#personal rant and brain dump

[hebuiltfive]

Little rant and brain dump post re: mental health + anxiety* under the cut bc this is one of my only safe spaces to do this (and I think it'll help to just go blaaaaahhhhh into this data ether.) * will try to tag for triggers but I keep seeing conflicting posts about how to do those sort of tags so I'm sorry if it's wrong

Normal programming will resume after this short break. Going to make that one the tag for all future brain dump posts I think.

This time next week I'll have made another big, scary step towards "getting better" (which is typed liked that because I hate that phrase) but I don't know how I'm going to cope or what I'm going to be like on the other side of it.

I'm hoping I'm just overthinking (as usual) but what if it kinda breaks me? I don't think it would; nothing so far has, so why would this be different? I think it's just the anxiety trying to play mind games, but it's still really exhausting and is sucking up any excitement I might have which isn't fun.

I am still excited for everything that could come with this, and I know that it will be a safe place but... I'm still questioning whether I'm ready. Which is ridiculous - I'll never be "ready". I can't even say "prepared" because I've had 5 weeks (incl. this upcoming week) to get myself mentally psyched up, so I'm definitely that.

The worst thing is I don't even feel like I can properly talk about it because it is so trivial (hence the rant and brain dump post - at least I can get this out of my system). I've written down everything that's making me feel anxious about next weekend, and it does help to visualise the words, but it also helps reinforce the idea that it's all dumb and that I should just get over it. It's been 5 years (of this really bad stint); 10 since I was diagnosed; 15+ since it began being a problem for me.

I'm just tired, at this point. Tired of not being able to just do the things that used to bring me joy without either hating every second because ✨lurking panic✨, or because it kills me off mentally (sometimes physically) for about a week or two afterwards.

I have this little picture of little me by my bed. She's been there since I did therapy 4 years ago. I put her there so I could do some inner child work but now I look at her and just think how badly I'm letting her down. She had such hope and promise for the future and I feel like I fucked it up so badly.

[torivictori]

how are you, really?

is a question i’ve been asked once a week, on thursdays each month, each year for 7 years, almost 8.

i’m turning 16, i’ve been going to therapy since i was 9, and quite honestly that probably answers the question.

i’m not okay.

it’s weird to finally feel it deep in my soul, how truly disturbed i am, because for 8 years, no matter how much i try to deny it, the answer was:

i’m not okay!

childhood depression, a baggage full of trauma, persisting guilt and thoughts that haunt me, erratic behavior, delusions, unhealthy coping mechanisms, breakdowns, sobbing— and that’s just the tip of the iceberg.

oh, and a bunch of possible disorders thanks to amazing family genes too, how great.

it’s weird to know that, no it won’t get better. i’ll be like this until i’m dead.

and it’s so upsetting to know how much worse it will or could get.

because really, what am I supposed to do? who would employ me? who would work for me? who would want to me around me?

now. at almost 16 years old, i’ve found strange comfort in my mental state, as if i don’t want to get better.

i won’t get better, certainly not with this healthcare system.

what’s wrong with it you may wonder? my old therapist, an old, probably misogynistic man somehow got employed.

as i sat in a chair, sobbing to him, saying i wanted to kill myself and telling about how much i was going through, his response was ‘it’s not a mental problem, you’re just a woman, women are like that.’ three days later i tried taking my own life.

i’m not okay.

i’ll live through so much more, i could probably write a book.

at least i’ll make some money from it.

[hplonesomeart]

Out of curiosity, have you ever met anyone who knows your content and/or SMG4 irl?

Oooh a tricky inquiry to respond to without being a tad overcautious about it. But I’ll try. And please excuse me if I end up answering this unclearly or go on a side tangent <<

I’m fairly protective of my friends and family members. I try my best to prevent them from getting recognized in the crowd of online followers, or at least obscure the legal identities (it’s easier to contact them under an unassuming username). Which is unfortunately not easy to do. It’s out of my hands if they choose to spread the information about my channel to others irl or not. Despite my attempts to separate my personal life from my YouTube channel/digital footprint…I can’t say I’ve done a good job at it lmao. I’ve already snitched & outed my YouTube channel to a couple people in college (because I was being too much of an open book/transparent dumb dumb). I suddenly learned why it’s easier to have alternative accounts for irl people to follow; instead of immediately dragging them into my online interests and getting worried about how they’ll react to all of it. I’m so much more talkative online then how I behave in-person, and I worry it might throw some people off

