#or better yet: send me a message so i can ramble about it more

[daisymbin]

promise me ice cream! - jeon wonwoo

warnings: slightly insecure wonwoo?

pairings: jeon wonwoo x reader

genre: drunk confessions, friends to ???

wc: 1.3k

a/n: I'm not quite sure what I did to deserve 223 of yall following me but thank you 🥺

drunken confessions series

check out my masterlist! // wonwoo's m.list

your best friend, wonwoo is sprawled on the bed, looking more like a puddle of drunk affection than his usual composed self. he's clinging onto you, he wedges your leg in between his own; hugging it like it was a bolster as his head rests on your lap as if it were a pillow, his arms wrapped around your leg, not wanting to let go as if it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. his gaze is hazy, eyes blinking slowly as he stares up at you, his lips curving into a drunken smile, “you're so pretty.” he says as you chuckle while you run your hands through his hair; messaging his head a little to relieve the potential headache.

“why'd you drink so much tonight?” you asked, “its not like you, you're not usually like this.” wonwoo lets out a deep sigh at your question, “you were talking to jun all night and…i dont know, i just didn't like it. i got jealous. it's like…you’ll never pick me.” he says with a pout, eyes closing shut. “jealous? of jun?” you frown, trying to make sense of his words. if only he knew, “don't be silly, you know i talk to jun all the time but you'll always be my best friend. there's nothing to be jealous about.” you reassured. “& i’ll always pick you.”

“you're breaking my heart.” wonwoo mumbles so soft, you almost would have missed it if it weren't for a drunk wonwoo clinging onto you for dear life, heightening all your senses & leaving your heart beating so fast. “what do you mean, wonwoo?” 

"you’re my favorite person," he says, his voice soft and slow, like he’s trying to convince himself of something. "i don’t know if i’ll ever be your favorite, but... you're my favorite." his hand gently strokes the inside of your thigh, sending shiver down your spine. his fingers light against your skin as if he’s trying to memorize the feeling of being this close.

you smile as you feel butterflies erupt in your stomach. you’re a little amused yet also, a little taken aback by the way he’s acting; he's never been like this. you gently run your fingers through his hair, trying to coax him to sleep even though you're sure he’s already half asleep. & maybe you're also just taking advantage of the situation and being a little selfish; having him like this.

"i’m just me," he continues, voice drowsy and laced with alcohol. "i’m just wonwoo, you know? just regular, plain ol' wonwoo. but you're... you're perfect. sparkly. i don’t even know why you ever looked my way years ago, let alone be friends with me.”

you laugh softly, but it’s mixed with a hint of sadness, wondering how he could ever think that about himself. "you’re not just wonwoo, you know that, right? you’re more than that."

wonwoo shakes his head, but his grip on your leg tightens. "no, no, no. i’m just me. i’m just wonwoo, and you’re... you’re so pretty and you're so kind. you're such a good person...so much better than I'll ever be. that's why you would never like someone like me."

his words sting more than they should, but you can tell he's too drunk to mean them fully, right? that's what you hoped for at least. you want to tell him how wrong he is, how much you care for him, but instead, you sit in the quiet, letting him speak his mind as he clings onto you, his drunken ramblings the only thing filling the space between you two.

after a moment, he sits up a little, his gaze suddenly lighting up with a burst of energy. "ice cream," he says, as if it’s the most important thing in the world right now. "we should go on an ice cream date. right now. let’s go."

you glance at him, blinking in surprise at the sudden contrast. it’s already past 4AM and he’s drunk, this is not the time for an ice cream run date. "wonwoo," you say softly, trying to get him to focus. "it’s really late. we’re not going for ice cream right now, okay?"

he looks up at you with wide, sad, hopeful eyes, and you can’t help but find it endearing, even if it’s a little ridiculous. "why not?" he asks, his pout deepening, and his grip on your leg tightening again as he drags himself impossibly closer to you. "i want to go on an ice cream date with you, please?” 

you laugh, though it's full of affection and fondness. "wonwoo, you’re drunk & it’s really late. we’re not going anywhere. you can’t go out for ice cream right now, I don't think you can even walk straight, did you forget how I had to haul you back here?"

he pouts even harder, his lower lip trembling slightly & he almost look as if he’s about to start crying any time as he sits back and crosses his arms, looking like a grumpy child. "but i want ice cream. now. i’m hungry."

you can’t help but smile at his stubbornness. "we’ll go tomorrow, okay?" you promise. "i’ll take you out on an ice cream date tomorrow. I'll even let you pick all the flavours you want, even if its 5 of them."

wonwoo tilts his head to the side, staring at you with a suspicious frown. "tomorrow? don’t lie…i’m only asking you now because… this is a dream, you wouldnt reject me in my dream, would you?" he asks, his voice filled with doubt. "because i know you won’t really take me for ice cream tomorrow when I wake up. you don’t like me like that. you’re just humoring me."

"wonwoo, i promise, tomorrow, we’ll get ice cream," you reassure him, your voice gentle and warm as you stroke his hair again, trying to comfort him.

but wonwoo still looks disappointed and doubtful, his shoulders slump. "tomorrow will never come. this is all a dream. you’ll wake up, and i’ll be... i’ll be just me. plain wonwoo. i won’t be good enough for you. you will never pick me.”

your heart aches at the way he’s talking. he doesn’t believe that you like him, doesn’t believe in this moment, in the promise of tomorrow. "wonwoo, i’m not going anywhere," you say, taking his hand in yours. "i'll be right here when you open your eyes when the sun rises & i'll tell you all the reasons why you're more than enough. i really do like you, I love you, and tomorrow, we’ll get ice cream. i promise."

he looks down at your hand, still not fully convinced. "promise?" he asks, his voice small and fragile.

"promise," you say firmly, hands finding his as you lock your pinky around his.

wonwoo hesitates for a moment, then sighs, his expression softening. "okay...okay," he murmurs, closing his eyes as he rests his head back on your lap, your hands instinctively go back to playing with his hair, he's completely content now. "ice cream date tomorrow. i’ll wait for tomorrow...even if it doesn't happen it's okay..at least im laying on your lap now…at least you’re playing with my hair now…at least now i know what it's like to hear you say you like me too.”

you smile, brushing a strand of hair out of his face, watching him drift off to sleep in your lap. even though he’s drunk and unsure, you know he believes you somewhere deep down. & tomorrow, you’ll take him for ice cream, just like you promised. and maybe, just maybe, tomorrow, he’ll realize how much you really do care about him, & how much you really do love him.

[averycutesalamander]

pls write yan!boothill OMG WHO SAID THAT

ohoho....!! i must confess that im quite picky when it comes to yandere content, bc i don't particularly like the extreme end of the spectrum. physical violence and straight noncon in particular don't click for me (absolutely no shade to people who like that tho, you do you!!) buuuuuuut ..... i mean, im the one writing?? so i can do whatever i want??? so alright here you go :) also check my reblog for.. a lot of rambling lmao

may i present to you: my interpretation of boothill in love, but he has a few too many screws loose. warning for relatively vague descriptions of violence and, uh... yandere stuff. you know how it goes.

In all honesty, Boothill is not a "love at first sight" type. His attraction to you is a gradual, budding thing, built over many repeated encounters. He's emotionally isolated himself, after all - built a wall thick enough to muffle the whispers of his past, smothering it in a slurry of rage and sorrow. It'll take time for him to let down his guard for long enough to even register the feelings you conjure in him - a flutter in his chest every time you smile at him, a spark of joy every time he makes you laugh, a strike of fondness every time he looks at your pretty face when you aren't paying attention.

And beneath it all, a low, simmering greed, a hunger, a yearning; the urge to bite and devour and never let go.

The pressure builds with time, as the two of you grow closer. He visits often, though not so often that it would catch the IPC's attention. You laugh and joke and tease, playfully flirting with him yet keeping a healthy, platonic distance. (He very pointedly and stubbornly ignores the way his heart soars when you look at him like that - like you want to pull him into your bed and let him take you apart, piece by ruinous piece. It's just harmless fun, after all.)

(Right?)

Despite the yawning fractures in the wall he's created, despite the increasing complexity of his feelings for about you, he still hasn't untangled whatever complicated web of feelings that's arisen around you, content to leave himself oblivious for the time being - until you make a joke about him marrying you and sweeping you away on some bizarre galactic adventure, and he damn-near bluescreens.

(He hates, hates, hates that the first thing he feels is something adjacent to the feeling a cat gets when it finally corners a particularly unruly mouse, akin to the thrill he gets whenever an enemy exposes a weakness. A sick, twisted kind of satisfaction.)

His mind churns as the wall cracks, wavers-

...and crumbles.

He panics. He makes a flimsy excuse about getting a notification through his neurochip, about needing to help out a fellow ranger - and he feels even better worse when you believe him unhesitatingly, sending him off with a sweet little "Be safe!" just as you always do.

It's only after he leaves the planet that he thinks about how much you've grown to trust him, about how damn gullible you are, about how often you give him the benefit of the doubt, about how kindly you've always treated him in spite of (or perhaps because of) his dozens of strange quirks. Everything unravels, threads spilling from his fraying mind and spilling between his fingers, and when the tattered fabric settles-

He simply can't deny it. He's in love with you.

It takes some time for him to piece himself back together - weeks of complete silence from him, your texts going unanswered. Every time he sees a fresh notification from you, his heart twists with guilt - but he's not ready to face the music. Not yet.

He comes crawling back to you, sooner or later. He knocks on your door with the most sheepish, guilt-ridden look on his face that you've ever seen, a rich bouquet laden with yellow roses and purple hyacinths tucked timidly in his arms. He lies about why he left - says it was all because of a mission that got more complicated than it should have, and it wasn't safe to reply to your messages - but when he tells you that he's sorry, he means it genuinely.

He's a bit disturbed by the sensation in his gut - that foul, wicked satisfaction when you accept his apology with barely a slap on the wrist, cheerily inviting him inside to catch up. You tuck the flowers neatly into a vase, chatting easily with him as you carefully arrange them.

