," you chirped, patting his cheek gently as you walked over to the sofa.

Dean quickly munched on the piece of apple, brows furrowed while he took merely seconds to catch up with you. He swallowed the last bite, resting a hand on his hip as you sat down. "What's wrong with you?"

You picked up the the remote resting on the coffee table and raised a brow. "What do you mean?" You asked, crossing one leg over the other while you surfed through the channels.

The tips of Dean's ears turned red. How was he supposed to outright say it? "I... you're forgetting something," he answered instead.

"I am? What?" You queried, eyes wide to feign your surprise.

Dean's chest heaved, embarrassment flushing his cheeks with a hint of pink. "I– you– fine! I won't kiss you too," he muttered under his breath, but loud enough for you to gather what he was talking about.

You suppressed the corners of your lips from forming a grin. You cleared your throat, fixing your eyes on the screen in front of you while you mumbled out, "Weirdo."

Dean looked at you blankly. Weirdo? Weirdo? Him? You were the one acting weird! He folded his arms, eyes constantly flickering between the TV and your face, waiting for any sign of admission that you indeed were messing with him.

But you gave him none.

You simply stared at the screen, apparently engrossed in the meerkats running around.

"Cariño," Dean whined, finally turning his body to face you. His arms reached over, not needing much to pull you closer to him. Sitting you so you were half draped over his legs, he watched carefully as you finally looked at him. He nudged you gently. "Come on," he coaxed.

"Fine," you partially relented with a small sigh, internally grinning at the sudden brightness wavering over his face.

Dean smiled firmly, watching you lean in. He could almost feel his heart jumping out his chest. And then all of a sudden, it was gone. Just like that.

You looked at him curiously, pulling your lips away from his cheek.

"Meen je dat nu serieus?" Dean queried in Dutch, making it more difficult for you to not laugh. The more annoyance that seeped into his veins, the more languages he seemed to speak. Are you serious?

"Here." He grabbed your hand, taking your index finger and pointing at his lips. "These are lips, lieverd," he commented, pressing his lightly to the pad of your finger. "They're made for kissing," he stated as though you were an alien learning about humans. These are lips, sweetheart.

You mulled over his thoughts, teasing him while you hummed. "Pretty sure they're actually help with eating, speaking, and facial expressions," you retorted, tapping his lips gently.

Dean groaned, head falling back on the sofa. He looked at you with a small pout, fingers moving your waist and underneath the hem of your shirt, rubbing your skin softly. "What are you doing?" He asked.

"Arda's girlfriend sent me a video. A prank," you simply retorted, amusement now obviously playing on your lips.

Dean raised a brow. "A prank?" He repeated in disbelief. "To what? Kill me?"

"So dramatic." You rolled your eyes, hitting his arm playfully. You rested your head on his chest, smiling ear to ear. "Getting no kisses won't kill you."

"I knew it! I knew you were up to something!" Dean exclaimed before sighing, rubbing a hand over his face. He didn't expect you to understand how much he liked your kisses. He could barely explain the feeling himself.

Dean peeked through his fingers, looking down at you. "Is it over yet?"

"Hmm..." you hummed, pretending to think over it – your finger tapping your chin.

Dean narrowed his eyes, leaning in by moving forward. "Hey..." he started.

You shrugged casually. "I mean... I'm pretty okay without it. I don't know about you but–"

"Oh cállate y dejame bésarte," Dean murmured. Oh shut up and let me kiss you.

You silently grinned as Dean dipped his head and pressed his lips against yours, hand reaching to the back of your neck to bring you closer to him. His lips were as soft as usual.

Your ability to breathe had been seized by Dean, heart hammering against your chest even after all this time. An airy gasp fell from your lips while goosebumps littered your skin. He took advantage of this, groaning against your lips as he darted his tongue to explore your mouth.

Dean seemingly returned your breath, removing his lips slowly from yours, letting them graze against your skin briefly before fulling looking at you through his hooded blue eyes.

He held your cheeks in his hands, grazing them softly. "Never again," he stated so seriously you wouldn't think he was joking if not for the amusement swirling in his eyes.

"Never again," you confirmed, small smile settling onto your face. "Maybe," you added on quietly, eyes diverting to the background.

Dean gave you a pointed look, pinching your cheek. "Cariño," he maintained, grin evident on his face

"Okay, okay!" You sighed, loosely hanging your hands around his neck. You smiled. "Never again."

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑

[bluemoonscape]

I’m sort of curious why you ship obikin? I personally don’t, and you have asks open so I wanted to hear your thoughts.

Sure, why not!! Thanks for the ask <3

Most of the draw for me comes from a combination of Revenge of the Sith (specifically the choreography of the Mustafar fight, which I’ll explain more in a moment) Deborah Chow’s work in the Obi-Wan Kenobi series, and Matthew Stover’s portrayal of them in the Revenge of the Sith novelization.

On a base level, their characters simply can’t exist without the other, which is deeply interesting in and of itself. In A New Hope, Obi-Wan has to mentor Anakin’s son and give him Anakin’s lightsaber after saving it for all those years, and he has to fall to Vader by his own choice. He has to forgive Anakin and still love him after all that time to teach him how to become a Force ghost when Anakin is dying in RotJ. And at the end of the movie, it’s an overwhelmingly happy moment to see them together again as ghosts smiling, standing with one another, and watching over Luke. Their characters have been so closely intertwined since the original films, and every bit of content we’ve gotten since then capitalizes on that so much.

I hope you don’t mind me bringing pictures because… I have pictures.

Coming around to prequels content, one of my favorite Obikin tidbits comes from a 2019 interview with Nick Gillard (Revenge of the Sith fight choreographer who did the work for the Mustafar fight). Here’s a screenshot from an article discussing the interview with a quote from Gillard:

You can read more in-depth about that interview here in a great post by @/gffa.

There are more key quotes from the interview here, including bangers such as:

“I did write it [Mustafar fight] like a husband and wife having a fight. Anakin thinks Obi is maybe having an affair with Padmé at that point. So he’s already gone to the dark side. And for Obi, it’s just about trying to absorb it long enough that he can get him back.”

“My take on the whole duel was that Obi-Wan is the central character in that duel. He wouldn’t try and kill Anakin. The way I saw that fight was like having a fight with your girlfriend. That she’s just lost it and that she’s coming at you with everything she’s got. […] So you try to defend her as long as you can until she breaks down. Then you can give her a cuddle.“

These quotes admittedly make me giggle a bit because. What do you mean you framed it like a husband and wife/boyfriend and girlfriend having a fight. That imagery is just so funny to me. But seriously, I do think it really emphasizes how much they still do love each other even as they’re fighting so brutally—Obi-Wan can’t bring himself to do anything more than defend, and the idea that Anakin fighting Obi-Wan equates to him fighting the good side of himself is heartbreaking. The fact that fighting him is literally like fighting part of himself is insane.

Anakin’s fear of Padmé and Obi-Wan having an affair is also mentioned in that interview, and funny enough, the Obidala affair was actually supposed to be canon in from what we can tell is George Lucas’s original draft of the prequels. It sounds almost absurd because of the prequels we ended up getting, simply because Padmé and Obi-Wan as we know them—would just never do that. Even if they were framed to have feelings for each other, I don’t believe their characters as they are could ever bring themselves to act on those feelings because they love Anakin too much. He’s undoubtedly the axis of the prequel trio. What was originally supposed to be a love triangle with Padmé as the axis ends up looking much more like a love triangle with Anakin as the axis.

