#toaster rambles

[tosteur-gluteal]

Stranger and Omori in OMOFALLS AU v.s. MLB AU

OMOFALLS :

MLB :

Yeah, one is definitely more affectionate than the other lol (since Stranger in the MLB au is Chat Noir, which means Basil, which means he's way older than omori who's NOT the same person as Sunny. They are two different people.)

However in omofalls, Stranger is separated from Basil, and is the same age as Omori. And way more close.

See mlb!omori as more of like

A stray cat people lurking around, not really in the good guys or the bad guys's side

[toasters0422]

(X-Men '97 spoliers)

Can't wait for my first ramble since getting hyperfixated on X-Men '97

*deep inhale*

(I gave no clue how to due Tumblr "read more" cuts, so... sorry if this eats someone's dash :< )

Genuinely i love the fact that so many people are saying Magneto is right and that the show itself has addressed that its absolutely true,

but I hate the fact that people are saying Charles Xavier was wrong, and that Magneto was completely justified; which is just far too black and white in my opinion.

Magneto is right when it comes to the fact that Charles' methods are ineffective. Direct action is needed if mutantkind and humankind are to ever have mutual respect. But, that does not mean he isn't an extremist. Magneto's motives and intentions are morally correct, but that doesn't mean that the damage acted upon to humans did more good than harm. Fighting fire with fire may only lead to more fire, or as a favorite quote of mine: "violence for violence is the rule of beasts."

However, I don't want this to be a "Magnus bad, Charles good" fest, it's not. Charles Xavier is a human passing, ultimately jackpot ability mutant and could 100% just pretend to be human if he ever decided to. He wants to help Mutants, his motivations are moral, but they're ineffective. They rarely actually help Mutants instead of simply pushing back the prejudice they face, it took until Magneto running the institute for Genosha to even be accepted into the UN.

So I believe they're both right, but both wrong. They're yin and yang in a sense; there needs to be a balance with their methods for true progress: Action without violence.

...Well that was good to get out of my system :D I'm probably gonna make more X-Men posts in the future, so prepare thineself >:]

[toaster-with-a-wifi-router]

This is propaganda to read the Mortal Engines series and watch the movie adaptation, which are both good in their own respect

[peargreen-jellybean]

too fuckin long, so sorry about that, but enjoy a 3k word count poolverine hurt/comfort ficlet from the prompt idea i posted

my writing skills suck a bit and i wrote this on my phone but i did my best. enjoy

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Logan’s woken up in alleyways, face down, with clothes torn from a brawl he instigated and the glass bottles he’d fallen onto. Sometimes, if he’s lucky, he wakes up slumped over a table in the back of a bar because the owner was too afraid to tell him to leave.

Afraid of his claws or just his name.

The buzz of alcohol never stays long, even with high proof liquor, but the tiredness of a fucked up life still lingers for awhile more after several bottles of booze.

So waking up exhausted isn’t new. It's about the only way he’s woken up for a long time.

And that’s what Logan expects, slowly coming back to consciousness.

Exhaustion. Some hard surface. Hopefully most of his clothes intact.

One eye begrudgingly cracks open.

Yup, definitely a little fucked up. His joints ache deep into the bone and his head is cotton-y.

But… Nothing feels hard or sharp beneath him. In fact, he feels… comfortable.

Huh.

Turning just a bit, he finds his face buried in softness. It smells lived in; skin, spilled food, a hint of… gunpowder? And, after a moment, he hears the soft sound of music- too quiet to be bar music but not muffled enough to be from a building he isn’t inside of.

Huh.

“Mmm.” Using his forearms, Logan props himself up just enough to leave the softness and get a look around him.

Not an alley. Not a bar. Not even a cheap, seedy motel.

A house- er, an apartment more likely. And he’s sprawled, a moment ago face down, on top of an old couch with a blanket over him and pillow under him. Neither the couch nor the general space is all that large, he’s practically spilling off the furniture, but everything feels warm and lived in. Home-y, if a little messy.

There isn’t anyone else here- the living room, a good guess- but noises, once he registers them, coming from an adjacent room says he isn’t alone. The soft music seems to filter through from there as well.

Logan flips himself over, a bit too groggy to be elegant about it, and rubs the sleep from his eyes. The feel of gritty grime on his face, more than he usually gets after a night drowning in alcohol, confuses him.

And then-

His head slumps back into the pillow and he groans. “Fucking hell.”