"It's alright!" you say, waving dismissively at him when he murmurs another apology. "I know you're busy. I can't be your biggest priority, obviously. You've got more important things going on."

(You don't have a clue how wrong you are.)

He integrates back into your life like he never left. When he has the time, he sneaks his way back onto your planet, knocking on your door or searching for you in your usual spots. You get impossibly closer; your playful flirting goes from blatantly humorous to something foggier, something more ambiguous, teasing the line between platonic and something heavier. He matches you step by step, returning your advances with just a little extra spice, his eyes a bit darker and his smile a bit wider.

He tries to be patient - god, does he try - but there's an itch that's bloomed beneath his metal, impossible to scratch, impossible to sate, made worse by every little joke you make about kissing him or touching him or marrying him or letting him spirit you away. The pressure builds further and further, the tension winding tighter and tighter, the anticipation bubbling higher and higher.

(He will never, ever admit that he truly contemplates stealing you away, crowding you onto a ship and carting you off so he can always keep an eye on you, can always guarantee your safety. His paranoia has been building since he recognized his feelings for you; it's taken every ounce of restraint in his body to stop himself from giving into the urge, from crowding you, from suffocating you, from locking you away like a fragile songbird in a cage.)

(He's torn between his protectiveness and his understanding that you deserve freedom. You deserve independence and a life that isn't tied directly to him. He doesn't even know if you return his feelings. But...)

(But there's that nagging feeling in the back of his head, that pestering little voice that grows louder by the day. You'll be safer with me, it says, dark and tempting, bursting behind his teeth. I can make you happy. I can keep you safe. I can show you pieces of the universe that you've never seen before. I can love you like no one else ever could. I can hold you and cherish you and consume you and-)

(He takes that little voice and wraps his hands tight around its throat, frantically trying to suffocate the noise, terrified by its allure. But it's always there, lingering, lurking - because the call is coming from inside the house.)

Something gives, eventually.

When he inevitably breaks, his lips crashing heatedly and messily into yours, there are two paths ahead - but the difference is ultimately moot, because they collide not long after.

Perhaps you reciprocate. Perhaps you melt against his lips, your arms coiling around his shoulders and drawing him further into you. Perhaps you whimper when his hands trail downward, squeezing at your hips. Perhaps you pull away with a gasp, your pupils blown wide, your heart pounding when you see the look in his eye - dark and hot and desperate and hungry. Perhaps you accept his quiet declaration of affection with open arms, returning it in full, your eyes sparkling with joy.

Or perhaps you reject him. Perhaps you freeze like a startled deer before pushing him away, your face slack with shock. Perhaps you apologize, stumbling over your words, your heart thundering in your chest when you see the look in his eye - dark and cold and empty and hungry. Perhaps you gently tell him that you don't feel that way about him - that you only see him as a friend.

Ultimately, it doesn't matter.

...Because Boothill - careful, meticulous Boothill - has slipped up, and the IPC finds you.

After he leaves next, whether that be with a broken heart or a giddy one, a trio of IPC employees pluck you up from the street in broad daylight, shoving you into a dark transport ship for "questioning." And once they bring you to an IPC space station, they do indeed question you - though it feels more like an interrogation, considering that you've been tied ankle-and-wrist to a chair like you're a dangerous serial killer and not a regular civilian.

"Suspected colluding with the criminal known as Boothill," your "interviewer" tells you flatly, idly thumbing at the knife in their hand. "Camera footage, reports from neighbors, records from his Synesthesia Beacon... All clearly show that he has made repeated visits to your planet and your home. We're in the business of knowing why."

Perhaps you keep your mouth shut and refuse to divulge anything, no matter how close that knife gets to your bare skin. Perhaps you break when it begins to slice into your flesh, drawing blood from your body and tears from your eyes and stuttered words from your lips. Perhaps you grit your teeth and bear it, unwilling to betray the man you've grown so fond of.

Or perhaps you cave immediately. Perhaps you sell him down the river the first chance you get, frantic explanations spilling from your lips. Perhaps you tell them that you had no idea he had such a massive bounty on his head. Perhaps you panic when they find the information insufficient and draw the knife on you anyway, deaf to your begging and pleading as they wet your skin with blood.

Ultimately, it doesn't matter.

...Because a distant explosion rocks the entire space station, and the flashing lights from the silent alarms interrupt your interrogation.

You're left alone when the IPC agent flees, locking the door behind them with a heavy clunk. Minutes pass as you fumble desperately with your restraints, your body pulsing with pain; a cacophony of gunshots and screaming penetrates the thick walls, growing louder and louder, your heart pounding faster and faster.

There's a noise just outside the door - a horrifically wet noise, like raw flesh on tile. You freeze like a rabbit that's just heard the panting of a starving wolf, far too close for comfort.

Silence. Your head aches from the flashing red lights.

Suddenly, steel fingers wedge into the gap between the locked door and the wall, single-handedly tearing it open and breaking the hydraulic lock with inhuman ease. Metal crunches and squeals, piercing the quiet - and there he stands, right in the doorway, a silhouette of black and red.

Never in your life have you seen him this manic.

His white hair drips with scarlet and his teeth are bared; his eyes are alight with rage, a shock of bright crimson among the dark smears of blood and viscera that coat him head to toe. In the light of the alarms, he looks like the perfect picture of a killer from a horror movie; violence and slaughter, just waiting to be unleashed. When his gaze locks onto you, there is a long moment of utter stillness; instinctual terror floods your entire body in a cold flash, because there isn't so much as a glimmer of humanity in those eyes - only pure, boiling, ravenous, frantic anger.

For a heartbeat, you're convinced he's going to rip you apart with his teeth.

Then, as if he finally registers who you are, the madness evaporates, replaced by a nearly manic sort of relief. He rushes to your side, looking you over; you don't miss the flash in his eyes - seething, smoking fire - when he spots your injuries. In the same breath, he snuffs it out, focusing instead on breaking your binds with his bare hands.

You're already crying when he takes you up into his arms, cradling you close to his chest and unwittingly smearing IPC blood onto you. "It's alright, sweetheart," he murmurs, soft and reassuring, a beacon of comfort in a sea of terror. "I'm right here. I've got ya. No one's ever gonna take ya from me again, okay?"

(Maybe if you weren't in shock, you'd be startled by his words. As it stands, though, they're like music to your ears, like a warm blanket settled over your shoulders, like a tight hug from someone you trust with your life.)

He encourages you to press your face into his shoulder - mercifully free of blood - as he carries you through the carnage he's left in his wake, the jangle of his spurs and your muffled sobs echoing through the silent halls. Your entire body shivers at the noise of him stepping into some unidentifiable slurry of viscera, and he thumbs at your back in an effort to soothe you, speaking quietly into your ear about everything and nothing.

Time passes in a blur of tears. He takes you to the ship he, uh... commandeered to get here, ducking into the bathroom and settling you gently - so very gently - onto the floor. Or, rather, he tries to - because your fingers are frozen stiff in his jacket, your grip unrelenting.

"You just wait here for a sec, alright?" he whispers softly, the chill of his hand settling lightly against your wrist; the blood there still feels warm to your delirious mind. "Gotta get the autopilot started, okay? I'll be right back."

You're both surprised when you shake your head insistently, your eyes wet and pleading. In an instant, he softens, his heart aching in his chest.

"Alright, sweetpea," he breathes, carefully picking you up again. "I've got ya."

He keeps you cradled to his chest as he walks to the cockpit, holding you easily with one arm as he gets the ship moving. Reinforcements are on the way, no doubt - but you'll both be long gone by the time they get here.

(Maybe the IPC will get the message when they find the scene he's left behind - when they view the camera footage and see the rampage he went on. Decapitation and disembowelment is a new one, even for him...)

(...but he needed to make it clear that no one, no one, touches what's his and gets away with it.)

When the engine is purring beneath his feet and the rumble of FTL travel is humming in the walls, he brings you back to the washroom and settles you to the tile again, gently untangling your grip from his jacket. You're in shock, he's sure, so he's careful to continue talking to you as he wets a towel with warm water, murmuring soft reassurances as he wipes the blood from your skin, handling you like you're glass.

Once you're clean, he messily towels himself off to get the worst of the mess off, then brings you to the captain's quarters, digging around in the closet to find something comfortable for you. Your shaking fingers cause you trouble, so he gently eases your ruined clothes off, his eyes respectfully averted as he helps you redress. He takes one look at the messy, used bedding and promptly decides to change the sheets. (Something within him stirs and snarls at the thought of you smelling like anyone else.)

Finally, when all is said and done, he eases you beneath the covers, brushing away the last remnants of your tears. His heart is torn between singing with joy and aching with pain when you reach up and take his hand in yours, your fingers wrapping tight around his.

"Gotta go wash up, honey," he murmurs, watching you closely as you sink into the protective huddle of the blankets, exhaustion painting your features. "That alright? I'll be fast."

(He tries very hard to ignore the flutter in his chest from the look in your eye - like you're genuinely considering whether or not you need to stay near him, like you aren't sure if you can bear the distance.)

(He also tries very hard to ignore the little pang of disappointment when you slowly nod, releasing his hand.)

He cleans himself up with record efficiency, resigning himself to wearing clothes that are a size or two too small until he can wash his usual outfit. The clothes are for your sake, really; it's not like he has any, uh... equipment to expose - not yet - but he's relatively sure that it would make you uncomfortable anyway.

By the time he steps lightly into the room again, you're asleep.

For a long, long moment, he's struck stupid by the sight of you, by the softness of your face in rest.

Fuck, you're beautiful. He knows it in his heart, feels it in his core, senses it in his chest - you're the prettiest little thing he's ever seen.

(And you're all his, now.)