But anyway! That’s the movie side of it. I don’t know if you’ve read the novelization or not, but personally I like it even more than the movie. That’s not to say the movie isn’t great, but what does it for me is how much Stover gets Anakin’s character. He makes Anakin… make more sense? He makes his motivations and his fall as a whole more sympathetic and understandable to the reader, I think. He also expands on Anakin’s relationships with Obi-Wan, Padmé, and Palpatine, and the way in which he portrays Obi-Wan's relationship with him and their feelings about each other in general is very… oddly romantic? Tragically romantic? Their banter is sweet to read in the first several chapters regardless of whether you view them platonically or not, too.

(Okay look I have a lot of pictures of this book, it ruined me as a human being)

Finally, there’s the Obi-Wan Kenobi show, which is entirely about Obi-Wan and Anakin in Anakin’s Vader era. Once again, you have a lot of comments from the creator elevating that husband and wife/boyfriend and girlfriend sort of dynamic brought up by Gillard:

First of all: ok girl wow 😳 This topic came up in the interview because Chow was asked how she managed to convince the Disney execs to let her bring the character of Darth Vader into the show—because, you know, it’s Darth Vader! The face of the Star Wars saga! You can’t just throw him into anything (or, well, you could, I wouldn’t complain)—and this was her selling point. A show about Obi-Wan would be incomplete without Anakin because Anakin is his biggest love story and his biggest heartbreak in the series. Both the OG and prequel trilogies really are defined by the relationship between Obi-Wan and Anakin—everything begins and ends with them. And it was heart wrenching to watch this scene in the OWK show after all the movies have given us.

”I am not your failure, Obi-Wan” is a major line in their story. That’s the scene where we see Obi-Wan finally accept that his Anakin is gone and the best way for him to keep loving him is to honor him and love him as he was (shown when we see Obi-Wan in the OG trilogy speaking of Anakin to Luke so fondly, telling him he was the “best star pilot in the galaxy” and “a good friend”). And Anakin as he knew him briefly showed himself to give him that peace. In that scene, the red of Vader’s lightsaber reflected on his face recedes and is replaced by the blue glow of Obi-Wan’s saber as he says the words “I am not your failure, Obi-Wan. You didn’t kill Anakin Skywalker—I did.” …at which point the red glow returns to prominence. But however briefly when he said those words, he was Anakin and he was giving Obi-Wan permission to let go of the idea that he killed Anakin, or caused him to become Darth Vader. He was the only person who could give Obi-Wan that freedom, and he did. In the strangest way possible, he freed Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan was finally able to return the favor and free him years later in death, allowing them to reunite and to free Anakin of his broken-down body and look like himself again as a young man before he fell.

I don’t have a picture in my camera roll, but I believe if memory serves, Palpatine tells Dooku in the RotS novelization that Anakin will never fully be in the camp of the Sith as long as Obi-Wan lives, which is why Dooku targeted Obi-Wan so fiercely in the duel against him and Anakin and then Palpatine asked Anakin to leave Obi-Wan so they could evacuate the ship, at which point Anakin glared at him and said “His fate will be the same as ours.” Palpatine was right about that. Anakin is never able to let go of his past when he’s Vader, and largely it is because Obi-Wan still lives. Even once Obi-Wan finally dies and joins the Force before Anakin’s eyes, Vader doesn’t feel triumph or finally cut Anakin Skywalker out—he is said in another novelization to be felt light years away by Yoda as a beacon of loneliness and grief in the Force. Luke is the last piece he has of both Padmé and Obi-Wan, because while Luke is of course Padmé’s son, it was Obi-Wan who taught him, and thus Vader repeats multiple times in the OG trilogy that Luke has a lot of Obi-Wan's influence in him. It’s Luke who enables Anakin to break free from the chains of the dark side and defeat his abuser and groomer after years of manipulation.

That’s all to say—the story of Obi-Wan and Anakin is so rich, tragic, beautiful, and expansive, it’s easy to feel drawn to it in any capacity; I specifically see the possibility of them loving one another in a romantic light due to all those aforementioned references to them being deliberately set up in the story as lovers, as well as the fact that their dynamic is just incredibly fun and interesting and it’s easy to explore the possibilities of them in all different contexts. They’re uniquely fucked up and obsessive about each other with Anakin being (paraphrasing) blinded by his feelings for his old Master (as said by Palpatine) and Obi-Wan essentially having Anakin and only Anakin as an outlet for his grief after Qui-Gon’s death. The best part about them is that their story never ends. It started with the original trilogy with Alec Guinness and James Earl Jones, bloomed in the prequels with Ewan McGregor and Hayden Christensen, and has since been revisited and expanded upon over and over in novels, comics, and of course, the TV shows bringing back Ewan and Hayden. It’s possible they’ll even be on the screen as Obi-Wan and Anakin again—Hayden is already confirmed to be set for Ahsoka Season 2, and it’s entirely possible Ewan appears alongside him in more of Ahsoka’s Clone Wars flashbacks. The love story stretches over so much media and material over the course of nearly 50 years (48 currently) that it’s impossible to run out of ideas for them. The story tells itself.

[ilovetenna]

One of the most interesting things to me is Tenna’s ability to change size (and shape, though that is considerably limited). This ability isn’t the most consistent thing in terms of its context and application, so this is trying to make sense of it beyond simply “it’s just funny.”

First of all, Tenna’s size changing is dependent on his emotions. I feel this is relatively clear considering what happens in Ch3, but I think it’s worth reiterating since there are some confusing things involving his emotions and the fun meter.

Now, at first glance we could argue that his size is dependent on this fun meter. And I feel that on the surface this tends to add up. Generally, the higher the fun, the bigger he is, and the lower the fun, the smaller he is. But there are some variations in this that show he isn’t fully bound to the fun meter, and instead is more dependent on his overall emotions. A good example of this is the dead fun meter during the doom board sequence.

As you can see, he is full size. However the fun meter is fully depleted for obvious reasons. I feel that this shows the fun meter is separate from him, like a show prop of some kind. Though I still like interpretations that bond him to the fun meter, it can make for some silly jokes.

Nevertheless, this raises some questions. If his size is dependent on his emotions, then what emotions specifically make him larger or small?

The answer, from what I can tell, is that all strong emotions will make him bigger, but sadness and hopelessness are the ones that make him shrink.

The moments in which he is at his smallest always show him despairing. Whether it be a silly despair like in his introduction sequence, or after his fight, it’s still sadness nevertheless, and once he lets it consume him, he shrinks into… A tiny ant.

This is an important distinction to make between negative emotions and sad emotions. If he shrank with all negative emotions, then fear would also shrink him, and I don’t believe that to be true. During the whole TV world situation, he can be seen experiencing various forms of fear, like when he is trying to find Kris & Co. after they escape, or when he is begging people to not leave him. It is very clear that he is afraid in these scenes, as he talks frantically and misses details going on around him in order to fixate on one goal. If these emotions shrunk him, he would be much smaller way more often.

So now that we have narrowed down what technically makes him shrink and grow, let’s talk about why this is narratively interesting.

I have seen a variety of jokes about Tenna being a child of divorce. While I feel that is only one interpretation of his character, it is something that I find to be… An accurate description nevertheless. Not to get personal, but I am also a child of Divorce, and I can see very clearly how the impacts of fighting parents are reflected in Tenna. I think that this reading of his character is also supported by his size changing ability.