I’ll spare the details, but the entire online v.s irl has caused me a shocking amount of anxiety. I’ve dug myself into a situation where I have no choice but to accept the fact information could easily get leaked or strung together due to my negligence. It’s partially the reason I don’t use many tags when posting fanart; The more recognized you become online, the more likely people will dig into locating personal information. Or at least that’s how my paranoid mind views it haha. That’s on top of worrying the people irl view me differently now due to how niche my interests tend to be. This whole YouTube thing requires so much more vulnerability then I was anticipating :P

Sorry if I’m being too vague here (or even too detailed). I love the fact people irl care about me want to support me or stay in touch, but it comes with so many unspoken mental hurdles on my end. They’ve learned things about me from my videos that I wasn’t openly sharing in-person. Thankfully I’m slowly learning that anxiety tricks me into believing things are more complicated then actuality. People have no malicious intentions or issues with me, I just assume they do. It’s not them it’s me

On the flip side, have I ever meet online followers who recognize me directly from YouTube and aren’t friends or family irl? No. I’ve never been approached by a stranger who somehow pieces together that I’m the person who makes Mr. Puzzle fanart & animations online lol. Kinda hoping that it stays that way. But there’s no denying I’d be much more happy attending school if I had someone to bond over about SMG4. College is pretty bland when you can’t find people to hang out with. I’ve been able to meet cartoon/animation/video game/musical nerds, but nothing directly attributed to the SMG4 fandom. We still have quite a few overlapping hobbies tho—they are nice people :3

[rose-bunny-28]

Sokka's Master (Season 3 episode 4) has got to be one of my favorite episodes.

It shows how even though everyone looks up to Sokka as the adult/big brother of the Gaang, Sokka is still a kid.

He tried very hard with every task he was giving to seem like he was mature, for example, when he had to sign his name.

He tried to do it normally, but he couldn't and wanted to be true to himself.

So he did it the more, I guess sillier way.

One part everyone talks about is the scen where he had to paint the scenery he saw.

He looks so proud of what he painted, and he saw it how he saw fit. He had to do it from memory.

Piandao looks very, how do I put it? Judgemental of Sokka putting a rainbow. So he asked "You put a rainbow?"

Sokka looks back at his painting and relises "Oh, a rainbow wasn't there"

So he asks, "Is that okay?"

You can tell from Sokka's eyes, that he values Piandao's opinion, he doesn't want to disappoint him.

That's why at the end, he (not word for word, I got a shit memory) says, "I haven't been telling the truth."

Every man in Sokka's village left when he was 13. Many can say "well, he had a father figure most of his life" and that, i say be quite.

Sokka may be the oldest of the group (at this point), but he's still a kid. He doesn't want to disappoint someone, who even though he just met, who he looks up to.

I'm taking personal experience here. I met a teacher and after a few days I really looked up to her and wanted to make her proud. She was like a mother to me and even though I had my actual mom with me, sometimes I felt my mom wasn't helping that much. So my teacher I wanted to make her proud.

That's what was going on with Sokka. He wanted to make Piandao proud, so even if that meant showing he was lying, he didn't want to lie.

This one was all over the fucking place, I might redo this one. I'm tired as hell.

[torveiglyart]

The more I think about my hobbies and achievements (or lack thereof), the weirder I realize my life is. I had never really thought about some of these things until as of recent, specifically when someone introduced to another as "cool". Like what.

First things first that I've talked about on here is I'm an oboe player. Which is already a kind of "different" instrument to play. And, actually, I've been third chair in the All-District wind ensemble for grades 11-12. So there's that.

Another thing I tend to tell people /if prompted/ is I'm a nationally recognized Scottish Highland dancer. I placed third in the southeast regionals and qualified to perform in Las Vegas along with everyone else who qualified across the country. This one is kinda like my "fun fact" during ice breakers 'cause it's something I know won't be repeated.

