one thing i find really sweet about Fe is how considerate they are about criticism. Like if they offer you constructive criticism they'd be sure to point out your good things and mention it like a lot of times how they mean it in a nice way,,, and people with Fe in their lower functions, xxTPs, who sometimes come off as harsh to others try extra hard to explain they really mean it in a nice way and i find it absolutely sweet like it's okay <3 constructive criticism to me is a love language and the fact that you care enough about me to improve is already so nice don't apologize for it i literally should be thanking you <3
hello :) because i’m extra and whatnot, i thought it would be interesting to collect your thoughts and opinions on fanboost before compiling, analysing and releasing the final results of the experiment. please pass this around so that many people can take part in it! please also don’t pass this out of tumblr - i heard that the original experiment post was sent onto a discord server, and i did already mention not to post it ouside tumblr, so this isn’t appreciated at all.
the survey is here, and thank you so much for participating :)
i was given the prompt “a man drives his car, a girl in the backseat” and when i got this prompt, i was talking to another friend about jeandre and somehow came up with this oneshot-type thing revolving around jev and his daughter. i’m really proud of it and just wanted to share it here so you can just scroll past if you don’t read fics but the fic is below so read below for more :)
“Are you excited to visit Uncle André today?” the man, who has stopped at a stoplight, turns around to ask the girl who is sat in the backseat.
“Yes! I haven’t seen him in so long,” the girl sighs.
André, one of the man’s colleagues and close friends, was in Paris - the place she called home – for some business matters, among other things. Not that it bothered her – she didn’t know why he was in Paris, she was just happy to see him.
In fact, she’s just happy to be with her papa today.
The electric car trundled along the Parisian streets, past the famous landmarks which gave her comfort. Sat in her booster seat, she leaned her head against the window, allowing the French murmurs on the radio to lull her into a light sleep.
Suddenly, the car jerks to a halt, jolting her awake as she is shoved forward by an invisible force. He mumbles some French under his breath, making the girl giggle as she knows he’s cursing about the car that had jam-braked in front of him.
“Ma petite fille, are you okay?” he looks through the rearview mirror, wanting to make sure the most important girl in the world to him was okay.
“Yes papa, I am okay,” she replies, a smile resting on her features, her eyes lighted up.
He spoke to her in English instead of French often, wanting her to be able to communicate with the outside world well when she grew up, strongly believing that it was an important skill to learn – but she would always be sa petite fille, his little girl.
The girl knew just how important she was to her papa – it showed in moments like this, where he would fuss over her when the smallest things happened. However, he was never home, and he always left when she told him to stay. She always wanted to travel with him, but papa asked her to stay for school. She would see him on the televison – mama would show her – driving fast cars, sometimes winning, sometimes losing.
Did he not want her around? Couldn’t he just stay at home and get someone else to drive that stupid car for him? All her classmates at school had their mama and papa around all the time, and her papa was never around. She just wanted to be with her papa, was it too much to ask?
Switching his vision from the wing mirrors, to the road in front of him, to the rearview mirrors, he peered at his daughter, who looked deep in thought. He always wondered what went on in that little brain of hers, how she felt, how she saw the world. It was something he would never understand, but would long to know.
And when you want to know, you ask.
“Ma petite fille, what are you thinking about?”
She paused. It was as if papa read her mind, that he knew she was thinking about him. Should she tell him? It would hurt him, she knew – but she wanted her papa to know what she felt, because he always told her how he felt, and she was taught to do the same.
“I was thinking how you are always travelling, driving the funny-looking cars around and around. How I always want to go with you, but you tell me no. I just want to spend more time with you. I just want papa to come home.”
She closes her eyes, waiting for the wrath of papa’s hurt, papa’s anger. She knew her papa was sometimes an impulsive and emotional man.
He sighs. He knew this conversation was going to take place sooner or later, but he didn’t realise it would be this soon. He knew as he had this conversation, his little girl would grow up, because he would need to tell her why he had to leave his heart behind in Paris week after week.