Think of it this way: When Tenna gets sad or upset or hopeless, he shrinks. He looks pathetic. He, intentionally or not, becomes small and vulnerable. He almost becomes “childlike” in that vulnerability, which parallels the idea of a child despairing through splitting parents. In his intro sequence, he very vocally expresses his distress to Kris & Co., but was surprised when they actually wanted to play with him. His smallness is trying to express his loneliness and despair so that maybe, just maybe, someone will care. However, whatever happens, he becomes complicit and follows along even if it means certain despair. His associations with childlike fears, emotions, and wants is something that, I feel, should not be ignored.

Considering Deltarune has a lot of themes about childhood neglect, abandonment, etc., Small Tenna’s behavior is not there for nothing. In a way, in those moments, perhaps he represents a Susie who wasn’t able to get over despair and make a friend. Perhaps he represents a Kris who was isolated and lonely during the divorce. But that’s getting into fanfic territory, and is stepping away from simply pointing out some observations on the source material.

When Tenna is large, we can see that he is much more capable of handling and managing complex things. He can run a show, even. But his smaller self does not want for grander things, and does not wish to make these larger things real. He wants simple things; love, attention, connection. If you are familiar with psychology, you may recognize these as “basic needs” in some models of thought.

That’s preeeetyyyy much all I have for this one. TLDR: Tenna Small = Sad & Hopeless Tenna. Tenna Large = Any Other Emotion Tenna. His mood is very visible and I feel that his sadness parallels other character’s struggles too.

[vanillasweetpie]

🥎⋆ catcher's little secret ⭒˚.⋆ Jax x reader

tags: nsfw, blowjob in public, humiliation, Jax wears a maid outfit, dom!Jax, public setting but no one knows (probably..except Caine), throatfucking, established relationship

“you’ve got about three seconds to wipe that smirk off your face.” Jax said with irritation.

but you didn’t. “lookin’ good, Jax!!” the words purred off your tongue as your eyes dragged shamelessly down the line of his long legs in those fucking stockings.

he looked murderous. worse still when you cooed, sticking your tongue tongue out pretty enough for it to look suggestive.

a violent urge to tear apart the next neck breathing in his direction pulsed through Jax. frills, bows, the entire lacy dress clung to his frame looked like a punishment sent from god. if, of course, Caine's ai brains could be called that. yet the outfit wasn’t the worst of it. worse than the public humiliation, was the knowledge that you had voted for it too. you, with the smug little smile and the eyes that glittered when he turned red from fury. or wild embarrassment.

“think you’re clever, huh?” Jax snarled, seizing your wrist hard enough to make your joints scream. “we’ll see how funny it feels choking on this.”

not a full minute passed before he yanked you behind the bleachers, muttering death threats under his breath, calling you every name but sweet.

down in the digital grass, you were dropped, well, half shoved, onto your knees. still mouthing curses up at him, “you look ridiculous”, “this was Gangle’s best idea“ and finally ”can’t believe you’re hard in a f%$!#king maid costume.” but even that was said on a shiver, because the truth was too obvious and Jax pointed it out.

“yeah? and i can’t believe you’re wet for it.” he hissed, pulling his cock out from under the hem of that ridiculous maid outfit. it slapped hot against your face, already twitching with barely contained aggression. Jax grinned as his palm cupped your jaw, smearing pre-cum across your lips as you turned your face and tried to pretend you weren’t throbbing for it. “soo, gonna keep yappin’ or finally do what you’re made for?”

“%$!# you,” you spat, but opened anyway, jaw aching already from how he fed it to you, so smug about the way you whimpered when it hit the back of your throat.

Jax didn’t start rough. no, that would’ve been too easy. he rolled his hips in slow, deep drags, watching you take it, placing his hand on your head. “that’s it,” he groaned. “pretty little %$!#’’s mouth all stretched out. look at you. so stupid for me you forgot you were mad, huh?”

you shook your head and tried to glare, but it was breaking apart fast. in your defeat, your eyes glazed, drool sliding slick down your chin, pooling at your collar. looking so pathetic with his cock in your mouth as he fucked the fight out of you, especially your stupid mockery, all of it dissolved. your palms braced against his clothed thighs, shaking, whole body rocked forward with each thrust.

oh digital stars, he made you gag hard enough to erase the shame of standing in front of everyone wearing fucking lace.

“mmph— g-god, you’re such an asshole,” you gurgled around him, spit flicking as you pulled back for air. “%$!# hate you—“

“no you don’t.” Jax grinned, yanking you back down until your nose pressed into lace again. “i know you love this. love gagging on me like a little toy. awwh, what should i call you? my stupid little cheerleader? how’s that for funny?” he hissed, fucking your warm mouth harder. “was it hilarious when i shoved my %$!# down your throat?”

the stupid lace from his skirt brushed your cheeks as he shoved all the way in again, choking you so deep your ears rang. you didn’t resist. poor thing you were, just let him finish with a grunt and a groan, one hand forcing your head down, the other gripping your throat as he flooded your mouth with thick release. like always, Jax gave no warning. dumping it inside you or down your throat, he finished wherever he pleased, like the selfish prick he was.

you tried to swallow but failed, coughed around it, his cum dripping down your chin in messy strings.

“HEY!” kinger’s voice rang out, calling your name and you rolled your eyes, groaning. “you’re up next!”

Jax was still panting, but with an evil and mocking smile on his smug face. not even paying attention to his outfit anymore, skirt crooked, while you were dripping, desperate for more, for continuation, please please please, you needed him inside now, tongue lolling, blinking up at him, so dazed you couldn’t remember what sport you were supposed to be playing.

“better get out there, baby,” he murmured, smoothing your hair with one hand, dragging his thumb across your bottom lip. “don’t trip on the way back.”

[dioslesbianwife]

YIPPEEEEEE REQUESTS ARE OPEN AGAIN!! I absolutely love your work!!! Now mayhaps I can as for some Stand Whisper!Reader? (I read the previous two works and found them absolutely adorable and now I crave more)

This time, since stands love the reader SO SO much, how would the Jojos feel if like they saw a hoard of stands waiting in their backyard like a gang of stray cats. Then the reader shuffles past them with an armful of stand-specific treats like “They’re here for me—Hey babiessss!!! How are you today!!!” -cue cacophony of happy stand noises- (And as a lil tid-bit of extra funnies and hahas you don’t have to add this but mayhaps the Jojos find the gang’s stands are also there or maybe even the enemy stands who are poorly disguised so they can get good food)

Love your work, thank for you feeding the Jojo fans, happy writing!!!^^

thank youu! sure, i love writing the stand whisperer ones haha this is such a cute and funny idea lol, thank u for requesting, i hope u enjoy <333!

Jonathan Joestar

Jonathan doesn’t even know what a Stand is. So when he wakes up to a crowd of strange, semi-transparent figures in the yard, he’s like 🧍‍♂️“??? Demons??? Ghosts??”

Then he hears you giggling like, “Aw, Mr. Hermit Purple! You brought your friends today!” and watches you distribute exact little snacks like a tea party host.

He’s frozen at the window. "Are... those yours?"

“Nope! They’re just visiting. Aren’t they cute?”

He’s both impressed and extremely confused. 

“They’re like stray cats… but made of spiritual power. You have such a kind aura. It makes sense they'd trust you.”

He tries to bring you sandwiches once while you’re outside feeding them. They move for him. He screams a little.

Jonathan: secretly jealous. He wishes he could understand Stands the way you do.

Joseph Joestar

He thinks he’s hallucinating when he sees Hierophant Green poking its tendrils through the fence.