His fists clench, and he swallows down the thought like bitter poison. (You deserve better than this - better than him. He's a broken man, he knows - a messy reconfiguration of a thousand corpses, glued together by hatred and grief. He could never love you the way you deserve. He could never-)

He's broken from his rapidly spiraling thoughts when you twitch, a tiny furrow appearing in your brow. A surge of emotion nearly bursts in his chest - the urge to comfort, to protect, to soothe - and he slowly circles to the other side of the bed, climbing into the empty space and settling beneath the blankets. Hesitantly, he wraps one arm lightly around your waist, drawing you against him with your back pressed tight to his chest.

His heart soars when he feels you instantly relax, the tension fleeing your body.

(It's fine. This is fine. He'll make everything better. No matter what he has to do, who he has to kill, he'll make everything better.)

(He's not wrong - but he also doesn't need to disable the button on the inside of the ship that opens the exit hatch. You don't need to know that; he doesn't need to acknowledge that.)

A handful of days pass like that. When he stops by a market to get supplies for you, he gently tells you that it's best for you to stay in the ship for now; odds are that you actually have a bounty on your head as well, now.

As time passes, he tries not to suffocate you, tries not to hover, wary of putting you under any more stress - but it's ultimately a useless task.

When you finally, tentatively ask him about going home, his brain goes numb, the world snapping into sharp focus. He turns his gaze to you, disturbingly absent of emotion.

"It ain't safe for ya there, now that those IPC dogs know to look for ya," he says, his voice far too even.

When tears begin to bud in your eyes, it finally sweeps up some sympathy in his chest, his entire face softening. He takes your shaking hands in his, tenderly grazing your knuckles with his thumbs.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he rasps, reaching up to wipe away your tears.

(He's barely sorry.)

"I don't like it either, but..."

(Yes, he does.)

"It's safest for ya to stick with me, alright?"

(Wishful thinking. He could find somewhere for you to stay - some quiet planet outside of the IPC's reach, where you could live without worry. He could send you credits regularly. He could make sure you were happy and secure, independent of him.)

(He won't.)

(He could. He should.)

[lets-try-some-writing]

I have been reading your review of Transformers One again and also looking back at the movie, which gives me this hot potato take:

Orion Pax weirdly feels like a Gary Stu, not because he was overpower and flawless (which I know there are no solid definitions of the term Mary Sue/Gary Stu and I don't think he's one). It's just that his characteristics felt too convenient to the plot as the writers just slap all the likable traits of a typical heroic character and just called it's a day without further exploration. They tried to go for the angle of a normal bot, average Joe from lower classes that get thrust into adventure and great destiny. But nothing about him is normal, even though he was supposed to be an insignificant miner. He was already special in the movie, with his tendency to break protocols and his obsession to find Matrix and be something more, and as you mentioned in your review, we simply don't know why he adamant about finding the Matrix. Would it be better that we showed a hint of Orion Pax not trusting Sentinel actually finding the Matrix in his expedition and felt out of place for being the only one who's skeptical of Sentinel??? And his trust issues with Sentinel could come from all his times sneaking and reading the history of Cybertron and noticing the hole in those records??? This would have made him very compelling and interesting, and also explained why he was so calm and level-head about Sentinel's lie and betrayals compared to other characters. Yeah sure the movie "showed us" Orion Pax's good and heroic traits to hint at his worth for the Prime title later, but uhm, it feels like the movie told us about his traits instead and expect us to roll with his characteristics as his scenes didn't convey these traits well enough or quite lacking.

And for a character supposed to be the main protagonist, he felt more like a deuteragonist supporting D-16/Megatron, which resulted in him being that hero who was just there to make the main villain more compelling and interesting.

I did like TF:O Orion Pax in my first round but after sometimes, I realized I simply like him because I projected a much-better written protagonist with similar traits into Orion Pax and made way him more interesting than he's actually is.

Aside from my issues with Orion Pax, Elita-1 is simply a plot device character, and I just don't get her personality/characteristics at all. She also didn't have any arc and her interactions with other characters, especially with Orion Pax when they were on the surface felt very artificial to me. And she's fake girlboss because nowhere in the movie showed that she's better than anyone, especially Orion Pax.

This is just my longest ramblings about my issues with the movie that barely evoked any emotions for me.

No no you are absolutely cooking with this.

TFO Orion IS a Gary Sue. He has no proper emotional base in order to establish his goals and opinions on things. His background is plain but lacks the hint or originality needed to give him the spark to act out of line, at least in a believable manner. His behavior is selfish, and yet he is proclaimed a hero by the end of the film without his arc having been completed. Orion can absolutely be selfish and foolish in the beginning, but if we are going to herald him as a saint, he needed to have had more development. As it stands, Orion was made God's favorite because... reasons. (Alpha Trion why didn't you guide our main cast while you had the chance????)

I 100000% agree with you on your assessment of Elita. She's there for the sake of sending a poorly written message and that is all. No growth, no real origin, no backstory, no properly established relationships. She's there to kick around a few future Decepticons and make everyone else look like fools. She needed so much more to be excellent, and I am legitimately sad that she didn't get the arc she needed to be a respectable character.

It seems we are on the same page anon.

[sunshinelivesforever]

Getting severe Gigi x Slate brainrot recently so here we are

Gigi x Slate Headcanons

They are the literal embodiment of the grumpy x sunshine trope

It wasn't love at first sight for them, more like attraction at first sight

And then they slowly fell in love

Taking care of Gigi just kind of becomes second nature to Slate

Like, when he notices her shoelaces are untied, he ties them for her

When he notices that she's cold, he takes off his jacket and puts it on her

And he's really protective of her

He can listen to her ramble for hours but Gigi being Gigi, she often gets really curious about his past and asks too many questions

When that happens, he just kisses her to shut her up

Speaking of kissing, Slate is Gigi's first kiss

After he kisses her for the first time, she becomes unnaturally quiet and her face becomes red

Savannah asks her what's wrong and thinks she has a fever

And Gigi says that it's nothing and goes to her room but then a few minutes later she bursts out of her room screaming "MATTIAS SLATER KISSED ME" at the top of her lungs

Grayson nearly murders Slate when he finds out

Gigi is very physically affectionate and it takes Slate a while to get used to that

He's usually the one who's better at flirting verbally but the first time Gigi back-hugs him, he's so flustered he can barely form words

Gigi 100% steals his jackets, hoodies and sweaters

She sends cute cat videos to him all the time and he claims to never watch them but one day, she catches him watching one of the videos with a smile on his face

They talk together for hours, about anything and everything

As he works for Eve, Slate is always relaying Eve's messages and stuff so he doesn't really ever get to express his opinion on anything

But when he's talking with Gigi, he can do that

Their outdoor dates are like mini-adventures

Their indoor dates are comfortable yet fun

Gigi often falls asleep on top of Slate

Gigi makes really creative handmade gifts for him and he's so touched because no one's ever done that for him before

Slate loves kissing her

They usually hold hands when they walk around

In conclusion, Gigi x Slate is an adorable ship that I can't get out of my head and I request JLB to make them canon. Please.

[marblemoovt]

Not to put pressure on u or anything, but how's that brat taming yuushi fic going?

Take ur time ofc!! :)

It's going! I'm going to put everything below the cut in case I ramble.

Is this fandom still alive btw? Are there any other people out there drooling over this pathetic man and his hot wife? Or maybe you guys are like me and are patiently waiting for someone else to write a fic lmao.

I took a long break from writing for a while and have only recently gotten back into it. And I think that break did me some good! Writing doesn't feel as grueling as it used to so I'm making steady work on that fic. But you didn't hit read more to learn about my personal life. You wanted to hear how the fic is going.

And anon... 👀 I am at 5k words and we're not even at the brat taming yet 😩😩😩

But I am bringing the spice and I'm honestly quite happy with it so far. I struggle to capture this feeling of mundaneness (is that even a word?) in all my fics. Basically, I want them to feel realistic to me and not flat. I can already feel myself rambling so I'll stop myself.

I have no clue when the fic will be finished. I currently only write while I commute to school and back (rip anyone who glances at my phone).

Here's a chonker of a snippet to tide you over:

(Context: Reader doesn't keep their promise to return home on time. Currently they're in their car)

You decide to take a peek at your phone, unlocking the screen to be greeted with a wall of text. A grin sneaks onto your face, and you glance at your surroundings. Taking a risk, you shimmy your pants down past your knees. Turning on the camera, you snap a picture of your drooling cunt, framed perfectly by a pair of dark, lacy underwear. This specific one happened to be one of Yuushi’s favourites since it was crotchless. He liked fucking you senseless while still being able to admire the lingerie. 

You scroll up and skim over his messages. They all pretty much mean the same thing: you’re being severely punished when you arrive home. Maybe this is pouring gasoline on an open flame, but—you smirk and hit send—you think you’ll enjoy watching it all burn. 

You reluctantly slide your damp pants back on—it’s better than making a mess on the car seat. Those things can be a nightmare to clean. Not even a minute later you can see that he’s looked at your picture. Almost immediately after, the call screen appears with Yuushi’s caller ID. You turn the ringer off your phone and place it in the cup holder with the screen facing away. “Sorry, Yuushi. I shouldn’t call and drive at the same time,” you say in a singsong voice, knowing very well he can’t hear you. How pissed off is he now? You hum and turn the key, feeling the car roar to life. You glance over your shoulder at the bags behind you. At least you remembered to buy many, many, many condoms and another bottle of lube. Shifting gears, you pull out of the parking lot and drive to your doom.

[ardentprose]

Absence Makes the Heart Grow....Fonder

A/N: I'm better at smut than I am fluff. Yet here I am blushing as if I didn't agonize over every delicious dirty detail. This was supposed to be a longer scene but it would end up as a novel so I split it into two scenes. If you want me to write the second scene after this one, let me know!

Type: shameless explicit smut; MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, 18+ ONLY; Foggy Nelson x fem!reader

Length: 3.3k~ | 15 min

Warnings: explicit f/m sex, explicit names for genitals; cursing; masturbation; Foggy in a suit deserves a warning; subtle dom!Foggy undertones if you were inside my head and knew that already; not beta read

Feel free to message me if a necessary warning isn't mentioned.

Summary: After a complicated court case extends your boyfriend's trip, you are desperate for relief. Try as you might on your own, nothing compares to Foggy's touch.