I'm a digital artist, as you all know, but I also do traditional art often. A few of my paintings in my portfolio helped me score a spot in NCSU's ID program. Maybe one day I'll scan them and post here.

I'm a singer. This one goes multiple ways as in: HS choir, church choir, musical theatre, and bands. I just like singing and got blessed with a nice voice... I think.

I can bake and decorate very well. As in won a cookie decorating contest at the NC State Fair well. That was a good year for me :). But it's also the perfect ganache every time kind of good. I guess the same can be said about cooking given no meal I've made has gone wrong or tasted bad. I seriously hope it stays that way.

This next one only partially counts because while I'm not /fluent/ by any means, I can somewhat comfortably hold a conversation in a few languages. French, Spanish, Japanese, and, strangely enough, Swahili, are languages I've worked on since uhhhh... I don't know at this point. And I've since added Scottish Gaelic to that list to work on. Languages just fascinate me and I plan to travel A LOT when I get the money to do so.

I do archery in my free time. Often enough I have my own bow and arrows. It’s fun. And last time I went to an actual range I never missed a target which I’m totally bragging here but it’s also just a fun activity to get anger out, you know?

Back to the musical theatre thing, I actually was called back for an audition to enroll at UNCSA, but did not make it. And back in freshman year, I did this whole Society Performers multi-class thing, but cut it short to work on my studies. So while I probably could have gone into theatrics, I don't think that would have been the best choice for me.

An going further back to the instruments, I can also play piano, ukulele, and clarinet, but lessons are those were far fewer than oboe.

Time for the weirder stuff.

I definitely have ADHD, and so does my dad, but we're both undiagnosed so let's just not go there.

I can't whistle or roll my tongue. People always seem really surprised by this one but it's not like I'm in a tiny percentage with that one.

I'm nearsighted in one eye and far sighted in the other, and I also only require one contact lense/prescription. Actually let's call this the whacky section.

I'm allergic to celery. Yes, celery. And only that. Not pollen, not pets, not dust, not even ragweed, but celery. And only when it's raw. Cooked in a dish? Fine. Raw in a salad? Cotton-mouthed and itchy. Not terribly sad about it though.

I can't ride a bike. Like, I know how to in theory, but I just never had a bike growing up. My older sister's always had a flat tire, and by the time my younger brother got one, I was too big to ride it. So I scooter instead :).

I have perfect pitch, as in I hear a pitch, and can tell you the note it is, and can tell you what key a song is originally in and sing it. I would get in trouble a lot as a kid for "picking a fight" with my siblings by telling them, "it actually goes like this," and then changing the key they were singing in. While many find this cool or helpful, unless you're a music student or something, it's actually annoying. The car radio is always a few microtones sharp and there's nothing I can do to make it in tune. My choir teacher would also have me sing the starting pitch for songs, no tuner, which was nerve-wracking.

WOW this was just me ranting (bragging) lol, sorry about that, but hey! Now you know more about me!

If you have any questions or comments, don't be afraid to ask! Or, y'know, do the whole asks thing. I think I changed the icon for that but I'm not sure.

[voiceshearingyouloud]

Finally properly sobbing after not being able to cry all day is such a great feeling

[afflicted-by-the-if-only]

a rose by any other name

is just as bitter.

It's my name. Mine. Not handed down by some aunt or godmother or great great great grand-someone twice removed. I like how I say it, how the vowels bounce off my tongue, intonation brightening with introduction, final syllable dragged out a bit, warm and inviting.

It's not the name I left the hospital with, the staccato weighing so heavy on a newborn. Consonants once smoothed by my grandmother have run unruly. Sharpened edges still filled with my parents' warning if I ever misbehaved. Round and full notes calling me to a house that used to be home. I left that name at customs, caught on uniformed tongues. It carried over in some spots, the same name calling out across new playgrounds and leading to new porches.

But it shifted as I grew, not the girl I would've been. Some people insisted upon the "proper" pronunciation. Too focused on their interpretations of a girl that could've been instead of the one who is. Self-righteousness butchering an imitation of my mother, self-satisfaction glowing in the face of my discomfort. The "right" way. Their "right" way.

It's my name.

Give it back.