Then he spots you walking barefoot across the lawn like a Stand Disney Princess™ with a bag of treats labeled things like “Sticky Fingers: Sugar-Free Gum” and “Echoes: Scooby Snacks.”

Joseph leans on the windowsill like “Babe. BABE. What are you DOING?!”

You: “Feeding them. They came all this way.”

“Came from WHERE?! HELL?!”

He tries to approach and a bunch of enemy Stands hiss at him like rabid raccoons. Joseph screeches and flees.

He watches you pet a poorly disguised Strength (yes, the orangutan’s cargo ship stand) like “Who’s a good boat?? Yes you are!”

Joseph starts suspecting every Stand user you meet is secretly just there for you.

Jealous af, but too proud to admit it. Starts bribing the Stands with hot dogs.

Jotaro Kujo

Jotaro steps outside in the morning with a coffee and finds like. A platoon of Stands silently sitting in the grass like spiritual flamingos.

Star Platinum is there, cuddled up like a big purple cat under your arm as you hand out weird otherworldly snacks like a zookeeper.

He stares. Deadpan. “Yare yare daze. What the hell is this?”

You wave. “Morning! They're just chilling!”

Jotaro narrows his eyes. The World is here. Dressed in a pair of sunglasses. He’s wearing a hat. He’s trying to be incognito. Failing miserably.

Jotaro: “Is that DIO’s fucking Stand?”

You: “Maybe! He likes the freeze-dried strawberries.”

He walks away grumbling but can’t hide that tiny twitch of a smile when he hears the Stands purr at your voice.

Later finds out that his Star Platinum snuck out at night to go nap at the foot of your bed. Jotaro has never felt so threatened.

Josuke Higashikata

Josuke goes to take out the trash and trips over The Hand who is lying on your porch like a giant lazy dog waiting for scraps.

He SCREAMS.

“BABE???! THERE’S STANDS ON OUR LAWN!!”

You’re in a bathrobe, sleepy-eyed, carrying a tray of specific items. “I made treats. Crazy Diamond likes lemonade, but don’t tell anyone.”

You walk out and the instant your feet touch the grass, the Stands start vibrating with joy.

Josuke watches his own Stand get up and nuzzle your face.

“Bro. Even MY Stand???”

You: “He’s very well-behaved! He even helped carry the snacks today!”

When Josuke sees enemy Stands like Red Hot Chili Pepper and Killer Queen trying to wear fake mustaches to blend in, he goes feral.

“NO. I AM NOT LETTING CHEAP TRICK IN MY HOUSE.” Cue you gently petting Cheap Trick like a gross little raccoon.

Giorno Giovanna

The mafia Don walks out into the vineyard and sees THREE enemy Stands, TWO members of Passione’s, and 1 lonely Black Sabbath lounging on his lawn like sunbathers.

You’re in the middle, gently patting them and handing out color-coded macaron snacks.

Gold Experience turns to him like ‘sorry boss, they’re here for…the food.’

Giorno’s like 😦 “That’s… adorable? Terrifying? Both??”

“Are you taming them??”

“Nope! They just come for snack day! Turns out Purple Haze likes confetti cake.”

Giorno doesn’t stop you, but he starts keeping little tabs on who shows up. Even King Crimson lurks once and Giorno is like 👁️👄👁️

Still, he feels pride watching how even the most violent Stands melt under your affection. It proves what he’s always known: you’re kind, but powerful.

Starts asking you to “negotiate” with enemy Stands before fights. They always listen to you.

Jolyne Cujoh

Jolyne comes home and finds her bed occupied by Stone Free, who is being spooned by your entire body.

She goes to your backyard and sees a full-blown Stand daycare.

Whitesnake is hiding behind a tree like he thinks you won’t notice. Limp Bizkit is chewing on your shoes.

“Babe what the fuck is this???”

You: “They get anxious. The world is hard for them.”

She gets a little jealous but also loves it. Especially when even enemy Stands chill out around you.

“You tamed that disgusting Green Baby?? HOW??”

Stands have learned to protect you too. If anyone yells at you, they will materialize behind you like:

😐🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪

Once Foo Fighters shows up in a bucket, Jolyne gives up trying to understand.

“Yeah alright. At this point I believe you could calm Made in Heaven with a head scratch and a saddle.”

Johnny Joestar

Johnny wakes up and finds you talking to Tusk Act 1 like it’s a literal feral child.

“Hey buddy! You came back! I made the little golden beetle snack you like!”

It SPINS and chirps and launches into your arms like a flying rodent.

He’s like 😐 “Do you know that thing can kill.”

You: “He’s misunderstood.”

The yard is full of STANDS, including some from corpse part seekers, just quietly eating your magical little ghost treats.

Johnny rolls up like “I got beef with half of these freaks” and they all hiss at him like cats.

You literally make a nest of Stands to cuddle in. Even Scary Monsters curls around you like a dinosaur pup.

Johnny mumbles something about “Stand groupies” and stomps away, but secretly thinks you’re the most terrifyingly powerful person he’s ever met.

Josuke Higashikata (Gappy)

Josuke is confused. Always.

“Babe? Why is Born This way in our garden?”

You: “It likes orange and lemon slices!”

“That Stand has chased me like a hunting dog.”

Josuke watches Soft & Wet purring like a baby under your lap while I Am a Rock sits beside you like a boulder dog.

“Do they always do this???”

“Only on Wednesdays.”

Wonder of U tries to disguise itself as a harmless old man. You pet it anyway.

Gappy starts to get paranoid that every Stand is actually here for you and not him.

He comes home to find you mid-nap surrounded by Stands who look at him like a threat.

Secretly loves that his own Stand gets excited every time you coo at it.

Jodio Joestar

“BRO. BRO. BROOOOOO.”

“What?”

“THERE’S. STANDS. IN OUR YARD.”

You’re literally outside throwing frisbees and the Stands are playing like dogs at the park.

November Rain flops beside you like a wet sea lion. Jodio’s jaw drops.

“He’s not even that nice to me.”

Even Stands like Cat Size and Heaven’s Door show up. Some wear hats and fake mustaches like they’re in disguise. It’s pathetic.

Jodio’s first instinct is: can we profit off this

Second instinct: wait they’re more loyal to them than to me?? tf??

Eventually he just accepts that you’re like the ghost-whisperer-caregiver of Hawaii.

He follows you around like a bouncer while you feed evil Stands pastries. “You good bro? You got eyes on Bags Groove?”

[thetrasha]

HI! i loved your past headcanons about benn beckman, could you please write a once shot with a f reader that he met at a bar who is younger? (like early 20s) i really loved the flirt headcanons that you wrote♥️

Sure thing, anon 🫡Thank you so much for liking that post, means a lot to get feedback on my stuff (✿◡‿◡) And now I get to flesh out the idea, hooray!! I hope you like this one, too

I feel like I've somehow attracted all the Beckman girlies, ngl ☕Well... You're getting fed with this one at least LOL

Lover Boy at Play

BENN BECKMAN EDITION

You’d been minding your own business inside a rundown tavern at the edge of your home island. It’s been some time since you’ve seen the outskirts of the villages surrounding the city, but it was still a nostalgic experience that brought back feelings you had long forgotten about on your journey to become who you are today. You remember learning how to swim near the cliffs and you caught your first fish here, too. Fond memories clung to this place, even if the shops and other businesses here haven’t changed in twenty years, perhaps even longer. Maybe that’s why you were drawn to this place after you finished school and got your first job. You got your first taste of the madness of adult life – this very region here made you and you cannot help but look back with a smile, grateful for every image that resembled your childhood so much.