Good thing he just walked in the door.

You have no shame when it’s been this long.

It was meant to only be a week, but predictable complications with the justice system’s processes extended your boyfriend’s court case another seven days. Whenever he’s gone, you are left to your own devices. Quite literally.

Unfortunately, when you’re this riled up neither your toys nor your own hand is sufficient. Despite the countless times you have the privilege of riding his thicker, more dexterous fingers, you can never replicate the effortless patterns Foggy massages into your clit with just the right pressure to get you off.

Even worse, Foggy has been an outstanding partner while he’s been away. He dutifully texts you several times a day, whether it’s to ask how you are doing, share his thoughts on the case that stole him away from you, or send yet another selfie with his goofy smile and a thumbs up - along with what looks like a perturbed Matt Murdock - in front of some tourist trap in the current city he was in. His ability to ask you follow-up questions about passing comments you had spoken of days ago over the phone, his willingness to call you at bedtime because he knew you were anxious alone at night, and the sincerity in his tone when he admitted he wanted to stay in the hotel room and talk to you rather than go out for drinks with Matt — it was all innocent and very sweet of him.  It makes him such a kind, caring, and thoughtful partner.

It also makes him so fucking hot.

You don’t want to rudely dismiss his texts, so you’ve been keeping your licentious thoughts to yourself for days. In normal circumstances, a flurry of text messages would leave you frustrated with your phone pinging every time you neared the peak. Instead, it only served to edge you into desperation. You were left yearning for him more than ever. And he was absolutely to blame for it too, clueless as he was to your current predicament.

Sex with Foggy usually involved his distinct skill of making you laugh so hard you couldn’t breathe and then making you come so hard you blacked out. Sometimes it was his five ‘o clock shadow whispering against your ticklish thighs. Other times it was because Foggy thought he was a stand-up comedian and liked to test out bits while fully seated inside you. He would pause to deliver a punchline and wait for your endearing giggles to distract you. Love-drunk eyes attentive to your face, he would bask in the moment your laughter evaporated into wanton cries of ecstasy as he resumed fucking you into the mattress without warning. It was his favorite method of unraveling you. You swear he’s trained you with sexual Pavlovian techniques that at this point, you couldn’t even get yourself off without his help.

You didn’t want to interrupt Foggy’s stream of texts rambling about how he found a quaint little cheese shop next to the airport this morning and that he bought way too much cheese and even found one that he thought you could eat as well as enjoy and that he might have been conned into a subscription box…

You didn’t have the heart to send him your current position on your shared bedspread, left hand buried deep in yourself. How could you admit how his sudden cheese rant had not only interrupted your deviant perusal on a private browser, but was also making you laugh so hard you couldn’t concentrate on the task at hand? The situation was becoming dire. Or downright embarrassing if you weren’t so determined to cum at least once on your own.

Hence, your shamelessly sprawled position on the bed, wearing Foggy’s boxers and one of his faded band tees when the front door opens with an audible click.

You scramble from the bed, hopping on one foot to untangle your ankle from the twisted sheets. Glad to be rid of your tireless, unrewarding solitude, your feet fly down the stairs towards the foyer without a second to lose.

Two modest suitcases make their way through the doorway first before Foggy’s hunched figure shuffles in after them.

Before he finishes locking the door, you’re bounding towards your travel-worn lover. No doubt hearing you thunder down the stairs, Foggy turns, tired eyes alighting. He drops the suitcase handle bar just in time to open his arms. You collide into his chest with a satisfying thump.

“Hello, my lo-“

Your lips cut short his greeting. The rest of his words are swallowed by your tongue reacquainting itself with his while your fingers crawl up his shoulders and tug on his hair that inexplicably feels longer since he’s been gone the past two weeks.

Twisting the blond ends before they unravel from your fingertips, your hands scope out his face next, coming down to cradle his fuzzy cheeks as the beginnings of a beard - something new he’s trying out (and achieving incredibly well) - burns your palms. Your thumb brushes over his chin, savoring the new sensation.

Foggy moves his lips in tandem with yours, and you can feel his grin as he squeezes your hips under his large palms in excited reciprocation.

Yet, he dares to pull back from your warm welcome, albeit licking his lips as he does so.

“Good to know I was missed.”

“You don’t know the fucking half of it.” You exhale.

Foggy’s laugh hitches as your hands tug on his belt and he stumbles into you.

“I have a feeling I’m about to find out.” He mutters, grabbing the base of your neck, fingertips on your chin in order to meet you halfway this time in another searing kiss.

You moan, responsive beneath the subtle weight of his hand on your throat and fully press your chest against his torso.

Foggy tries to keep the kiss going as he releases you in order to shed his overcoat, revealing a deep maroon suit beneath. The texture feels like butter and the waistcoat is impressive. The suit was no doubt another expensive investment of his fashion sense. He must have been striking to watch in court, commanding the room visually, however you cannot help feeling as you run your hands over his arms - that he’s wearing too much damn clothing.

“Baby, baby.” Foggy laughs, pecking your lips after each endearment. He tries to catch your wrists, halting your wandering hands that have managed to slip apart his belt buckle. “At least let me take you upstairs.”

“No.”

These past fourteen days were torture, made only worse by the unintentional edging from your fingers failed agility to keep a pace that would be enough to send you into bliss. You’ll be damned if you wait another second.

Foggy’s lips break and he finally acknowledges the lustful inferno of your gaze.

You grab his tie and yank him with a small yelp back to where he belongs, tasting your mouth as you devour his tongue.

“Here.” You speak against his lips. “Now. Please.”

Your hands unbutton his suit jacket, then slide into the jacket sleeves. The fabric drops from his shoulders, leaving him in his matching waistcoat. You reach for it but Foggy beats you to it, his thumbs deftly popping open the brass buttons before he sheds it, leaving him in a wrinkled, white collared button-down.

On any given day, Foggy is easily exhilarated by your affection for him. Right now? He’s beyond aroused by your demanding desire. Usually, things are much more coy between you two. A playful give and take that acts as foreplay until the teasing grows into touching. But here you are, hands pulling the belt from his slacks, desperate only to take, take, take.

If this is what two weeks away earned him, painful as it is to be away from you, he might be tempted to leave more often.

This time, Foggy steps into your space and reconnect your lips. Your fingertips skim the outline of his cock and whatever thought of leaving you alone again evaporates.

Foggy’s arms find your waist and become a vice.    He keens when you reward him with a firm squeeze. His hips return for more, pressing up into your awaiting palm while he backs you into the wall of the entryway.

The coat rack rattles as your shoulder smacks it. You barely feel it, though Foggy exhales an apology and slides you more to the left before your back finds the wall with a vague thud. His leg parts your thighs and you recoil from the wall into his chest, dropping a few inches to writhe up against the thick muscle beneath his slacks.

You turn your chin towards Foggy’s mouth, breath hitching into his own rapid inhales. Foggy presses a kiss into your chin, then drags an open-mouthed kiss up to your ear, full bottom lip leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Like a flower blooming, your head tilts in the opposite direction, opening yourself to your lover and basking in his warmth. He nips the crest of your ear, then placates the sting with a kiss.

You revel in Foggy’s kisses as they come back down your neck, his facial hair scraping against your skin deliciously. Your eyes flutter, overwhelmed by the sensations from his lips, teeth and tongue. Moaning, your thighs lock around his leg, and you grind your hips with more fervor.

Foggy grunts, keeping his thigh pressed against your body. He meets the upturn of your hips with his fingertips slipping beneath the elastic waistband of your- his boxers. He maneuvers his middle finger between your folds and up to circle your clit with an expertise that comes from familiarity alone.

With a shudder, your legs fall open as Foggy intended. His thigh now free, he adjusts his stance, keeping his wrist rotating and grinding against your pelvis so his free hand could shove down his pants and briefs,

The fabric curls around his thighs as Foggy slides his sensitive cock over the elastic band, hand growing slick from his own arousal leaking down the expanse of his dick. It should be alarming how fast you turn him on, but Foggy never hesitates to dive headfirst into your love with abandon every time.

With bitten lip, you eye the weight of his pulsating cock in the grip of his palm. Your hands fall from his biceps to tug his collared shirt up over his stomach. Bringing your nails down over the surface of his stomach, you scratch past his belly button to his happy trail. Foggy nearly whimpers and steps impossibly closer into your breathing space, removing his left hand from between your legs and lavishing his tongue over his glistening fingers like tasting icing from dessert.

“Please.” You whine, eyes threatening to water with how worked up you are from his ministrations. Foggy is no better, his own flushed skin and frenzied eyes making him look feral.

He draws his hand from his mouth, eyelids weighted with lust. His forehead comes to rest against yours, and his eyes meet your pleading gaze before flitting down.

Foggy takes the head of his cock and presses firmly against your clit. He hums a questioning tone, lips parting to ask consent.

You all but growl your assent, shaking fingers falling over his wrist to shove his cock into you. Panting into each others mouths as if the other will provide oxygen, your heads swim with the intoxication from his initial touch.

Foggy in turn grabs your face, squeezing your cheek slightly as his thumb presses past your lips. You nip him as he tries to guide himself in, careful of your comfort. The slow pace scrapes pleasure from your walls and ignites every nerve ending in your body.

Foggy just manages to slide his palm up behind your head, catching you just before you slam your head back into the wall as your hips curve, slotting him against your cervix. Your high and breathy whine harmonizes against his guttural moan pressed into the center of your chest.

Foggy brings his hips back just enough to slam them forwards, pinning you to the wall with each increasingly rapid thrust. Your arms drape over his neck, lackadaisical. Your legs jerk in his large palms which knead and claw and eventually lift you up further and further as he drives into you with relentless fervor.

Your breath punches from your lungs. You can hardly keep your eyes open past alluring slits that look down upon Foggy’s bitten, swollen lips, cherry flushed cheeks, and furrowed brow. Each thrust forces his hair to fall from it’s once professional, gelled back style. A few strands fall between his screwed eyebrows. You manage to lift a free hand to swipe the hair before it tickles his nose, curling it behind his ear and leaving your hand there to cup his cheek as you pull his face upwards to kiss you once more.