The TVA. The Time Ripper. The Void.

The red spandex-ed asshole who stole him from his timeline.

… Who, after everything, took him home, here, introduced him to his blind roommate- Althea, if he recalls- and offered him a place to stay and sleep for a while. And, vaguely remembering being too tired to shower, who also gave Logan some clothes to sleep in.

Groaning, only half heartedly after remembering the comforts offered and taken, Logan pulls back the blanket and, likey for the first time, actually checks to see what he’s wearing.

A gray, “I eat cement” T-shirt and blue, rubber duck shorts.

Yeah, that seems about right.

He huffs, but sits up to get his elbows onto his knees and scrub more of the sleep away from his face. Instant regret again. Both he and Wade- battle worn and disgusting- had forgone a shower in favor of just near instantly passing out. He is fucking gross; dirt, blood, and god knows what else covering him in a disgusting layer.

Logan feels a pang of shame for getting onto their couch with this much dirt and sweat coating him- maybe he can wash the blanket and pillowcase as an apology- but a clattering from the room with the music recatches his attention. The volume of whatever song is playing- a woman singing, pleasantly raspy- increases afterward.

Too interested to ignore whatever’s going on, Logan gets up to stand- with only a small groan, thank you- and, after a quick, satisfying stretch, slowly pads over to the doorway. Nothing outright sounds or feels dangerous, but from his experience and especially after the past few days, the need for caution can’t be shaken.

He must still not be fully awake, because the smell hits him only a few creeping steps from the doorway; pepper, eggs, something a bit burnt.

Food.

God, he didn’t realize how hungry he was until now. Even the burning smell is appetizing.

Popping his head in, the sight inside startles him awake completely.

With “I <3 hot dads” shorts, a red apron, and fucking crocs on his feet, Wade shifts around in front of the kitchen counter, swaying to the song he has playing from a radio somewhere. The place is a complete mess of egg shells and plates, but the table has a, rather large, plate of scrambled eggs, another plate of half burnt toast, and an assortment of other breakfast items. The smell of coffee also hangs in the air. And for the first time, maybe since knowing the man- and when he wasn’t unconscious- Wade is happily content not saying a word. He simply turns a toaster, with a fucking butter knife stuck into it, this way and that, and shakes it like he wants information from it.

It’s jarringly warm, and domestic.

Logan is again thrown for a moment.

When was the last time he woke up to clean clothes- even though he himself is gross as hell- the softness of a pillow, to the smell and sight of another person cooking breakfast in a kitchen?

Ever?

That sounds pathetically sad and incorrect, but in the doorway, watching it happen in real time, Logan feels lost and a bit raw.

Lucky for him though, Wade is still an annoying fuck and pulls him from his thoughts.

Like he sensed the presence of the other man half lingering in the doorway, Wade looks back at him and smiles wide. All bright teeth. No mask.

“Well, good morning Peanut! Did ya sleep well? I don't know about you but I think being torn apart and put back together finally got rid of the knot in my back. God, I slept like Al after she goes through waaay too many little baggies.” He motions over to the table with his chin. “I made some eggs and toast if you want. A true triumphant heroes’ breakfast! Hopefully you like them both a bit overdone. And there’s a pot of coffee over there.” He gestures to a machine on the counter now. “You can literally just drink from the pot if you want. Caffeine does not work on me, funnily enough. We don’t have creamer but there’s milk in the fridge and sugar next to the coffee maker…”

Wade goes on to babble about everything and nothing and, while Logan cannot count the number of times he’s wanted to stab the man for not shutting up, he can’t find the want to be actually irritated.

Not in the face of food, and coffee, and just… comfort.

Speaking of…

Logan clears the lump in his throat. “Thanks.” It’s all he can think to say, but he means it, even with the rough rumble of his morning voice.

Which Wade seems to find fascinating.

“Holy shit! How the fuck does your voice get even deeper? God, you would make a killing as a erotic audio book reader. Millions probably.” Wade flashes a flirtatious look before he turns back to the toaster and continues to mumble to himself, or perhaps the broken machine.

Logan huffs, but the call of coffee is stronger than his need for a comeback. The whole pot is grabbed per the offer, the sugar too, and now standing in front of the table he finds himself hesitating. No spots are occupied and nothing says ‘preferred seat’, but Logan can’t help but pause. ‘Make yourself at home’ feels like the unsaid, unfamiliar offer he can’t accept as easily as the coffee.