Still, this nostalgic bar should have, at the very least, adjusted the menu over the course of so many years! Luxuries were still rare in these rural areas, but… this was incredibly bleak and barren.

“Excuse me! Sir. Sir. Oh. Yes! It’s me… yes, yes, haha… I grew up… Yes, I finished school a few years ago. Oh? Uh-huh. Top of my class, yup. Y-you saw me in the newspaper? That’s so sweet… and so… embarrassing, hah. Huh? Yes, I have a job. I work as– Uh… thanks! Um… yes, my mum’s fine. Dad too. …I will pass it on then, yeah. So… um, –yes! I’m sure they’d love to come here. Yes, we still live in the city. I just moved out, though! But… do you mind making me a cocktail?”

You awkwardly conversed with the aged owner you haven’t seen in at least ten years, remembering how much he scolded you and your friends for playing in front of his bar when you were children. Looking back, he was probably looking out for you guys, but you couldn’t help but like him a lot more now that he’s completely mellowed down and seemingly enjoying his retirement in the place he built all by himself.

Even if the look he gave you was kind of funny.

He immediately called his son, who’d been manning the bar, over to ask him what “young people” liked to drink these days… And you didn’t have the heart to tell either of them that his son was at least fifteen years older than you and couldn’t possibly know either…

Well, the simplicity of life around here was pretty much what you expected, so you may have to make due with a lukewarm beer or a double-shot espresso. Sigh…

You were so focused on the situation at hand that you haven’t even noticed that… the clientele inside of this bar was… well, rather unusual.

And every pair of eyes subtly followed you around, nothing that you were just a city girl that stumbled into a bar for pirates. This time around, by the way, the pirates in question were not just some nobodies – they were an Emperor of the Sea and his entire crew… and you were none the wiser.

“Pretty thing.”, Shanks chuckled quietly, moving his hand in a circular motion that had the ice in his whisky rhythmically clinking against the glass.

The men at the table nodded.

Roux might as well have had stars in his eyes at the sight of you. Girls like you were nowhere to be found at sea, you were… so cute and so pretty. You easily looked like a princess.

Yasopp looked at your attire – civilian. No status, nothing. Just hard work and a face that belonged on a poster. The good kind. Man, he really didn’t think they made him like you anymore, but goddamn…

Benn sighed at this circus, walking up to you with an unspoken swagger in his steps. His heavy physique would have made the wooden planks creak under his boots if it weren’t for his feather-light steps that gave him the grace of a cat… and the silenced movements of an actual killer.

“Hey there, sweetheart.”

You were alerted by a sudden presence to your right. This voice was entirely unfamiliar to you, so you turned your head with wide eyes and a slightly startled pout on your lips, trying to decipher who was trying to waste your time on this special occasion.

“Hello…?”

What you saw was beyond surprising. You’d barely snapped your eyes up at the man who’s come to bother you before the sheer thickness of his frame registered in your brain. This man was big and burly – and the deep groves in his cheeks silently told the tale of someone who’s seen some things, while his scarred, calloused hands reminded you of the fact that he certainly did some things as well. It was glaringly obvious that he was dangerous, but he didn’t even give you the chance to turn him down! As soon as he opened his mouth, yours stood wide agape.

“Do me a favour and do not entertain any of these idiots over there.”

He jerked his head to the side and put extra emphasis on his ridiculous statement by pointing his thumb straight into the direction he just emerged from. He rolled his grey eyes, seemingly bored with this conversation… like he’s done this a million times before. How weird.

“…Okay? But… you’re the first and only stranger to talk to me.”

That earned yourself a hearty laugh that made you feel incredibly small compared to this imposing man. You rubbed your elbows in self-consciousness as your cheeks heated up in shame upon stating the obvious to a man who was greying… You felt like you were wasting his time now. This man took charge of the whole situation with a single stern look and easily dominated the conversation with his charisma – you’ll never know why he wanted to talk to you in particular.

“Oh, believe me, Doll. They’re just itching to be in my place. Bet they’re watching me right now.”

You subtle glanced over his shoulder. It was hard to see anything at all; he was just that tall, but you did indeed caught glimpses of his friends (?) who were silently fuming in their seats, totally mocking him by puffing out their chest and repeating the nicknames he’s called you.

“Yeah, they are. How did you know?”, you questioned. You’d pretty much figured that they were pirates by now, but that didn’t tell you anything about your acquaintance’s perception skills. Maybe he was naturally that good at reading the room, who knows…

“How did I know, sweetheart? I’ve been living with these clowns for more than ten years. I know ‘em like the back of my hand.” “Sounds like you really love them.”, you replied with a breathy chuckle, then taking a sip of the cocktail you’d just ordered. It wasn’t what you were used to, but you liked it. They used syrup to sweeten the rum and added water to dilute it even more, which you thought was a cute gesture. “Clever girl.”

His voice dropped an octave, gaze equally as darkened. Your breath hitched at that – ah, so this is where this was going. The worst thing was that you didn’t even mind because he’d marinated you too well to refuse him now. You just had to see how this ends… No risk, no reward. “Also sounds like you wanted to prove a point to these ‘clowns’.”

“Go on…”, he leaned against a nearby barrel, crossing his gigantic arms over his masculine chest.

“I mean… I’m feeling pretty charmed right now.”, you sighed dramatically, clearly making fun of the situation which the naughty stranger immediately picked up on with an amused shake of his head, “Sounds to me like you still got it.”

You took one look at him again. He was handsome in a sort of rugged way, marked by years of hard labour and legendary brawls. The scars at his temples caught your eye, noting the deep cut that went well into his hairline. What in the world happened to receive those?

“Damn, woman after my own heart.”, he churred in his deep voice; he even held out his hand and you thought he wanted to shake yours, but before you had the chance to react, he’d already pulled you in to kiss your knuckles, “Name’s Benn, by the way. Hey, you mind giving me that in writing? Wanna show it off to everyone I know.”

“Don’t think you need to do that, Benn. Think they heard just fine.”, you winked, feeling pretty flirtatious right now, too. And you were just in luck – because Benn decided to play along and playfully hit the top of the barrel he was leaning on, smiling ever so slightly as he raised his arms in defence.

“Aw snap, I’ve been found out…”, he paused briefly before a hand landed right behind you on the bar you were sitting at, almost caging you in, “But you could still give me your name and number, love. You know, to have you as an available witness.” You snorted, but obliged with his request. Not even his silly excuse could hide the measured mischief in his voice. He was just… a complete and utter tease. He was lucky that his shamelessness was hypnotic to the point of seduction.

“Thanks, (Y/N). Gorgeous name.”, he smirked, “See you around. Enjoy your drink, I already paid for it.”

You couldn’t but giggle at the chorus of groans that followed that flirty stranger returning to his table and showing them a certain slip of paper.

[glitteringdust]

The first time Davrin realized he was in love was in the heat of battle— covered head to toe in muck and gore as wave after wave of darkspawn poured through the flooded parts of Lavendel. He swings his sword and downs the hurlock throwing spears, turning on his heel just in time to see Rook surrounded by a seething mob.

He stands knee-deep in stagnant water, lightning trailing from his fingertips, dancing up and along his arms as he coats his entire form in glimmering purple sparks. Bending his knees into a crouch, he waits for the exact moment to unleash the storm.