Your fingernails scratch against his scalp, his blond hair scrunched in your death grip. It will be tangled and knotted by the time this is over but that only means you get to wash it later, combing it out with an intentionally slow hand, sometimes tugging his head backwards so you can drop a kiss on his parted lips. Perhaps lick into his mouth and repeat another round late into the night.

Your lips curve into a private smirk, amused how even now, while being fucked senseless against the wall of your foyer, you’re still thinking of scenarios in which you and Foggy continue to have sex all night.

Foggy ends the kiss with a bite and sucks your bottom lip into his mouth. His short nails burn your thighs as they creep towards your ass. His gold watch is a cold contrast against heated skin as he shoves you towards him again and again, beginning to fuck into you with abandon. He always gets aggressive when he nears his climax and you take full advantage, instigating in any way possible in order to drive him even more insane.

You anchor your hands in his hair and rock into his thrusts. His breathing escalates into strained exhales through clenched teeth. Then his eyes snap shut and his head rolls towards the ceiling.

“Fuck.”

You feel his abdomen spasm against yours as he comes. He leans into you, the length of his body pressing you into the wall and keeping you pinned there as his cock head twitches against your cervix.

You gasp into his neck. The heat of his seed and the jerky pumps of his wavering hips fray the last of your nerves. Black stars explode across your vision. Your throat seizes your exhale, releasing a strained cry as you arch into Foggy’s embrace..

Coming back up to cradle your head again, Foggy’s fingers scratch at your scalp. It’s the sting of his nails that gradually ropes you down to the material plane once more.   

You crumple into Foggy’s embrace. His dress shirt is now sheer with sweat. You eye his arms, appreciative of the biceps that have held you against the wall this entire time.

“You alright, baby?”

Foggy kisses your forehead three times, lips brushing your sweaty temple.

You can only moan, the last spasms of your cunt making him stumble slightly as he lowers your feet back to the earth - or rather, the hardwood of your hallway.

Your forehead lands on his chest, using the rise and fall of his breath to steady your own gasps. Your fingers tremble as they make their way up and attempt to curl around the loosened tie that is one wrong move from falling from Foggy’s shoulders.

Foggy brings his palm down over your sweaty hair, leaves a light squeeze at your neck, then starts to run patterns up and down your back. His other hand remains on your waist, keeping you stable, but you still feel the slight tremor of his own fingertips pressing into your hip.

Another moment of quiet passes before Foggy’s hand comes forward to catch your chin, tilting your face up to his searching eyes.

You give him a lazy, sedated smile, satisfaction shining in your eyes. It makes the corners of his swollen pink lips quirk up.

“Welcome home.”

Foggy’s lips part to respond. Before you remember moving, your own teeth are pulling his full bottom lip into your mouth and sucking it with abandon.

Foggy chuckles, moans, and attempts to break the kiss as you nip at his retreating mouth. , He finally presses against the base of your neck to hold you still.

Your pulse thrums to life beneath the weight of his thumb and forefinger brushing your clavicle. By the slight shake of his head and disbelieving smirk, you know you must be staring at him with those faux doe eyes that have inevitably brought him to his knees many a past night.

Foggy says your name, firm but expression gentle.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love making you feel good - and I plan on doing so the rest of the night,” Foggy bumps his forehead into yours and pecks your lips with a grin. “But I also just missed you. Seriously, how are you?”

Your pout bursts into a smile under his soft admission.

“I missed you too.” You nose at him, tempted to kiss that adorable grin of his again but resist. You squeeze his shoulders.

“I’m sorry if I came on a little strong, but I-“

Foggy cuts you off with his own quick kiss and pulls back with a smirk.

“Honey, you can come on me anytime you wish.”

“Foggy!” You roll your eyes, annoyed at how you laugh so easily at such a terrible joke.

“You just said you missed me. Don’t you wanna know how my day went before fucking me again?”

You relish the flicker of lust in his baby blues before Foggy shakes his head, trying to stay on task.

“Yes. Yes, yeah, definitely. I missed you and your voice and our apartment and I wanna know everything you were too lazy to text me.”

He says this while stepping away from you in order to adjust his pants over himself again. Then he turns to gather up his belongings that were haphazardly thrown to the ground when you pounced.

“Hey.” You grab his carry-on as you protest. “I’m not lazy. You just text full-blown essays that no one else has the time to respond to in matching detail.”

You yelp as he swats your ass, following you through the kitchen, towards the staircase.

“You said you liked my long texts. That I’m very thorough.”

“That’s one way to put it.” You snort. “I don’t think you can help your long-winded messages. It’s the lawyer in you.”

“Ha, ha. I’ve never heard that one.”

You turn on the current step, midway up the staircase.   

“Oh, Foggy.” Your smirk grows as he balks at your sultry tone, eyelids lowering and lips parting on cue.

“Don’t misunderstand me. I enjoy that mouth of yours and just how thorough it can be.”

Foggy eyes flit all over your form before meeting you against with such intensity your heart rate picks up.

“What can I say, you’re my favorite case study.”

“Come on!” You throw your head back, moment ruined as his boisterous laugh echoes against the walls.

You continue up the rest of the stairs. Foggy ventures up the rest of the way behind you with a self-satisfied smile dimpling his cheeks. He hits the landing just as you turn into your bedroom.

“If I’m your favorite case to study, how about a dissertation?” You call out of sight.

Foggy rolls his eyes, ignoring how his heart skips at your giggles.

“First of all, that’s not what they’re called and second-“

Before he reaches the doorway, you lean into the hall, top half devoid of the faded band t-shirt.

“Second?”

“Second….Fuck it!” Foggy drops his luggage once again.

“I’m about to have seconds.” Any response at his corny humor evaporates when Foggy darts forward, chasing your giggling, retreating form into the bedsheets for the rest of the night.

[itsblasttothepast]

Its sad when no other driver besides Max, Esteban and Carlos cared enough for Checo to send him a message or being nice to him. Im surprised about Lance, he pointed out theyre friends or Alonso, its awful like they just can leave behind someone after so many years. Daniel got such nice messages, and here Max who doesnt even care about Checo said something. Ive seen you posting things from other blogs but you havent said what you think about it, do you think this was fair?

Oh wow... a lot going on with this ask, so I'm going to answer separately as I see fit, I hope that's okay anon.

First, the message thing: I think the rest of the grid is waiting for Checo to announce something official, either his retirement of his future plans. For what I remember (but feel free to correct me, as I don't recall well), Ricciardo made a post about his retirement, right? Like making it official?

Esteban was the first (even before Max) in posting a message to Checo because he's nice and always respected Checo (even when it didn't seem like it when they were teammates). Max I feel had to do it because they were teammates, he had PR to mantain (I'm not saying it wasn't something Max would do, but in context, it would be bad taste if he didn't), and Carlos probably thought the same, as Checo has been close to him (not in a BFF way, but still). And they refer mostly to his exit from RBR, and Esteban and Carlos said they will see him again in his next journey, so... I would take with a grain of salt this topic.

If he does announce something and then the drivers still don't answer or say anything about it, then I'll be very disappointed, particularly with Lance, Fernando, Lewis and Nico.

Secondly, the posts: I have reblogged what I see portrays my feelings about this whole situation. Personally, I believe my thoughts are still too raw and emotional, so I probably would make zero sense and just ramble. There's too much I want to say, and so little order in my head. Which is why I take advantage of those who can put in words better what we as Checo fans are going through.

Thirdly, do I think it's fair? Anon, nothing about this is fair, but as Checo said, life isn't fair and neither is F1. People complaining about a driver just because he was in a particular team, wishing for him to be dead and sending threats to his family, to his kids who are innocent from all this drama... Calling him names, saying he has cartel money without caring what it would mean to his family. Spending all year trying his best with a shitty car, being ignored and gaslighted by his bosses; believing in them when they offered a new contract, just to push him away from the team and making everything his fault, letting the press destroy his image and his confidence, to the breaking point of having to leave and break the contract, and still being the bad guy and blame him for everything that went wrong. Leaving and yet they still talk about him, say awful things and then adding 'he's still part of the team, he will be our puppet next year for certain events'... of course it's not fair.

Checo was treated horrible, and nobody seems to see this, except his fans and the fans of the other drivers RBR has discarded the past years. I've read that he knew what he was getting into when he stayed at RBR, but this year... this takes the cake as the psychological horrors a person can live on the job; and for Checo to want to stay and don't give up, but at the end the choices being staying and maybe damaging himself beyond repair, or quitting and regain some of the mental health he left behind the past years... I think he made the right choice, but it doesn't mean it didn't hurt like hell.

Because Checo is more than RBR, he was a driver pushing his limits, making himself a place in the grid when nobody wanted him there. And as his fans, seeing his journey to the top and now seeing how they tried to destroy him... it makes something in you feel like bad guys win all the time.

So, yeah... I think I rambled a lot, but you wanted my opinion, and I'm maybe not as eloquent as the ones I've reblogged so far, but my thoughts are still so disoriented.

Whatever Checo decides, I'm with him all the way, but if this is the end, if he decides to retire, is not fair he had to do it like this, without the opportunity to actually enjoy his last year driving. And it will leave a sour taste in me always.

[steamworkscogstone]

[Edit: Dec. 23rd 2024]

[LINKS TEMPORARILY BROKEN, APOLOGIES. WILL FIX SOON]

HEART THIS BEFORE YOU FOLLOW ME, PLEASE! It helps me to know who has and has not read this so I may direct their attention to it.

DNI: 18+ ONLY BLOG, No terfs and swerfs, no transmed truscum, no ageless blogs, Nothing Illegal, NO MINORS, Nobody who openly and actively hates, especially on the transgender community (which includes my non-binary siblings) DO NOT SELL ME SHIT, AND DO NOT SEND ME STUFF TO SIGNAL BOOST! I CANNOT HANDLE THAT STUFF MENTALLY, ANYMORE..