His whole life, his papa raised him to be truthful, to tell the truth. He knew hard truths had to be told, he knew that someday, he would have to tell her. All those years ago, he had promised himself when the time for this conversation came, he would tell her by himself, the truth from a father to his daughter. Maybe there was a reason it was today – staged so nicely in a car, on the way to meet a friend from work.
Maybe the time had come to tell her.
He pulled into the parking lot of the hotel where they were arranged to meet, unbuckling the seatbelt of his daughter and carrying her over, placing her into his lap.
“Ma petite fille, I’m going to tell you a story.”
She didn’t know what to expect. A story? She had expected a scolding, a talking-to. Then she saw something in papa’s eyes, and she knew it was an important story. She would listen to all the stories in the world he told her – but something told her this story was special.
“When papa was young, just like you, he fell in love with driving a little go-kart. It was fast, and whenever papa drove, he felt happy. He decided that he wanted to race cars for the rest of his life, because it would make him happy.”
She looked at him intently, because she knew it was just the beginning – this was the part of the story she knew.
“As papa kept racing, as papa grew up, he met people, and many of them became friends. One day, papa met mama. That was the day papa realised that racing could only make him happy – but the people he loved would make him the happiest man on earth.”
His smile was now so wide his eyes smiled along with him – the people he loved truly made him the happiest man alive.
“We talked about having kids – all the time. We wanted to have a little kid so badly, but only after papa stopped racing, so that I could spend all the time in the world with them.”
He paused, sighing. It was time to deliver the hardest truth he had ever needed to deliver, while his daughter looked at him with expectant eyes.
“One day, mama told papa she was pregnant. Papa was shocked – he didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t stop racing, because he needed the money to pay for everything, but he wanted to be there for the kid.”
“Was the little kid me?” she asks, looking up at him with a passive face. He was afraid to answer, afraid that the way she saw her papa would change forever.
“It was you, ma petite fille. Papa was afraid, he knew nothing about children, and he would be away all the time, but papa promised to be there as much as he could. When you were born, ma petite fille, I fell in love with you, and nothing else in the world makes me happier than spending time with you. Every time I leave, I feel like I am missing something inside me, just because I am not with you, but I force myself to go because I know I am doing it to make sure you can grow up with the best life possible. Every time I get in the car and drive, I think about you, ma petite fille. You are so important to me and papa loves you very much, okay?”
He pauses, trying to collect himself so that his daughter wouldn’t see him cry.
“Always remember that when I am away, you carry a part of me inside your heart, right there,” he points to her chest, “and papa always carries a small part of you inside of me. Every time I do well, it is because of you, always remember, ma petite fille.”
He sighs, having gotten the biggest secret off his chest, feeling the weight and lift off his back. The smile returning to his face, as he looked at the person that had stolen his heart when she left her mother’s womb all those years ago. No matter what she thought about him now, he would still love her with entire being, because that was his blood, the “thing” that he was the proudest of – above everything he had ever won driving a race car.
“Papa?”
“Hmm?”
“Je t'aime tellement, merci,” she beamed back at him, making him smile even wider in relief.
It took her this conversation to realise how much her papa loved her, so much, and he had sacrificed so much for her. She realised not just how much papa meant to her, but also how much she meant to him. She didn’t want to say it English because of the fear of messing it up, so the first thing that slipped through her lips was her native French.
“Ma petite fille, one day when papa is done driving race cars, when papa has done all he can, I’ll spend all my time in Paris with you, and you can show me everything about you, and everything I missed, and I’ll be with you forever, deal?”
“Only if you let me drive all your silly cars, deal?” she giggled.
He laughed his loud, bellowing laugh – it was these moments he cherished the most.
“Deal.”
translations:
- ma petite fille: my little girl
- sa petite fille: his little girl
- je t’aime tellement, merci: i love you so much, thank you
in honour of sam winning the first e-prix of the season (obviously due to the beard), here's a thread of birds with (badly edited) beards by my dear friend @milkmannorris. there'll be one a week until she's run out of bird pictures or sam shaves (sam pls no)