It's brief, the hint of delight that crosses Rook's expression. He had been waiting to try this move out, practiced it at least a dozen times at this point but without the payoff. He'd always let the magic die out.

The darkspawn slashes forward, claws connecting at the same time he jumps up. The lightning forks itself outward, pouncing eagerly upon the dampened darkspawn. Rook fade-steps out of the fray, watching the calamity of his work fry every last darkspawn into ash.

Davrin can't help the words that leave his mouth, "Damn, Rook."

He's panting, but grins all the same, "A bit more lively on the follow through than I expected. My fingers are stinging."

All Davrin can see is explosive strength in a tightly packed form, a force of nature. It was… entirely the wrong time to be thinking of Rook's beauty, but the fact that the elf could take down just about anything in his way was more than attractive.

They push deeper into the overrun fort, the last of the horde contained to the boarded up entryway. This time, Rook replaces lightning with fire, the puddles of blight glistening as the flames ignite the entire area into an inferno. The darkspawn all but melt, and any stragglers are easily put down by Harding's arrows.

The whirlwind of flames releases Rook, "Fire is… that needs a bit of work." He coughs little puffs of smoke, "Mission successful, though."

He never thought Rook could look any hotter than he did already, until he'd seen him coated in flames one moment and completely fine the next.

"That was beyond impressive Rook." He says the words intentionally, hoping the other would blush in response.

He doesn't disappoint, running a hand through his hair as he looks away, cheeks flushed, "Still needs tweaking, but you can watch me any time you'd like."

"Any time I'd like, huh?"

"I'm told I put on quite the show."

"I bet you do—"

Harding clears her throat, "If you guys are done flirting now, we should probably go let Evka and Antoine know the good news."

"What? We weren’t… that’s not…" Rook begins to protest, Davrin doing the same. Harding looks unconvinced, but shrugs her shoulders as she starts to head back, the two wardens following behind.

—

He didn't think about the consequences of doing too much too fast, and it wasn't until he was back at the Lighthouse that he knew what those consequences were.

Every muscle fiber stings, pins and needles in his fingers slowly traveling up his arms. Other parts of him feel as though flames still licked at tender flesh, searing hot and almost numb in some spots.

Almost, but not quite, the pain reminds him.

The bath house is full of steam, but Rook can barely relax enough to remove his clothes. He should just give up, crawl back to bed and hope the worst of it fades by morning.

"Looks like we had the same idea." Davrin says from behind him.

"After Lavendel, you kind of have to," He carefully looks over his shoulder, but ends up wincing anyway.

"Hey, what's wrong? Are you hurt?"

Eyes like an eagle, Davrin never seemed to miss anything he did, "I'm fine. Just… sore."

"Kal, come on. You're a terrible liar."

His name coming from Davrin’s mouth always sent his heart fluttering. It was good, when he said it. It felt right.

"Sometimes, trying new magic comes back to bite you in the ass. I can barely move my arms."

"I see. I guess that explains why you were about to take a bath fully dressed."

"You're funny."

"You know, I think I might have just the thing to help."

"Yeah? Let's hear it."

"Well," Davrin moves closer until he's just behind him, voice like velvet in his ear, "First, we need to get rid of these clothes."

The smooth rustle of fabric behind him, Davrin's shirt tossed to the floor. Rook clumsily fingers the hem of his tunic, attempting to follow suit but Davrin is quicker. Gentle, careful movements as his shirt joins the other.

Hands on his waistband tug downwards, and although he's gotten undressed in front of Davrin more than a few times, he's nervous. This time was different.

This was an intimacy not born of lust, but of intention. This was devotion. Raw and vulnerable.

Davrin takes Rook's hand and steps down into the pool, gesturing for him to sit on the side, "We'll work your way in."

He hisses in pain as he sits on the edge, feet resting on the step and completely submerged in the warm water. Davrin takes one foot in his hand and squeezes, starting near his toes, then along the arch, back to the heel. He massages right where they hurt most, and Rook can't help but groan with pleasure.

When both feet have been tended to, Davrin works his way up Rook's legs. He sucks in a sharp breath when his calf seizes up, but Davrin is there kneading out the knot immediately, murmuring softly to him as he soothes the pain.

Soon, he's being pulled further into the steaming water, humming his approval as both heat and hands reach his thighs. He exhales through his nose, having to consciously calm his thoughts and keep his body from reacting like it usually did when Davrin was naked and this close to him.

"You doing okay, Kal?"

"Mmmm, more than okay."

Davrin sinks himself lower, water just below his pecs as he settles on the last step. Rook sits himself between his legs, and Davrin begins massaging all around his shoulders, then down his back, along his arms. He takes great care to go slowly, leaving no part of him aching. His thumbs run circles along tensed muscles, working them loose inch by inch. The pins and needles retreat from the combination of Davrin's strong hands, and the steady warmth of the bath. He melts into the water around him, closing his eyes briefly as he lets himself fade into nothing.

Nothing but him and Davrin, bodies close.

Davrin, who saw right through the walls he hid behind and saw him for who he was, not what he could be. Who cared deeply for the things he loved, and wanted nothing more but to mean something to this world.

Well, he certainly means the world to me.

"Kal? How do you feel?" The other's breath on his ear sends a shiver down his spine.

He feels completely unwound, the worst of the symptoms fading into the water. He leans back against Davrin's chest, "You have your own set of magic hands. I feel like a new man."

Davrin rests his chin on Rook's shoulder, "As breathtaking as you are when in your element, Kal, I don't enjoy seeing you in pain. So I’ve got you, anytime you need me."

Rook finds the hand resting on his thigh, entwining his fingers with Davrin's, "You know I've got you, too, right? The feeling is mutual."

They stay sitting like that for a while, Davrin's arm around his waist and Rook's hand in his. Neither one wanting to pull away from the other, even if the water was growing cool.

"Stay with me tonight, Kal. We'll both sleep better if you do."

"Trying to get me into bed, are you?" Rook teases.

"Oh, I don't really have to try. I know you'll come."

He shakes his head, stifling a laugh, "And you say my puns are bad."

Later, with Davrin sleeping soundly beneath him, it hits him with total and complete clarity.

He's falling in love.

[killjpeg]

I think it's very funny that this is the only significant post i made on that blog and is the only reason the blog is still up. It's been a while and rereading this I think some of my thoughts had changed, having come down the high of hyperfixation I had and bias. All and all I still stand by pretty much all of it, but here are some points I want to correct/elaborate more on:

"Unless when Shockwave said he was going to give Megatron a gestalt he meant he'll postpone it for 4mil years and do it a little before he succeeded with Devastator so Ambulon deserting LITERALLY as he is picked out for the combiner project JUST to avoid it"

I already put the examples in the post a little after this but this is not too farfetched Shockwave was taking his time with the gestalt, as he literally says it's not his first priority. I think I'm more accepting of the thought that Ambulon was a volunteer, but for me I'll stay by the idea that his MTO team was built long before being experimented on for the gestalt - as the problem seems to be their inability to "connect" mentally that Shockwave also was trying to fix. The reason why I'm so set on this is the way Ambulon explains his name:

"Ambulon: from the verb 'to ambulate', meaning 'to walk about'. It's a stupid name..."

To me diegetically it comes off as something he was told rather than having any choice in the matter. As well as talking about his alt mode as something he was "born" with instead of being made into without his consent.

And for us it was meant to serve as a twist that his name is not formed from an "ambulance". All things considered, it works anyway, so it wouldn't even make sense he'd be so upset about it - which just cements it for me that he was told what his name explicitly means to him and not other way round.