[comfortableinthesilence]

Today's been a long and draining day! Don't get me wrong, taking family out for a pub lunch was lovely and I do enjoy treating them, just after this last week the topics of discussion were hard! With my step dad currently going though the process of having tests to detect cancer and discussing the 1 hour appointment he had with a Macmillan cancer nurse, well its just heavy topics for a lunch out! So far he's had bloods and a CT scan, the bloods have come back negative, just hoping the same on the CT scans!

With all that my mums health isn't too good with the stress and worry, so her blood pressure is high! I think because my actual dad died of bowel cancer, going through all this again is a mental struggle! Just hoping his scans come back clear and they can discover what is causing his health issues!

I've not spoke to anyone about all this before now because no one wants to hear me babble about my life etc, everyone has things going on and i don't expect someone to take on my shit at the same time. So here I am dropping it on Tumblr because I just need to tonight! Since getting home I've spent the afternoon in a mental slump, at one point having a cry to get emotions out but yeah, mentally draining day!

On the bright side, I did what I could to cheer them up and they both loved a pub lunch out! So sorry to those who have WhatsApp/text/or DM’d me! I might reply later or tomorrow! For now I'm throwing on some Friends, crawling under my duvet and scrolling Tumblr ✨🌙🩵

[some-artist525]

ok maybe this is just me but does anyone else feel guilty for having interests in stuff? Idk how to explain it, it's like...

Okay for example, sometimes I'll want to, y'know, consume media of my favorite franchise/character. Whether its movies, video games, fan art, fanfiction, etc, etc. the usual.

But there's this little voice in the back of my head like "um, no. Don't do that, you'll be weird if you do that. You've consumed enough media. I'm putting you on a limit until you don't show interest in this thing anymore. And then you won't even want to."

Like I've been wanting to watch the (first) Beetlejuice movie for literal weeks and I just havent. Because my brain told me no??? As if Beetlejuice himself is gonna see me watching it and go "oh wow, what a loser, must be a crazy obsessed weirdo fan" and shame me for enjoying content.

this is probably just me and I probably could have explained it better but words are hard and I don't even fully know how my brain works.

[plumefeline]

A Morning Observation

I hate when people try to invalidate my experiences—especially when it comes from conventionally attractive people.

Don’t get me wrong, I know nobody has it easy all the time. But let’s not dance around the issue: I’m certain I’ve lost opportunities simply because someone, consciously or subconsciously, decided they didn’t want to sleep with me. And I have no doubt that fatphobia plays a role in that—the side glances, the snickers as I walk by, the pointed remarks from people who can’t even look at me, or worse, the way they simply erase my presence.

And yet, those same people insist that I shouldn’t change a thing. Why? So I can continue being their punching bag? Or do they really think I’m that naïve? They claim to care, but their words ring hollow when they come from the same mouths that mock, dismiss, or ignore me.

Fatphobia isn’t the only factor, though. I know I’m not conventionally attractive. I do my best to look put together, with varying degrees of success. But here’s the kicker: in the same breath that I’m told I don’t need to change, I’m also told I try too hard. Of course, I try hard! I style my hair, keep my nails clean and polished (not a fan of fake nails myself), and wear makeup. I also change my hair color frequently.

Yes, I’m a try-hard, but I try hard for me. Because clearly, everyone else is too busy making themselves feel better at my expense. Nobody is coming to save me, so I will save myself.

[miraofearth]

Things feel different yet somewhat similar on tumblr now, I haven’t had a blog on here since maybe 2018 (makes me sound very old, I’m still only 21. Is that old in tumblr years?) I feel like a granma honestly. But turns out I need a place to rant. Occasionally, smart things also come out of me (mostly not) I wanna use this blog to brain dump entirely so I can learn how to think again ( didn’t realise I’d have to practice getting a thought like this). But hey, hmu if you resonate with this, or not but still want to send a hi. I’d love some new friends!

[waflof]

Time to yapp about my opinions on hell and religion

My experience with hell and religion, since childhood up until now have led me to believe that religion is meant to control the masses.

It's very values are meant to guide you to do the "right thing" it's values have been taken and bastardized by every generation to suit their needs

Religion is for those who need something supernatural to hold them together and give life meaning.

