GREEN FLAGS

me: sees din 'the mandalorian' djarin literally anywhere

me: "LOOK AT HIM!!! LOOK AT THE MAN!!!! LOOK AT HIM AND HIS LIL' GREEN BOY!!!! LOOK AT HIM!!! SHINY MAN!!!! I LOVE HIM!!!!"

MANIFESTING

that the armorer returns season 3

i miss her

Squishy faces 🥰 by lyo.thecat

i’m not a predator and god damn it i would love to meet my online friends. @yellowfoot-06 just to name ONE. JUST ONE. I WANT TO MEET ALL MY ONLINE FRIENDS. I LOVE THEM SO MUCH. GAAAAAAAH

Dear friends of Tumblr,

Today at my school we had an assembly about internet predators and when I had said that most of my true friends are over the internet and they gave me a lecture about how “I don’t know who I’m talking to” blah blah. So please, if you aren’t a predator in any way, please reblog so i can prove a point.

Writing Prompt #5

‘Park’

There’s this park across the street where I live.

Looks like your average park; with it’s benches and gravel pathways and trees and bushes. A stone fountain stands in it’s centre, with water spewing out of the gargoyles’ mouth.

A bit gothic, I realise now. But that was it.

It sounded like your average park too. Bird songs in the morning, leaves rustling when it’s windy, kids yelling after school. I could always hear the crunch crunch of the gravel across the usually quiet street, and it comforted me.

Most of the time.

There were other times, of course, when I woke up in cold sweat. Everything quiet and still, except for the crunch crunch of the gravel.

These times, I pulled my covers up to my chin and prayed. Hoped against hope - against the fear that seized me in its claws and refused to let go - that I’d live to see the light of morning day.

You ask me, you ask; ‘what’re you so afraid of? Maybe it’s just someone who went for a late night walk.’ Of course, after daybreak I’ve thought of that. I tried to dismiss my terror as stupid, childish, or even at that slightly overcooked chili I had the night before.

But try as I might, I still could not bring myself to look out the window the nights it happened. I still wrapped myself up in my covers, and shook.

Eventually, they started getting more frequent. I’d spend nights in a row with barely enough sleep and covered in sweat - shaking like I just stepped out in winter with nothing but shorts.

My friends would ask to hang out, and we’d go to the park because it was close. I didn’t use to mind walking through the trees, but the sleepless nights were starting to get to me. I could’ve sworn I saw the gargoyle’s eyes move along as I walked past - could’ve sworn that the rustling of leaves sounded like whispers.

Eventually, it got bad. Really, really bad. I’ve tried filing a police report, but they waved me off and said they had bigger things on their plate than ‘mysterious gravel crunching’.

I was frustrated, but mainly because they were right. I still couldn’t bring myself to even sit up on my bed - much less look out that damned window.

Then it happened.

It was daytime, with the sun shining in and the children playing around on the park across from me. I looked out my window then, a half-smile of my face as I remembered my own childhood days.

Then I froze.

The gargoyle. I could swear that the gargoyle had moved. For the years I’ve spent living across from it, I knew how it looked like the back of my hand now. I knew how the whole damn fountain looked, and could probably draw it from memory alone.

The gargoyle had never been facing me head on like it did now.

That was the last straw for me. I packed my bags and went to live with one of my close friends. I sold the house, though barely just resisted from dropping the price down too steeply - after all, nothing had happened.

Yet.

One day, on my way to work, I passed by a newspaper stand with an eerily familiar picture on its front page. With shaking hands, I unfolded it, and read the article.

A brutal murder, it said, in the house just a street away from a park. The picture was grotesque enough - and I could tell that they’d avoided giving the worst. The details were identifiable enough.

An all too familiar bedroom, half a body on the floor, and the other half presumably missing. Blood that coated every inch of the wall like a fresh coat of paint, and deep deep gouge marks on the window sill.

The article had said that investigating parties assumed that the murder escaped out the window, and had cut through the park to run free. They warned all those who lived in close area to the park to be wary of strangers - never open the door to anyone you don’t know.

They still haven’t found the murderer when I checked months later.

I’d visited the family of those I sold the house to. They welcomed me - albeit a bit shakily - and served me tea.

‘They said they’ve been having sleepless nights,’ one of the mothers had said to me. ‘They-they said-oh god if only we’d listened.’

Her wife wrapped her arms around her shoulders and held her close as I half-murmured comforts from across the coffee table. Her gaze met my own as she silently comforted - the grief in them so deep I nearly fell through.

Eventually, the couple moved out, I heard. Travelled far away, where they cut off from their own family and friends. The investigators still worked to find the assailant, but the case was growing cold and I doubted that they’d actually find who did it.

And me? I bought a new apartment from long nights and extra shifts. One far away from parks and gargoyles and gravel. The close friend that I’d stayed with had helped me move in.

‘Looks good,’ they praised. ‘Hopefully you can actually get some sleep in here this time.’

We’d laughed about it. The whole incident had been months ago - nothing more than a bad memory that we occasionally poke at just for the laughs.

That first night, I woke up to the crunch crunch of gravel.

when ppl ask why i'm nice to the low-wage workers

op this is such an astounding idea. oh my god. someone write more about this before i do it myself-

Recalibrate (The Mandalorian)

What if Grogu’s been doing the “These are not the droids you’re looking for” thing to Din this entire time?

Gen. 275 words

***

Grogu’s been nudging Din’s mind with the Force to make him more inclined to feel protective of him since the moment IG-11 was about to shoot him. 

The spell breaks a bit after Grogu is incapacitated by the effort it took to rescue Din from the Mudhorn, which is why he’s able to trade the baby for the camtono of Beskar. But that lingering look Grogu gives him as the pram is led out of the room by Dr Pershing? That’s Grogu saying You will not leave me here, and hoping it’s strong enough to stick.

So Din can’t stop thinking about the kid. Breaks Guild protocol by asking what will become of him. Puts his Covert at risk by going back for him and goes on the run for months with him. And the rest is history. 

But maybe, eventually, Din has a moment of clarity. He stops in the middle of what he’s doing one day and looks around at the modest collection of baby stuff he’s accumulated inside the Razor Crest. It’s so incongruous to the way his life used to be that it momentarily pulls him out of it.

He blinks down at the baby in his arms like he’s coming out of a dream. “What… what am I doing?”

But then Grogu waves his little hand at him, cooing—Don’t think about it! We were about to get lunch, remember Dad?—and Din just stares at him for an unbearably long moment, helmet inscrutable, as Grogu wills his brain to reset back into Parent Mode.

Until finally Din sighs, “Right… lunch time,” and Grogu knows it worked.  

And that’s that.

Old Town Road but he just keeps listing all the places he has horses

D13 or D38!

Tag yourself I’m D36