"I'm gonna also get this out of the way that Ambulon's established character is continuously ignored, dumbed down and twisted: the point is that I do believe JRO didn't think about him that much or that deep, and what he did with him did not retain with him into further issues. That is to say, "You're gonna let Dr DJD cut us in half?" is a dumb fucking line to come out of Ambulon specifically, makes no sense, too snarky and cruel all things considered, and while I think it's also very funny it jsut shows Ambulon's accidental insignificance. Ok. That's all."

I'm going to completely back off from this point mostly because it was majorly charged from my bias towards his character and a lot of distaste for JRO (which i still have but its neither here nor there).

In-story it makes sense to me he'd react uncharacteristically and snarky when his life is literally on the line - if anything it serves to show how mean he can be when put in a high stakes situation, and obviously he'd be pissy about Pharma betraying all of them. I wonder if it was an in-joke between him and First Aid for a bit as a way to cope with the fact their boss killed people and tried to kill them allegedly (even though there are good reasons to believe Pharma didn't and wanted all three of them to leave).

Like it doesn't remove my point that his character was not considered of thought into deeper than what we got in those first issues but it doesn't contradict his character either.

"You see, I think Pharma is incredibly caring person. He cares for his patients and he cares for his people. He takes his work extremely seriously. He's willing to be a donor for his patient and he's still conducting research to cure illnesses when there was no legitimate point for him to do that anymore. He's not just a surgeon, but he's a virologist/epidemiologist."

Here I just want to elaborate more cuz I got some new thoughts on the matter.

Medics in MTMTE story ultimately have an overlapping theme of purpose that many other character don't exactly have. While the theme of purpose and shape is a prevalent throughout the whole story, it is especially emphasized with the medics and their inherent ability for healing, their hands. It puts them in a very narrow idea of what they're supposed to be doing with their life. You can choose to be a doctor but not if your shape doesn't permit it (ur a jet) but if you have good hands then sure you can try. This is where a Pharma dilemma coming from and is very interesting to me.

Pharma is more than anyone is defined by his desire to fulfill his purpose, because he doesn't see himself outside of it, an even bigger extreme than what we saw of Ratchet. He's so dedicated to asserting his place in the world he ruins his life about it. He does not want to be viewed as lesser than, his ego is keeping him from reaching out, and the kinda person he is just puts him into position where all he can do is double down.

And I've rambled on about my point (because I wrote the entirety of the original post in one sitting) too much that I feel like I didn't elaborate it even close enough.

Ambulon and Pharma are driven by their desire to serve a purpose, while both defying what that "purpose" even means. Neither of them by the facts we're given in text are supposed to be doctors - they're not the right shape for it. But nevertheless, they are doctors. But for Ambulon, he is choosing his purpose and his place in the world, while Pharma has rushed himself into a corner. Pharma in desire to chase his purpose and assertion of his value has put aside why he's doing it - because he does care for people, he doesn't actually want anyone to die and suffer, but in a circumstance where his interests are being challenged, he chose what's best for him, specifically, hoping it just works out for others in the end.

Their Amica Endura could've been defined by enhancement of each others strong points, of Ambulon being Pharma's anchor from spiraling and letting his flaws drive his actions, and Pharma sympathizing with Ambulon's dysmorphia and giving him respect he deserves for his achievements, despite DJD, despite what functionism dictates, that Ambulon stays faithful to his oath as a doctor.

I genuinely don't think there's anyone who would understand them better than they would each other, in a better world.

Of Ambulon and Pharma and doomed amica endura

I'll preface that I'm the last person to try and explain my ships by how canon they are and this is very much the same case of me just entertaining the idea and what their relationship represents and what role they play in a wider story, this is not an invitation for discourse or a debate. It's just me rambling on why I like the ship so much, think Pharma and Ambulon are narrative foils, while using some canon stuff and word of god.

Jokes about hamburger or hot dog or literally anything regarding Ambulon's death will end in block idc I think it's obnoxious 👍

CW for robot gore, discussions of torture, you know, the package that comes with DJD and Decepticons and MTMTE.

When it comes to Ambulon and Pharma's relationship, I think it's fair to start with bare bones, yeah?

I'm going to start with each character individually, what my take on them is, so we're all on the same page.

Ambulon

So, the basics are:

Ambulon was part of the failed combiner project of decepticons, the first combiner at that. He has horrible alt mode, that brings him a lot of shame, so he prefers to keep it a secret. He switched to the Autobots, eventually.

We don't know for certain if he was created for the project, or was one of the "volunteers". What we do know though, is that he's an MTO specifically, not just constructed cold, and MTOs were a concept of war.

Meaning, he cant be older than the war. Meaning, in my personal opinion, he was either made for some operation, then snatched by Shockwave for the project, or was created already specifically for the project.

There, I think, comes a timeline conflict. It feels unfeasible, to me, that MTOs were made this early into the war, by Decepticons. What I think happened, is that Shockwave did try to experiment on other Decepticons to figure out and develop on Jhiaxus' research, but once MTOs as a concept came into the picture, it became infinitely easier to just have an alt mode pre-made for a mech.

Unless when Shockwave said he was going to give Megatron a gestalt he meant he'll postpone it for 4mil years and do it a little before he succeeded with Devastator so Ambulon deserting LITERALLY as he is picked out for the combiner project JUST to avoid it makes this line from him especially funny:

Boy for all we know you're not even 15 years old.

Also the idea that character like Ambulon did that out of some sort of cowardice, that THIS was his breaking point to join Autobots, feels wrong.

In-text it becomes even less likely Ambulon had a life before the project, as his name "Ambulon" seems to be the only one he ever had (judging by his statue post on Necroworld).

I think why I'm getting a Little long-winded explaining Ambulon is to draw a better picture on his experience with Decepticons, Specifically Shockwave.

That to say, he had a horrible one. He knows better than anyone what Decepticons are capable of and how far they will go/what Megatron would allow. Especially once DJD comes into the picture.

And it just emphasizes the way Ambulon in the end of it all chose kindness. The first issues he appeared in cement it very well, especially since most of his intro we get from First Aid's point of view.

Ambulon is tetchy, can be a gearstick sometimes

Ambulon took pity on the Decepticons he thought were hunted down by the DJD

Ambulon convinced Pharma to let them stay

The Genericons showed their scars to Ambulon specifically

Ambulon gets passionate about hate crimes concerning one's shape/alt mode

Ambulon is "tetchy" and rejects First Aid's idea because he's concerned that it's too risky

For Ambulon to put your own life on the line to save a single life is an act of selfishness (also stemming out of his concern for First Aaid, imo)

Ambulon let the Genericons share a cell

To sum it up: Ambulon is very greatly concerned for the greater good and treating people without bias, Decepticon or Autobot, especially when there's any sort of discrimination involved.

(Using Genericons and Triple M as a tool with Ambulon was a very clever foreshadowing for Ambulon's situation, but it is a general theme that runs in these issues and Ratchet's/medics character arcs, it's the functionism, one's shape and purpose in life, but it is a completely different post to make. Just let's keep the theme of one's shape and purpose in mind.)

The thing is, Ambulon is who he is by choice. His Decepticon past is always showing, whether he wants it or not, but all he wants, essentially, is to help people and treat them with kindness. He's a "gearstick", but he's a gearstick with a big spark. He saw the greater cruelty in Decepticons and made a choice to never participate in it.