It feels too easy- another pathetic thought- and he can’t help but feel like he isn’t awake yet, and the reality of a cold, pavement bed will greet him if he gets too comfortable…

“Stupid fucking piece of metal crap!” Wade hisses, followed by the sound of the knife stabbing into the toaster.

Nope, probably not a dream. Logan is not a creative enough person to come up with something like this.

God, so just… sit, you fucking moron.

Picking a chair facing away from the toaster killer, Logan sets the coffee pot down- on a mat he also picked up, he isn’t an asshole- and settles in.

He feels awkward, like a kid at his first sleepover, but the eggs are there in front of him and his stomach is starting to growl. Awkwardness can wait until after a few bites, at least. There’s a lack of something important on the table though. After a quick glance around the plates and cups, and not finding anything, he looks over to Wade who seems to be completely brawling with the toaster now.

Wincing at the sight, and before he can rethink his decision, Logan clears the remaining sleep from his throat and uses that to draw the other man’s attention.

“Do uh, do you got a fork or somethin’?”

“Ah fuck, that’s what I forgot!” Wade sets, or slams really, the toaster down and moves over to a drawer, then rooting through it. “Didn’t run the dishwasher either and all the good forks are in it. Fuck…” He mumbles something else too, but lets out a triumphant ‘ha!’ when he pulls out two forks, one a little more bent than the other.

He skips, almost, over to Logan and presents the utensils. “Here you go Peanut, pick your favorite!”

Grabbing the more bent fork, Logan nods a silent thanks and begins slowly transferring eggs from the larger plate to one of the smaller, empty ones. Wade, satisfied with the choice, simply sets the other fork onto the table and goes back to the counter, and that damn toaster.

But before brawling again, he calls back, “Help yourself to as much as you want Babygirl! You deserve it for all your sexy hero work!”

Logan huffs again but grabs one of the toaster’s victims, once he’s gotten a fair amount of egg, and takes a bite of the slightly over cooked toast and just… enjoys.

The moment is pretty… nice.

Warm food. Morning sun from the window- god, he doesn’t even know that time it is. Wade isn’t quiet, hardly ever is, but he’s not overly inane or loud right now.

It’s all… good.

So… What does it?

An old memory, like deja vu, from another place and time with other people? The still lingering, ghostly sensation of his own body shredding and healing, just below his skin? Wade grumbling at the counter over the broken toaster, like a strange picture of domestic living?

It could be anything, everything.

But all he knows is that it’s twisting into something else. Something darker, and sharper, and cold.

Logan starts to tremble in his seat and the fork in his hand damn near snaps in his grip. The bite of food in his mouth tastes like blood- no, it is blood. He’s bitten into his tongue. His heart is racing, and something is tight in his chest, too tight and still tightening. Crushing.

Air isn’t breathable. His lungs won’t let it in.

Whatever stupid song is playing now is muffled by a white hot pulsing between his ears.

… He knows this.

Panic.

This is panic.

Of all the times to break, after days of one problem after another, pain after pain, this is when it happens? Now? While he’s sitting in Wade fucking Wilson’s kitchen, wearing his worn-soft clothes and eating at his table and listening to some soft song on the radio?

Yes, it is.

Pathetic.

Fucking pathetic.

He can’t focus anywhere anymore- it’s too much, too overwhelming, too fucking stupid to reason with- and burning nausea is creeping up his throat.

He’s spiraling. He’s breaking. And he can’t find the fight to beat himself out of it.

Perhaps that’s the reason he doesn’t hear the increasingly desperate ‘Logan?’s behind him or the quick footsteps moving towards the table.

He does startle, however, at a sudden touch to the side of his skull, making him gasp.

His claws gouge the surface of the table and knock over a half-filled water cup but, remarkably, they don’t thrust into the sudden presence pressing to his side.

It takes a good minute to process the situation, much slower than it usually takes him. But he feels the warmth of another person and the pressure of a hand on his head and his head is bent at an odd angle-

Wade, his mind breathes. This is his scent- gunpowder, spandex, and his own strange, unique smell. The touch to the back of his skull is his hand and the press to his cheek is the exposed skin below his shirt.

He’s cuddling him.

Uh-

And because it’s what he does best, Logan rages.

“The fuck are you doing?!” Logan snaps, and he yanks his head back from the other man’s grasp. Or, at least, he tries to.