PLEASE READ MY PINS ON THIS POST, YA ADORABLE DEGENERATES. 😁

HEART THIS BEFORE FOLLOWING SO I KNOW WHO'S SAFE!! 😊 😊 😊

Ayyo, check these links before following and interacting, too!!:

So first up, I've put my goofy ass on the hellsite, and did a fun little selfie dump! (Maybe some tummy Tuesdays in the near future?)

Secound is an important thread of consciousness, please read with discretion and understand that I do not tag triggers (because I struggle with tagging as is. Anyway, so this is the bit ya wanna read before interacting with me)

Alright, so I have yet another link that is dealing with an answer to an anon, but it is extremely important as it gives better context to the post/s linked above: more Steamworks lore, yay..

(I apologize about the long winded text, but that's just how I do things. I'm a writer, at least in a texting format. 😅)

Warnings: I am a pro-shipper and anti-censorship, I love using the word queer and I identify as such, while also enjoying identifying the people I text with as such. I enjoy what I enjoy and I have heavy kinks. If any of these warnings are in your DNI or makes you uncomfortable, then please block me and do not report me.

I AM A HARRY POTTER MOVIE ENJOYER! I UNDERSTAND JK ROWLING IS A DEVILOUS PIECE OF SHIT AND EVEN THAT IS TOO KIND OF AN INSULT FOR HER! I WATCH THE MOVIES THRU 3RD PARTY MEANS, AND I REFUSE TO PAY FOR ANYTHING HARRY POTTER THAT IS NEW WHILE SHE IS ALIVE, AND WILL FIND ALTERNATIVE WAYS TO PLAY THE NEW GAMES BECAUSE THEY GENUINELY LOOK FUN. Please, please ask yourself why you decide to attack those, ESPECIALLY IN YOUR OWN COMMUNITY, over something they grew up with and actively love as an adult? We are all just trying to get through this life, and all have our own things that help us escape; we are already so divided and splintered, and so you actively hating your trans brothers and sisters, and nonbinary siblings (who barely make up 1 million on the United States' population already) is simply hurting too many people.

Peace, love, acceptance, and alternative means of coming to a peaceful resolution is what I desire in this world. A world that is already so painfully divided, whether that be by a screen or you actively choosing to hate, is just such a burden on those who will be trying so hard to make a name for themselves. Yes, I just pulled a "think of the children" because, seriously stating that seems so obvious and yet, too many people are dismissive of it when they are literally the future.

Do NOT come after me for my existence, and if you see I am following you and decide against the things I enjoy and my personal beliefs and message, then just block me. PLEASE DON'T REPORT ME.. 😖

Eh, fuck it: I'm making my hearted posts public again, and if you don't like it then leave and I know we're not chill with each other. Love ya still, even for those who do leave, or are too afraid to follow because of them having mutuals they really click with, but would absolutely shun them for enjoying what I absolutely adore! I SEE YOU!

[RAMBLING INCOMING]

Okay, so this is going to be my pinned post, and it's going to be a heavy work in Progress. I've gotten some feedback from a couple people, and well, I'm not okay with how stiff and forced my original pin came out. I know I can write something better and will when I have the time.

Name: Prefer Coggy or Golem while first interacting; more personal names given the closer we become.

Age: Currently 23 at the time of this edit. (2024)

Gender: Femboy/Tomgirl transfem mess of an existing baby femby. The body has been thru a physical transition, although difficult and uneasy, since 2018. We actually just recently marked the 6th year of being on whoremones. Most of us do lean more towards femininity than masculinity however, the hosts gender is ever evolving as the months go on. We have been on this wild and zany rollercoaster of The Gender Journey™ since 2016 when the host started socially transitioning at 15, and even today there is still heavy developments.

We obviously have a list of limits on our kinks and fetishes, however we do not feel comfortable sharing things just yet, as there are a lot of people we enjoy following, but seem to wish to shun those with certain fetishes by blocking them.

DESIRES ARE INHERENTLY NEUTRAL, AS MOST OF THEM ARE THING WE ARE BORN WITH THAT CANNOT BE TRANSFORMED OR REMOVED FROM ONES IDENTITY (such as gender and sexual identity). AS WE FORM LATER ON, KINKS AND FETISHES BECOME NEW DESIRES, AND THUS SUCH THINGS ARE INHERENTLY NEUTRAL AS WELL.

Need to update the tags. (It's a safe call to go off of what I've tagged one of my more recent personal posts or reblogs with text.)

Yeah, more to add later!

(List of things to add: Mutuals list, tags, stuff)

[mellowyellow236]

Poor And Fortunate Souls

Azul finds a bubbly merfolk who’s looking for love. He makes a deal in exchange for your voice, a fair deal. It’s a fair deal, right? (Based off some headcanons I did. GN!Reader based on Ariel.)

~

Azul’s first thought was that you were beautiful. His second was that you were a great contender to make a contract with him. You were everything that he needed; gullible, ditzy, and a bit vague. He smiled as he planned how to catch you in his jaws and hold you close enough that you wouldn’t be able to move again. No… That you wouldn’t be able to speak. That soothing thought satiated him as you rambled on and on, something about hoping to find someone on land, or something of the like. Thinking of how you wouldn’t even be able to stand up for yourself, simply dependent on him to speak for you…

“Ah, of course. I can give you whatever you desire, as long as you sign right here.” He smiled, watching as you finished looking through the contract. It turned into more of a smirk as you signed, and shook his hand, his gloves over the delicate hands of one who had never had to depend on their own labors. Your voice in exchange for him to find you the perfect lover. If you don’t give up your voice, you turn into seafoam three weeks after the day you two start dating. A fine deal. He can’t lose.

“When should I start working here? You’ve got me as your worker, whenever you need!” Azul nodded,

“Every day, you’ll be working here after school until closing. You’re our only singer, after all.” He couldn’t help but restrain a laugh as you stood up with such excitement.

“Really? Oh, I’ve always loved to sing in front of crowds, that isn’t even a problem! I can even sing on the weekends if you’d like, I think it’s just so wonderful here. And, you know, the seashells remind me so much of home. You’re also from the Coral Sea, right? Which part? It'd be so interesting if turns out we used to know each other-” He let you babble on and on, ushering you out of his office all the while you kept on going. Once you were desperate enough to leave, it would be a blessing that you let him pluck your voice out from the source.

~

Azul’s third thought about you was how much of a chatterbox you were. You never seemed to shut up, always keeping going, going, going, until you started running yourself in circles. It was a blessing that he had chosen you to sing, or else you would have scared all his customers off.

“Azul, Azul! Guess what?” You waited for no explanation as you went on, “Whatever potion you gave me really works! Listen, I mentioned that one friend that I wanted to get to know, and he started to get closer to me and talk to me more and stuff. Azul, do you think he’s the one?” He sighed as you answered yourself, “No, I don’t think so. He’s got the wrong eyes, the guy I’m looking for has blue ones. You don’t think you’ve seen the real one, Azul?”

“I don’t believe we have, yet. But I’m working on it, and Jade and Floyd are both doing very well when it comes to looking for more information. You should write down whatever it is you want me to look for, specifically. Every detail helps-”

“But I’ve already told you a million times, every little detail! He’s tall, and strong-looking, and probably human, and he’s got the prettiest black hair and blue eyes!” He felt his eye twitch as you whined.

“Send me, a voice message, if you wish for it to be fully committed to memory. I’ll memorize whatever you send me.” He said, as your eyes lit up and he bit the inside of his cheek.

“Really, Azul? Really, really?” You squealing, hugging him. “I didn’t know you liked hearing me talk so much! Thank you! I’ll be sure to send you lots of things, okay? You better not forget any! Ah, I’m gonna be late to get out and sing. Come listen to me, okay? No! Better yet, I’ll send you a message tonight. How does that sound? Goodbye!” You seemed to wait for no man, nor for Azul to respond that he desired no recording from you. He could only sigh as you ran off, sitting down at his desk once more.

~

His fourth thought was how you were a good singer. He had known this since he got his eye on you, yes, but he had never stopped to appreciate it. But here he was, lying on his bed, listening to you sing a sappy song. He didn’t care for the lyrics, something silly. Probably just the short phrase you wanted someone to say to you so badly, extended for three minutes in a million different ways.

To be exact, it was 34 lines, not including repeated phrases. He had to memorize that much. He had to, that’s why he was doing it. He didn’t care that the song was talking about how beautiful the listener was, or how much you loved someone. Not even when you tried to sing a little old sailing song about an octo-mer, not even as you added on that you thought it was fun that he not the listener, not the audience would love you like it, and that you thought he was pretty beautiful, stunning, jaw-dropping, he wasn’t fat, he wasn’t unloveable, he wasn’t weird, he was only yours

His fifth thought is that you’re a good person. The perfect kind to make a deal with. He’ll get what he wants. He wants your voice.

~

Azul wants his fifth thought to be joy. He’s found the person you’re looking for. He wants that to be it.

You’ve got a boyfriend now. You don’t have time to leave him long voice memos anymore, you’re on a call with your boyfriend. You don’t have time to stay later with him, long after work, talking to him as he does work, you’re on a date with your boyfriend.

And you think he’s pretty, and sweet, and adventurous. What about Azul, huh? He’s just as much as that guy is. He’s sweet, look at how much he gives everyone. Look at how everyone goes to him for deals. Look, he’s doing so well. He went here on an adventure, he’d never gone up to land before. Aren’t you going to look? Please, look.

Please.

Azul’s fifth thought is that he can’t stand the thought of being just another member of your audience.

~

His sixth thought is how you’re gullible. Stupid, naive. So, so stupid. You sold him your voice.

Not your music.

Not your time spent singing.

You agreed to twist the terms. You agreed to sell your voice. In return, they promised that your boyfriend would love you until his last day. And Azul got your voice. You’re gullible. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Ugly. Stupid. Fat. Naive. Weird. Horrible, horrible, horrible.