Ambulon is an MTO who made his life and became what he wants to be despite everything: Decepticons, his alt-mode, biases, all of that. He's true to himself and his intentions.

I'm gonna also get this out of the way that Ambulon's established character is continuously ignored, dumbed down and twisted: the point is that I do believe JRO didn't think about him that much or that deep, and what he did with him did not retain with him into further issues. That is to say, "You're gonna let Dr DJD cut us in half?" is a dumb fucking line to come out of Ambulon specifically, makes no sense, too snarky and cruel all things considered, and while I think it's also very funny it jsut shows Ambulon's accidental insignificance. Ok. That's all.

Pharma

Oh boy this one's a doozy. Okay, listen, I'll try to get more brief with it, try to get straight to the point, but Pharma has so much nuance around him on a greater scheme of things that it might also just be it's own post. SO we'll just try to focus on his persona and relations to others.

Pharma is a doctor of talent on par with Ratchet, if not actually better. He used to be friends with him, he's implied to have used to do medical service in the new institute, and eventually was stationed on Delphi by Prowl, practically abandoned by Ratchet. There, he ends up being blackmailed by Tarn, ending up killing his patients to meet the increasing quota, being led to the brink of creating a virus that he exposes the facility to in hope to close it down and escape it scot-free. Obviously, because of Ratchet, it didn't work, the rest is history.

Unlike Ambulon with his 3 panels and a half of screentime worth talking about character-wise, Pharma is a combination of multiple things at once, his place as an Autobot, his connection to the DJD, his act, and most of his actual character we get from very few shots of him from the past and what people say of him, and just a little of his behavior at Delphi before his crime is revealed.

So I think we'll focus specifically on the Decepticon part when it comes to Pharma cuz it's much easier to talk about.

Pharma vehemently, without hiding it, hates Decepticons.

It will go into even bigger field of speculations than trying to piece Ambulon's character together for why he hates them so much. It could both just be a thrown in line for the story to flow (Genericons) and act as a foreshadowing (DJD blackmail), the fact of the matter is, he hates Decepticons, he does not have pity for Decepticons, and if DJD did not play into his hatred, years of war for sure did.

(Also worth mentioning that in the issue #4, the paralleling story is Tailgate learning about the war and backing off on his decision to be a Decepticon. The entire build up works very well, imo, and plays into just how much it should hit you when Pharma turns out providing for DJD, along with the choice of Ambulon to not be a Decepticon anymore.)

You see, I think Pharma is incredibly caring person. He cares for his patients and he cares for his people. He takes his work extremely seriously. He's willing to be a donor for his patient and he's still conducting research to cure illnesses when there was no legitimate point for him to do that anymore. He's not just a surgeon, but he's a virologist/epidemiologist.

But, probably when we ask ourselves, "So if he was such a wonderful doctor, equal to Ratchet, someone Ratchet recognizes, why wasn't he the Chief Medical Officer in the first place?"

I think it's mostly his personality. It's his hubris and ego. It's also the inherent societal bias of Cybertron when it comes to jets - though this part of worldbuilding isn't that consistent, he is a forged jet AND a doctor.

And that's also why I think he doesn't believe in that "forged" functionism bullshit. BUT thats another post of its own (take a shot every time i say that in this post).

Let's just bullet point this:

Pharma is a talented doctor who's good and dedicated to his job. Practically nothing is impossible for him and it becomes a focal point of his conflict with Ratchet, too.

That said, Pharma's shape is what, I think, is responsible for his hubris. He's a jet, he's forged, he's a doctor, but he's a doctor because HE, PHARMA, is good. Nothing to do with some God. (which is different from Ratchet's internalized functionism)

Pharma hates Decepticons, he tried to kill the DJD, and it may seem like he pushed it all on Ambulon because he was a Decepticon, but I don't think that's the case. Specifically because of this:

He does not see Ambulon as a Decepticon, and it was just panicked shitty lie he had to quickly come up with on the spot.

Pharma feels guilt for his actions, and after killing Ambulon, he's actively taunting First Aid to kill him.

Pharma is a jet doctor trapped in the loop of self-sabotage after being exploited, psychologically tortured and left for dead, after a poor attempt of saving face. Pharma is a jet doctor who embraced his new look, but couldn't live with it, far from accepting it. Furthermore, his body is used by Adaptus himself, where the only thing he could do is trying to get his body back, to help his comrades, only to end up dying, again.

That's where I'm going to use a single word of God that makes, all in all, a lot of sense.

"Grurdging respect" is about best way to describe Pharma and Ambulon.

Now since I've reached the image limit on this post it's relentless rambling and speculations time!

You probably can already tell where I'm going with this. I think Pharma and Ambulon direct inversions of each other.

Decepticon gone Autobot as a choice - Autobot gone rogue out of blackmail and fear of failure

MTO doing what he wants to do and taking control of his body and life, disconnected from a gestalt or his "purpose" - A forged jet trying to continue his career of a doctor despite all the odds but who's agency is continuously taken, not only by others but by his own ego

Where they overlap, is their desire to do what they want. Where they differ, is one's sincerity and other's toxicity.

Ambulon is someone Pharma would never be, and someone he, on meta level, wishes he was more like. He doesn't want to be Ratchet, even if we think a little about his obsession and desire to prove to Ratchet that he's better, he wants to be someone Ratchet would respect. And in the end of the day, it all didn't matter anymore, because clearly Ratchet never respected him enough in the first place: "waging a war on his body", taking body parts for his own gain (hands), that Pharma didn't even really care about anymore. It was personal. He wanted Ratchet to hurt.

All of this, ultimately, is justified. Little who would respond to knowing someone who betrayed you (and whom you, also, betrayed) also breached boundaries of your autonomy. It's just basic decency. I don't believe TFs never heard of that or don't follow it, in some fashion. Maybe it's more loose, but for the purpose of drama and villification of Pharma, it was convenient, I guess.

See, Pharma is just inherently, like anyone, very flawed. The circumstance he's put in and the war led to the worst of his qualities spike. And in relation to Ambulon, it's the inverse of a person who, having seen the horrors of the war, having been through the horror and the existential dread of being in a gestalt, chose kindness anyway.

"Grudging respect". A jet doctor, a genius, and an ex-soldier MTO, who made the choice of helping people. An ex-Decepticon, too, no less.

See how it could've developed into something more?

Both eager to do their job, Ambulon is a perfect stabilizer for Pharma's general emotional response to things. He may be a good doctor, but he's prone to acting and saying things before really thinking about it. Ambulon is capable of convincing him and giving a good argument, without it being personal.

"Grudging respect" with Ambulon working with one of the best doctors out there, who's work is going to be invaluable even after his death.

And if things worked out differently? Do you think Ambulon wouldn't be there to sympathize with Pharma's trauma regarding DJD? Do you think Ambulon wouldn't pity Pharma for what Tarn put him through? Ambulon? The Decepticon who was there? The one who even should fear DJD the most? The one who might've even triggered DJD once he was so close on the radar?

He might've confided in Pharma in the first place, as someone literally second in charge after him.

Pharma and Ambulon are defying Adaptus as a societal concept, among with the existential idea of your shape dictating your purpose. And within the text they don't just defy, they end up suffering the most out of it - Pharma ends up in a position where his hands are praised more than he, as a person, is, Ambulon dies by these hands, and his death dooms Pharma as well.

I hope it was comprehensive enough, i WISH i could include more images to prove my point. The amica endura would've been insane. If only the circumstance was different.