“Eeeasy Peanut,” Wade hushes, not relinquishing Logan’s head. It's easy to forget the teasing, ridiculous man is incredibly strong. The battle lasts all of two seconds, and Wade’s stubbornness takes the victory. Logan’s cheek presses back to his hip and stays there under the weight of his hand.

“Easy, easy, easy…” Wade mumbles. He hesitates, only for a moment. “Vanessa did this… when shit got really bad.”

He’s quiet. He doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t have to. The meaning and weight of the softly spoken words are enough.

There’s a growl starting to rumble in his chest and while he wants to fight against Wade harder- he doesn’t need sentimental crap or, god forbid, pity- Logan takes a breath just long enough to pause here in the moment, and let’s himself feel.

Wade’s hand is cradling his skull and his fingers are threaded through his hair. The weight of them is firm, but not crushing. No, they’re gentle. And they press his cheek and temple into Wade’s side, where the dip of his waist is. Even at the odd angle his neck is bent to, the shape of the dip fits to his face near perfectly and, if obliged to stay here, he would be comfortable. Wade’s body heat- much like his own, running high due to constant cellular regeneration- seeps into him. Into his skin, and then his flesh, and then his bones, settling deep into his chest.

All of it, it… helps.

The revelation startles Logan.

The weight and solidness of Wade is grounding; constant, steady pressure. His warmth slowly relaxes the painful tightness behind Logan’s ribs. Even his smell- showered now, likely before he started cooking, still strange but not unbearable- settles his mind just because it’s there.

Wade… is anchoring him.

Maybe he really should fight this harder, or be annoyed at the coddling, or pissed just because he’s being handled at all, but Logan can’t keep a grip on any of the feelings. He can’t stop the calm that pulls him in and brings him down. It’s so- He’s feels so-

…

… When was the last time he was held?

Not fucked by nameless faces, or hanging on to another person for dear life, or punch near through the stomach- Held.

Was it before- God does it hurt.

… Was it before, when he had his fellow mutant friends and family? Before that?

After?… Definitely not.

Warmth, gentleness, nothing of the kind was what he deserved afterwards. He could never reward himself with something he never showed, and no one offered it to him regardless.

Logan shudders, his breath likely teasing Wade’s skin but, if the other man feels it, he blissfully leaves the fact be.

Wade- warm, solid, annoying as hell Wade- who breaks his train of thought, unaware of it. “Better right? When Vanessa first did this, waaay back in the storyline, I fucking melted like a kid’s ice cream. It’s like the guilty, trauma victim’s morphine.” He pauses, and there’s a grin to his words now. “I also ate her out that first time, but we can wait to do that until the second mental breakdown session, Babygirl.”

Yup. There it is. Asshole.

But Logan just, non-committedly hums, although it's more of a grumble. Yeah, Wade will probably be insufferable after this, smug and a whole new level of too comfortable touching him, but right now, right here, he’s calming.

He’s- something Logan can’t quite name. Or at least, he’s unwilling to.

Call Logan weak, call him pathetic- because he truthfully is, just below the storm in his skin- and like hell does he actually deserve this, but he’s gonna savor it for as long as he possibly can.

Seconds pass, or maybe hours, and the gentle massage of Wade’s fingertips to his scalp continues during it before his hand slides away from Logan’s hair onto his shoulder.

The loss of that contact against his head is disappointing-a private thought- but when Wade shifts like he’s about to move away the disappointment quickly morphs into panic.

He isn’t ready to let go.

He isn’t ready for Wade to leave.

With pure, unthinking action, Logan latches onto the fabric of Wade’s shorts just below the hip he isn’t leaning against. He fists the material into a ball, like he’s afraid the other man will just disappear if he doesn’t hold tight enough.

Like he really is going to wake up, and be alone again with only the memory of coffee and warmth.

Embarrassment quickly reddens his face once he understands what he’s done but, instead of releasing Wade, Logan turns his face into his hip to hide. Clenching his eyes shut for extra precaution.

Weak. Pathetic.

Wade is quiet, his hand hovering above Logan’s shoulder after it was started off but, just as Logan is about to relinquish his hold of the man- he can't bear the unnerving stillness of him- Wade surprises him again.

Quick but gentle, Wade cups the back of Logan’s head and neck, turns ever so slightly to the side, and presses Logan’s forehead to the cushion of his stomach. And just lets the other man stay against him, as he rubs his head and shoulders.