He hates you. He wants to. He doesn’t want to. He loves you.

~

His seventh thought is that you’re beautiful. Your voice is, at least. It joins him on his bedside now. Maybe the rest of the room can hear it sing sadly. It regrets you leaving. See, it does. You never should have left. It thought those contract terms were unfair, you lost so much more than you gained. See? Don’t you want to come back?

When Azul has it to himself, he has seafoam in his hands. Fluffy and soft. Useless. It’s useless.

In the end, he’s the one who turned into that silly, foamed-up mess that clouds where the sea meets dry land. Alone in his office with only a voice to keep him company, having it repeat the only words he wanted to hear. I love you, I love you, I love you.

His eighth thought is that he hates you.

[oh-shtars]

Hi Flicker :D! I just finished watching a summary and analysis of the movie “Soul” and I have to share my existential crisis with you and how I think this could support Rani's character development :] (Warning: I'm going to ramble and a LOT).

So, I was watching the movie and I saw that 22's character is quite similar to Rani, not in personality but in what they mean, she is someone who believes she hasn't found her talent yet, what she wants to dedicate herself 100% to or as they say in the movie “her spark”, they feel lost and feel like they are letting someone down because of that, but they both deal with it in different ways, we also see Joel believing that “the spark” is the THING that defines you, your purpose, this maybe what Rani may think, but I imagine as she gets older she realizes that's not such a bad thing, in fact maybe it's a bit negative to get 100% rooted to your purpose, because some people think that with that their life will be better or something, when no, I think Rani will realize that the “purpose” or what she “wants to be totally dedicated to” is not really what she expects, it's more those moments where you just feel something that makes you grateful to be alive, like when she finished carving a wooden figure and liked the result, when she enjoyed doing an activity, or when she was just with friends or her family having a challenge. Because that's also what that “spark” is about, isn't it? They are activities that generate a feeling of happiness and are one more impulse that helps you to be grateful to be alive, it is not your life 100%, it is something that simply sweetens it a little more, but not having it does not mean that you are a nobody, but it means having more possibilities to enjoy different things in life. (Sorry if what I'm saying is obvious or doesn't make sense, I was looking for the message I wanted my wish Au to give and I ended up having an existential crisis, I hope you didn't get bored reading this).

AHHHHH THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU ALED!!! THAT’S WHAT I’M GOING FOR RANI ✨💖✨

You don’t need to find just one passion you need to be 100% dedicated to be happy and satisfied with life. These bursts of joy can all come from anything you enjoy doing such as hobbies or friends and family. Those are the little sparks scattered throughout your life!!

Rani just thinks that since his parents are these amazing figures he looks up to, that helped encourage people to have faith in pursuing their dreams, that he feels embarrassed of not having a definite one that he’s so sure of pursuing despite being their son. (Which is also why he doesn’t communicate this to them either.)

Please never apologise for sending me an ask. It always sends me over the moon to see y’all engaging with my story and AU. 🥺💖

In fact, you’re making me want to rewatch Soul again. Really good movie with a deep meaning, I like it ^^

[lilikags]

໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა just a little note...

! not in any particular order...

my beloved big sister @actuallylgp,

it's hard to envision a morning without seeing a "Gm Qian" from you; i look forward to it every day (i'm really being serious here). when i feel lost, i think about talking to you (about anything really, it helps my mind clear) and seeing you around just makes me really happy! i love you <3

my dearest ate @yumetokashite

you've been here with me for so long, and it's strange to think about just how much i've changed (for the better!) in the time that you've stuck with me. you cheer me up so well, I hope we stick together a long time

for my twinsie @runanadwiddles,

i've never seen anyone more "twinsie" than you. if there's a small group of people i can trust to show the parts of me i hide on instinct, you're part of it. it's always very 🤝 with you, and i hope we have so many more "brain connected" moments ♡

to teddy bear dearest @hasumilvr,

squishes yuo. thank you for being there for me all the time, thank you for reading my stories. just looking at our chats in the middle of class when i'm stressed out helps me calm down, i hope you know this cabby cares for you a lot

dear alkakurei's favorite @rinnelovebot ,

i find your dedication absolutely admirable. seeing you alive and kicking and being able to see you every day brings me so much; thank you for being there always

for my favorite penguin @sleepypengwin,

if there's someone to react to a message, it's you. thank you for supporting me (and of our) silly rambles, and thank you for sending all sorts of silly insta reels and liking my stories and talking to me on insta... you make me feel less lonely in the world

fucking clown pt 1 (ily) @baeshijima,

where would i be today without you... (dead, in the ditches) sharing devastating thoughts (fic ideas far too good) with you is something so special to me. i hope to bring you more devastating news going forward 🫶

fucking clown pt 2 (ily) @aimixx,

you too saved me from the ditches of hell; thank you for listening to my troubles and being with me through the worst times of my life thus far. when you're offline, I wish you were online so I could bother you, it brings me peace knowing you're online

for my big sis spirit @spiriteddreams,

there's no one else who has provided as much guidance to me as you have; thank you for being my most trustworthy opinion in the topics we talk about most. i'm incredibly grateful that we get to talk, i feel like you've helped me see a better side of reality

to the one who fuels my yume thoughts like no other @yumejo,

do you know how much i kick my feet like a maiden in love when I see your writing??? (i admit that is what i am for my yumes though) your writing makes my heart jump places and sends me to a magical land. thank you for listening to all of my yume rambles, silly thoughts and all of the strange things this girl (me) has to say

my dearest kuya @marifart,

once and forever my kuya ♡ you're so real and i always know i can be so real with you. you're so true, it's so easy to be comfortable around you.

to whom I have not divorced yet @neoxsanctuary ,

քʟֆɖօռȶɖɨʋօʀƈɛʍɛ it's hard for me to wrap around just how long we've known each other. we've been through the hell of a thousand fandoms and far too many situations. thank you for being there (insert the tomoya gif I always use)

for the best little sib ever reze @solaaresque

you make me insane (pos) i'm always proud of you, i think you're so cool and have so much ahead of you. i am and will always be happy to be your ate, thank you for your silliness

for the silly i talk to on the bird app every day @shirokururu,

who else would I talk to on that very blue app. thank you for listening to my rambles on countless manhwa you have never seen before and responding to the bazillion tweets i send... ♡

[this post is scheduled]

[postsfromtheportalfuture]

Earthenby-notpromumordad to nextstephome

Thanks for your posts about Pro parents. As one myself - I'm already seeing one of my kids (professionally) drift away from me. Trying to continue sending supportive messages, trying to not lose them, but... On the bright side, one of my bio kids who went low/no contact has been sending me messages again, and has apparently actually told his partner about my existence! And explained why. Luckily, despite his partner being annoyed at the lie, recent newsie coverage has made it clear why, and they are still together. They don't have a lot of credits - he moved to the frontier - and previously my son told his partner I disaproved of that. I didn't, but it was the cover he used. Maybe I should be angry and hurt about the years I missed, but...they've decided to save up credits to come for a visit. I'm going to get to meet my grandkids!

Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I, and all the ProParents out there, are very grateful for your posts in support of us. This is a trying time for us all - and if I'm honest, doesn't even seem real yet. I mean, Earth, part of Alpha Sector? Norms treating us like we exist?

There will be downsides, as you mentioned. We Proparents put everything into caring for our own kids and our adopted kids. We don't get to see them full time, but that doesn't mean we don't love and care for them. To have our kids abandon us for their 'true families' is heartbreaking, I won't pretend it isn't. But it's nice to know we have a community out there who supports us. Sorry, this turned into a bit of a ramble!

nextstephome:

Don't apologize for rambling! I always love getting asks like this. Just knowing that I was able to help make at least one person feel better is more than enough for me.

I'm so so happy for you that your son has gotten back in contact with you! I'm sure it doesn't erase all of the hurt between you, but it's definitely a start, especially knowing that they're planning to come visit you when they can!

I know it's heartbreaking to see your prokids start drifting away from you and you can tell me to nuke off if what I'm about to say is inappropriate, but this is how i think of it:

our current proparent system is broken, and it has been for a very long time. ten prokids for each proparent is just too many to be able to provide the kind of support that these children need.

i think it was wallamcranesarchnemesis who said it best in one of their posts a while back: "We have proparents, but they're only around for 2 hours a week, which means that while they're able to be there for the big things, the ones that we learn the most from actually tend to be the older children in our Homes/Next Steps...We are quite literally a society of children raising other children."

Please don't take this as me criticizing proparents or saying you're not doing enough! You're all massively overworked, and are being asked to do more than is humanly possible.

And as awful as it sounds to say this, those children who are pulling away from you are (hopefully) getting the kind of one-on-one support that a proparent can't provide them, and their absence means that you now have the time and resources to provide more support to your other kids who need you more now than ever. It means you can spend more time with your own families as well!

I know it doesn't make the hurt go away completely, but hopefully this perspective makes it a little easier to deal with?

Much love from me, and keep being amazing!

[choutenyuki-chan]

INTRO!!!

This will hopefully be the first and last time I break character on either of my NSO blogs, but I felt it was necessary to post a real intro considering the things that will be posted on this account.

(TL;DR @ the bottom)

DISCLAIMER!!!

These blogs were created with the purpose of being a creative outlet for my trauma and mental illness. This means that some of the content on this page might be unpleasant for some people. If that's the case, don't view my blog.

To start things off...

16+ only, please. I want to create a safe space for as many people as I can, but I don't want to be responsible for influencing any kids into doing any of the things I speak about.

For anonymity, I'm not going to tell you my actual name, so please just call me Kangel or Ame, depending on the blog you are viewing.

I will do my best to always tag any possible triggers on my heavier posts, so please correct me if I miss a tag or incorrectly tag something.

TRIGGER WARNINGS!!