Logan cries a small sound he’s never heard himself make before- something wounded, and relieved, and ragged- but he can’t be bothered to care. Not right now. He releases his death hold on Wade’s shorts and wraps his arms around the other man’s thighs, as flush against him as he can be in their current positions. His hold might be too tight, edging on painful most likely, but Wade doesn’t complain. Doesn’t do anything except this… hold him.

Thank you, thank you, thank you…

“Of course, big guy. Whatever you need.”

Ah, he said that out loud.

… He’ll care about that later. Logan will be pissed, and embarrassed, and in denial at some point, but it’ll all be later. When Wade isn’t cradling him or murmuring soft words. When he isn’t cooking warm food or listening to music on the radio.

When he isn’t making him feel like, for the first time in a long time, he’s allowed to have kindness.

Fucking… Wade.

[raevenswritingdesk]

Went into act 3 expecting the true jayvik divorce era, just straight up at each others throats gay enemies LoL style, what I DIDNT expect was for them to reconcile and get cosmic gay married (?) in a larger homosexual display than the ACTUAL sesbian lex scene prior.

I'm I complaining? Absolutely not, but it is insane that these two dumb soulmates actually admitted that their soulmates finally. Love truly does win 🏳️‍🌈

[tosteur-gluteal]

I am so happy that there's another chapter released!! I used a translator again, but honestly, I like it so much i'm considering learning Chinese (even though I already have so much to do with school, the other languages I'm learning and my other hobbies... aaaaaa) Okay, Basil chocking "Sunny" to see if he's alive is so interesting to me. I am no literary expert and I am not the type to analyse someone's writing but it's sure giving something 👀.

Yeah, the fact that he enjoys this feeling of control over someone's life and death, yet he got upset at "Sunny" for abandoning him when he passed out. He's still upset because Sunny left him in the bad ending. Why is he doing that? After all, if he summoned that demon in the first place, it was to keep Sunny - or here, a demon playing Sunny's role - safe and breathing, right?

I've... always been fond of portrayals of Basil where he displays violent behaviors. Because he might look cute and anxious in cannon but this dude WOULD, in fact, hurt a fly. And here, it's as if he's replaying the sad event that happened in the bad ending, and also the fact that Sunny abandoned him for 4 years. But here, he has control over this situation. Whether Sunny lives or dies, it's his choice, so maybe it brings him a sense of comfort in some way.

It reminds me of a time when I was grieving and very anxious about the people I care about dying in their sleep, so whenever they'd fall asleep next to me, I would observe their breathing to know if they're alive or not. I wonder if it's a common experience - I mean, it might be. Basil's behavior reminded me of that, even though here, he's... The way he is haha ^^' ALSO, THE ANGEL'S APPEARANCE!!! I know I'm gonna love this little guy already. Haaaa... Basil is too far gone, love this dude. Also, can we talk about these last sentences???

"No, I'm just reminding you out of the kindness of my heart that you're dealing with evil right now." "Of course I know that." "Even though you know it's not Sunny?" "It will be one day."

"IT WILL BE ONE DAY"????? You can't do this to me, Bebe 💥 I am. I don't know. I am looking at you. Very nice chapter.

holy basil au stuff

．this AU is based on bad ending ．Main characters are Basil and Sunny ．written in Chinese his bad habit

不知何時開始，他有了某種新嗜好。 與其說是嗜好，倒不如稱做惡習。 那樣的行為不知道發生幾次了，明知不該如此卻也沒打算收手，他就是那樣的敗類。 僅僅只是為了蒙騙自己的手段之一。 ＃

Basil默默闔上房門。床上的它儘管已被迫承受數次，依然無法在那瞬間察覺他即將對自己要做出何種行為，也不懂得忤逆。 因為服從召喚主是它的本能。

他脫下白手套。長年的園藝興趣讓他的手掌滿是厚繭與傷疤，可仍然保持清潔和修剪得漂亮的指甲，明顯的骨感使手指看上去更加修長且充滿魅力。 可他這雙好看的手卻是拿來犯下無數罪孽用的。

首先是手指撫上它的頸部——他在觸碰它時肯定會脫下手套，為的是用自己的全身全靈去感受它的肌膚和氣息——。

那個東西被呼作「Sunny」，因為他是這麼希望的，所以它便響應主人的需求。 Basil的兩手逐步對瘦弱細小的頸子施加壓力，從稍加急促的喘息到幾乎不被允許得到任何一縷氧氣，他的手現在正掌握著Sunny的生死。

「…！Ba…Ba…sil…」它渴求呼吸而無暇組織出正常的句子，但俯視著自己的男子並沒有因此停下動作。 為了想活下去而本能的掙扎，上下起伏的胸膛，這些能讓Basil暫時遺忘過酷的事實，欺騙認知以說服自己Sunny現在就活生生的在自己身下。

「Sunny，我親愛的Sunny…..」 如果現在的你為了想活下去而希望我停手 那當初你又為什麼用那種方式離開我

他沒有對愛人施虐的癖好更不想傷害Sunny，卻還是停不下手。他沉溺於將Sunny的全部一手掌握的快感。

「……！」 直到Basil發現身下的人兒反應變的微弱，他才急的鬆開雙手。 「Sunny，醒醒！」 「不，你不能再離開我，不要再這樣了……」 明明造就如此的是他自己，會對此感到後悔的也依然是他。 在確認Sunny只是失去意識且還有呼吸起伏後他才稍微心安。Basil為它擦去額上的汗，調整好姿勢後蓋上被子避免它著涼，像是對待自己最珍貴的寶貝那樣的愛惜著。 就好像剛才一切都沒發生似的。

他側身躺在Sunny身旁，伸手像安撫嬰孩般輕拍著哄睡，哼起了搖籃曲。

「既然你不希望失去它，那又何必做那種事。」

那個因為意外而出現的天使，得到了和自己同樣模樣和名字，可永遠無法互相理解和認同。就連現在說出的話聽起來都不像是疑問，單純只是鄙夷。

「我沒有和你解釋的必要。」Basil不太滿意為Sunny哼的搖籃曲就這麼被打斷，深怕休息中的愛人被驚醒。「沒事的話就離開這裡。」 他有些後悔自己居然沒有鎖門。

「沒什麼，只是基於好意提醒你，你現在可是在跟惡魔打交道。」 「我當然清楚。」 「即使你明白它不是Sunny？」 「它總有一天會是的。」

[radioroxx]

oh if anyone cares btw. a bunch of makesweet bauzo images i put together

[a-little-ray-of-fantasy]

Gotta love the 80's: my fictional faves from those years are certified cuties!

The funny thing is, there's cute...

...and there's cute.

There's a lot of difference between these two kinds, and at the same time there isn't at all.

[undeadkyart]

<- guy who cried over the route of a love interest named nakedtoaster

[omori-mlb-au]

I think a Balcony Scene™ between Basil and Ladybug would be very sweet! Say they got rejected by their respective crushes (or perceived themselves rejected anyway) and had to talk to one another for comfort à la the show.

I can imagine Ladybug telling Basil about how Catmint is so great but also so cold to him and Basil being like "Yeah he's the worst, huh?" and Basil telling Ladybug about his massive crush on his bestie and Ladybug saying "I bet he's not that great." And them bonding over their (failed) attempts to rebound while self-deprecating/boosting each other up. —Kae.

Oooh well almost spot on! I mean, it is the obvious route for their relationship – I really like those dialogues aaaaa thanks Kae !!

Here, have a doodle of them

(@theokusgallery is the one who wrote almost all of Ladybug's tirade yippie)

Aaaa I just- (tiny little ramble below)

Basil is so down bad for Sunny and Sunny really cares about Basil because he is his first and only best friend but Basil has low self-esteem and thinks he's just too lame, unworthy of his friend and just cannot imagine himself going out of his way to confess to him. Sunny thinks that he's just some guy with anger issues who's just not suitable for friendships or really, any kind of relationships. He honestly sees himself as a bad guy, the kind to think of themselves "If they discover I'm such a horrible person they'll leave me" and. Poor fella. Man 🥹 One single argument or disagreement and bro will distance himself to a point of isolation and drown in negative emotions - and you know it's bad 🦋

Catmint is being a moody emo guy and Ladybug is tired of his shit but also kinda into that (who would blame him)

But yeah, deep inside, it does hurt Ladybug to be treated that way sometimes. Wait until he explodes 🤓☝️

Not revealing too much but even if being Catmint is synonymous of freedom for Basil, sometimes, he really hates being this cold sarcastic guy. Sometimes, he really, really hates being Catmint.