As I just mentioned, there will be a lot of triggering things posted on both of these blogs. Because of that, I'd like to compile what will be the most common trigger warnings to look out for on this page (will be updated as I post to remain accurate)

Mentions of grooming

Mentions of past trauma

Neglect

Fear of abandonment

Long rambles during panic attacks

Addiction

Abuse/toxic relationships

Intrusive thoughts

Self-harm

Mentions of suicidality

A Bit About Me

I like Jirai and the message it sends as it's something I heavily relate to. I don't have any jirai clothing yet, but I'm saving to buy my first item asap! I also really like vocaloid, visual kei, breakcore, and honestly most kinds of music haha.

If you couldn't guess, I really like NSO. The kind of person Ame-chan is really spoke to me. I've always wanted to take on a new persona online, and what better way than a Kangel blog! I'll speak a little more on the roles of each blog later, tho <3

I really like RPGs like Persona and Final Fantasy as I grew up playing both. They're both really comforting games for me.

I suspect I have Autism and either BPD or bipolar. I'm in the process of trying to find a psychologist to get an assessment and confirm my suspicions, but it's hard to find anyone where I live.

The Kangel blog!

This blog is where I'll post my lighter content. It's my distraction from my actual life and is mainly here for me to pretend I'm someone else. This means that while I'm on the Kangel blog, I'll do things like write in American-English as it's another layer of disconnect from my real life.

There will be much less triggering content on this blog, but there will be an occasional vent post, but that will likely be written in the style of the in-game vent streams and tweets. That means it will likely be a bit dramatised to sound entertaining. Those posts will still have tagged TWs regardless.

The Ame-Chan blog!

This blog is like the priv Twitter account that Ame has in-game. Darker posts will go here, and almost everything will be a vent of some kind. If I feel it's necessary, I will also add a 'check the tags' disclaimer at the beginning of the post so you can decide whether you're in the right headspace to read that post. This is essentially my diary tho and sometimes I just might not add tags. I'll always do my best tho.

This blog is essentially a public diary, which means there will be a lot of in-depth description of my current state and any retelling of past trauma. "Traumadumping" about my childhood will be kept at a minimum though.

This also means that I will occasionally post about dreams I have. I rarely have good dreams, and they're almost always some kind of dream relating to trauma. These normally have a different list of TWs to look out for (including the original list).

I will list those below:

Kidnapping

SA (sometimes explicit, but I will likely never go into those details unless I found it particularly distressing. Those will always be under different tags, though)

Running away/homelessness

Survival game type plot

Physical abandonment

Murder

There will likely be more added as this account develops.

Both blogs, but primarily the Ame one, will occasionally mention a P-Chan. This refers to two different people, but I'll never disclose which is which. This is mostly for privacy.

P-Chan 1 refers to a real-life person I know and have a semi-toxic friendship with. If I succumb to the BPD allegations, I'd assume they're my 'favourite person'.

P-Chan 2 is fake. They don't exist. They're a character in my head who is my ideal person. They exist so that I have someone to project my unhealthy obsession onto instead of the real P-Chan. This often also means posting the intrusive thoughts I have around P-Chan.

OUTRO!!!

I tried to keep this short while having as much info about this page as needed. I hope this can be a safe space for anyone who relates to me and wants to get to know me. I'm always open to making new friends <33

TL;DR

Mentally ill girl creates blogs to ignore her problems and vent while staying as anonymous as she can. Triggering posts galore, but it will be tagged to the best of her ability.

[mysticalsoot]

Everything you've said on this situation is something I 100% agree and stand with and honestly is such a breath of fresh air to see after spending so much time in the official Lovejoy discord.

People in there were at first being civil with their opinions despite the tense emotions, but it's quickly turning into a "Fuck Wilbur" train since many are straight up convinced he was the one Shelby was talking about, while those trying to stay neutral or are wishing Wilbur luck in changing for the better should it actually be him are being attacked. Mods have been trying to calm the attackers down but it hasn't worked too well from what I've seen. And it's only gotten worse since one of the Sr Sootmods came out and said how they're all leaving their mod positions since they're also convinced he's the abuser. What especially hurts is that one mod went into the chat and even said "Abusers will always be abusers" as if people can't genuinely change for the better.

Also, while we're all here speculating and all that, what happens if it's officially confirmed that it wasn't Wilbur and was instead one of the many other British musicians who had an ant infestation and mold problem (both of which are very common problems in the Uk from what I've heard)? This isn't something you can fix with an "Oops sorry for jumping ship without proper confirmation." It just feels like it's quickly gotten to a point where "Damned if something is said, damned if not."

Sorry for rambling/ranting, but that discord group really got me heated up. Keep your chin up, king. You deserve the crown on your head for sticking to your guns and dealing with the assholes coming to you.

Honestly the more messages I get agreeing with me, the more I'm shocked. When I first started questioning things, I felt if I even uttered them to my sister I'd be crucified. So many people agree and support me and it's insane. It outweighs the hate by millions. (i say that as if my chest wasn't so tight earlier today that I couldn't breathe!)

i checked the lvjy server and wil's server earlier today. lvjy I didn't read much on, and when I found that wil's was closed, I wasn't surprised. i was told by an anon ask that the mods know more, but if they did, I feel as though they all wouldn't have waited until the rest of the internet said it was wilbur.

people can change. hurt people who hurt people can change. abusers are a different level, and oftentimes are unwilling to change or are aware they can. sometimes they do! I've seen it, abusers can change but it's so so so very rare.

but jumping on the bandwagon based on rumor and speculation and then saying that shit is not cool.

something I've been trying to say is that those who've left and abandoned ship will most likely regret it when and if things come out in favor of wil (which my gut leans to yes, but we'll see), theyll have to deal with the consequences of being rash.

i understand not wanting to support a possible abuser, but Shelby didn't say a name. she didn't say one for a reason, whatever that reason is, I don't know. and I have my own feelings on that but I won't voice them yet.

don't apologize for rambling, I understand your frustrations and I see you. thank you for the kind words and the support, it means a lot and it's helping me keep going<3 I will continue to say my piece until I can no longer do so, for whatever reason.

anon asks are off, don't try sending hate to me or the asker

[sordidmusings]

jealousy anon here! eeeee ty for feeding me!!! it's hilarious to me shanks, mihawk, and crocodile are in ascending order on how much of a menace they are when jealous. im reading mihawk's and feeling kinda sorry for the ex and then crocodile comes in with the steel chair with implied murder. even shanks, who's the most "mild" ends with him thinking of using his conqueror's haki. it was so much fun reading what they're like when jealous. like. you are NOT immune to love making you stupid ❤️

Behind the Scenes to Croc’s Jealousy Scenario:

How you phrased it made me laugh so I had to make a stupid meme 💀

Also!

IM SO HAPPY YOU LIKED IT 🥹🤍🤍🤍 thank you so much for taking the time to message again 😘 it was happenstance that they were in increasingly unhinged order but it tickled me too!! Your subconscious must’ve listed them out that way in the ask and I’m sticking to that story lol I’m really thankful you had fun reading❣️ it was so fun to daydream about 😩 I do tend to lean unhealthy/obsessive in jealousy daydreams so I tried to keep that more grounded to how I think their canon portrayals would act! Obviously couldn’t completely shield it from my tastes 💀

Also “you are NOT immune to love making you look stupid” gave me yet another laugh BUT it also got my brain thinking - what other ways would love have them making fools of themselves?? Shanks just constantly does that for funsies so to make his interesting it would more have to go from the angle of “how does love break his character”? Does being a fool for Shanks mean compromising your principals to impress and attain your partner?

For Mihawk I definitely think it’s more of his trying to disguise being disgustingly domestic and romantic with his Dark and Brooding exterior and doing it POORLY. Or maybe if he’s truly head over heels (and it’s only you around) he’d let himself be the butt of the joke for once just so he can see you laugh until your stomach hurts and know it’s cuz of him.

Croc is so tied to dramatic gestures in my brain. I have no explanation besides it just being his grandiose aura and ideals. He’s so ripe for the absolute cheesiness of of doing something that would fuck up his reputation like publicly groveling to get you back. It would be SO out of character if not built up solidly, but if that foundation is laid then the fact that it’s out of character would feel like part of The Point of him doing the gesture instead of it simply being written to shove him into a cliche. Not a knock on cliches - they’re quite fun but ooooooo do they pay off so much better with that groundwork 🤌🏻

Of course they’d all also be quite fun in scenarios where love just makes them overlook something Obvious or act impulsively and expose how down bad they are lol

Anyway sorry for more rambles shdhdishjdjs

Thank you again 🥰 sending love 🤍

[sunspotmangafan]

I’ve been sick the past few days (I’m better now) but it somehow got me to just go back into sunspot overanalsis.

This time on the phones and trying to figure out the themes about it.

Imma try and say it with Taichi at least.

His phone is a flip phone. It’s a physical symbol of how he’s an outlier because of monetary/social status. He’s poor so he has a very old type phone.

And flip phones aren’t exactly the best to communicate with.

So you can say that taichi’s social life was set back because of it, exemplified through a flip phone, a phone that is harder to communicate with than other smarter phones.

And in limit 2, when their issues bubble up to the surface and kohei distances himself from Taichi more, his phone is broken. He is now unable to communicate with Kohei effectively.

And when he gains his new phone. It’s when he gains a new perspective. Like he has a very helpful chat with Maya. With his new smart phone he’s able to talk better (like he’s able to face time kohei now and he uses that well).

With Kohei, you can say that with the fact that on phones, especially texting, everything can be very planned out. Like you can go back on your words and overthink text messages before you even send them.

Kohei can and wants to talk to Taichi but thinks it’ll be a burden on Taichi. He’s constantly distracted about what’s on the screen, overthinking what he should say and over a conversation on a screen that hasn’t even happened yet. He’s so caught up in his own world of miscommunication that he fails to see the world around him.

Taichi breaking his phone means he’s forced to confront kohei person to person. Because kohei isn’t gonna make the first move if he’s constantly erasing his texts and going over and ignoring the world around him for a “what if I’m a burden” stuff.

I’m…. Yeah. That’s what I got so far.

Sorry if this made no sense this was a ramble I had in the middle of the night but it’s one I’ve been working on for a while lmao.