I ended up rambling fhdjdbhdudd I had to get a little bit out

Thanks for your ask Kae ! It's always a pleasure

[bizlybebo]

i love jrwi pd enjoyers who all agree that vyncent sol is scared of various household appliances. we're all sitting in a circle together holding hands

[tosteur-gluteal]

OMOFALLS FAKE GAME SCREENSHOT: Investigate old documents!

More informations below!

- There isn't any variation of that interface for you guys because I got extremely lazy. Under those floating windows, it's VERY rough. Y'all never know what's down there heheheha.

- Since Sunny doesn't speak, he's not speaking Undertale style™ but between uhhh quotation marks??? <- usually uses the "—" and "«...»" because French .

Yeah! He mostly writes out what he wants to say. Hence why it's presented like that (Yes, he's talking to Kel and Aubrey.)

- The bar at the top is a progression bar. I imagined you'd get pages of the Grimoire to decrypt. The more you manage to highlight the real message of the page, the more you fill in that progress bar. To progress in the story it won't be necessary to fill it to the eye icon, you'd just have to cross a certain threshold. However, if you manage to...

-The pop-up window would be a lexicon that they acquired at a certain moment in the game. However, don't ask if this makes any sense right now. Iiiii still didn't make that alphabet.

(Don't let Tost create a whole ancient language or he WILL think about it's grammar and conjugation and cultural influences and pronunciations and intonations and will LOSE HIS MIND 💥💥💥)

- Mogus. Ah mogus even.

-Oh! Did I mention if an OMOFALLS game happened it would've probably been an RPG mixed with a point-and click? No? Okay.

SO YEAH!! Tell me what you think 😈 any idea?

[toasters0422]

I hope to make more content with my Phoenix (as soon as I learn blender & 3D animation), because my Phoenix design is very distinct to me.

Like, I want them to stand out completely from the rest of the cast.

He moves differently, She has different facial expressions than others, they're physics are different even! i want to animate them more animated and cartoony than the rest of the eiyyd cast.

I don't know why but I've always loved when player fan designs look different than the rest, it's so cool to me.

[toaster-with-a-wifi-router]

Ohhhh god i just watched Nimona while i have a hyperfixation on Bee and Puppy cat this is one HELL OF A FIXATION COCKTAIL IM MAKING PLEASE HELP

[toaster-boi]

mecha is inseparable from fighter jets. there's a reason mech operators are called pilots and hardly anything else.

strapped to a chair rigged to blast itself out of the machine at the pull of a lever. a control stick in each hand, feet slotted into yet more controls. screens and instruments covering the panel in front of you. a helmet displaying all sorts of information, from altitude, to speed, to weapon readouts onto a heavily tinted visor.

a hose connecting your mouth to an oxygen supply with just enough room for a microphone. a full-body suit meant to keep you from passing out during maneuvers and from getting radiation sickness from the altitude you're fighting at.

dancing with death at unfathomable speeds with the most advanced weapons systems humanity can produce.

but one thing i haven't seen from fighter jets is mechs piloted by two people, who each control different systems.

there's "drifting" in Pacific Rim, but that's effectively splitting the sensory load of piloting between two brains. there's whatever the fuck Darling in the Franxx does, but i'm not touching that because i don't want to. combiners like Voltron or Megazords aren't really what i'm getting at.

i want to see a mech piloted by two people in tandem. pilot up front, weapons systems officer in the back. pilot fully immersed in the controls, pulling triggers, tracking individual targets. WSO flipping switches, tuning sensors, talking to command. watching the pilot's back. taking over controls in a desperate attempt to save their pilot when shit gets bad.

pilot plugged into a form-fitting control rig, reading the subtlest of inputs straight from their strained, damaged nerve endings. backseater plugged into a neural sensory interface, blending the machine's observational capabilities with their own senses.

one rendering anything in front of them a burning heap of slag with horrifyingly deliberate movements, but unable to handle the full burden of their machine;

one holding on for dear life, marking targets for certain death, but unable to pull the trigger themselves. desperately trying not to pass out when the pilot pulls crushingly high-G maneuvers.

the pilot is dead without someone in the back seat. the systems operator is dead without someone in the front.

two nervous systems becoming one: a mind that controls the body, and a body that controls the mind. only separated by the chassis between the crude, almost suicidal projectiles command calls "ejection seats." so inseparable you'd never think there was more than one person inside without seeing for yourself.

but perhaps it's better if you don't.

[hiroshotreplica]

ill defend side order until the day i die. Would people kill me if i said i prefer it over octo expansion