As it currently it's meant to give people a quick a answer about the moral why's and how's

It gives us easy answers to hard questions

It nurtures ignorance

Hell as it is today wasn't an original part of the old testament. It is once again an example of how we bastardize and mold religion for our needs

Specifically the need for the human karmic need for justice

Hell in of itself is meant to be a human electric fence. It is meant to deter humans from hurting each other and at the same time make the downtrodden feel a false sense of justice, because

"I don't care what they did, it's God's role to judge them"

Turning the other cheek leads only to a harder blow

Religion and it's extension hell. Are simply crutches

And if theoretically religion and God were real. I would still not believe. Not because of a refusal reality but because, if God was real and has the answer to every question of the universe. I would continue searching for answers. because an all knowing God who created a flawed people, yet punishes them for being flawed.is a God I don't want to follow

I don't hate religious people. I hate their religion and by proxy their God

You might say "well every movement and ideology is adapted and changed overtime to suit the needs of the believer*

And to that I will say, that it's current adaptation has unfortunately coincided with the rise of capitalism, and has severely watered down its anarchist view points. Almost entirely erasing them and replacing them with hate.

Don't you think it's odd that most Christians and catholics are conservatives. even though jesus explicitly preached about not judging others, and other anarchist views ?

It's because in its current iteration Christianity and catholicism have become bonded hand in hand with capitalism and hate.

Times are always changing and evolving but we need to analyze and recognize when that change isn't a step forward, but a leap backwards

[exactlydifferentcherryblossom]

Brain Dump

I have a lot on my noggin so I thought I'd word vomit here.

This week I got an eye exam and I am getting new glasses.

I got a dividend payment! Yay!

I went to therapy, my therapist said I have funny analogies and that she admires that I put a positive spin on things sometimes. I mentioned that sometimes job searching can fill like quick sand, but more recently it feels like when you're playing Mario kart and you go through the grass you go slower. I'm rolling through the grass and it's taking me a bit longer to get to the finish line because I'm not where I want to be (on the path). But I will eventually finish the race nonetheless.

I went to work. I want to give my new manager the benefit of the doubt. She is new so she is still learning things and getting into the grove. I am TIRED! There are tasks at the end of the night that need to be done no matter if it is dead or if it's bonkers busy, I get minimal if any help at all. I hope it won't be like this for much longer. She also talks harshly at times like when we went to the back to figure out where to put something, I guess I stood in her way on accident. I pointed at the bin and said "this bin?" she replied with, "yeah, I was going to go there but you got in my way."

I also feel like I can't vent to my friend about this either. I attempted and she immediately says to not stress about it like she told me before she moved away. My dad will say something similar. I really hate it when people say to just not stress things. Do you not want to hear about my day or what's happening in my life? Am I not allowed to vent? I have anxiety to the point that I started having seizures, but yes now that you have told me to not stress anything I am cured! Maybe I'm taking it wrong, I am sure my friend means well, but it makes me feel like just not saying anything about what's happening unless it's something happy or mundane.

Sometimes people just need to vent. I guess I may see things a bit differently than some. My life isn't all sunshine and rainbows, not saying that everything in life is crappy, but when shit hits the fan I'm not gonna clean it up and act like it never happened.

₊˚⊹♡ Anyway, I am doing great ₊˚⊹♡

[prettybbychim]

my dad is saying he’s buying all this stuff to replace some household items (they’re not unusable, they’re passable) and in the same breath says he struggling w rent and worried about taxes

i have $1.30 in my account. everything that goes in comes right back out to groceries, gas, essentials. i have it easy and i know it. my brain does not function right and neither does my body, it’s not an excuse, it’s just fact. i don’t do anything besides see doctors, take meds, and get off meds to try new ones. i take my brother to work, i do my measly little jobs. i crumble in tears for no reason, i curl up in a ball and wait for the pain to pass, i eat little because everything makes me nauseous and causes more god awful pain, i get overwhelmed and irritable, and i spend my days and nights terribly alone because the little people i know work actual jobs and have lives outside of this shitty house.

ive been keeping myself sane by engulfing myself completely in my silly little fictional worlds because if i don’t i just cry and cry all day. i got torn out of it just now so here i am again - stewing in guilt and tears

[bowieandqueen11]

Buggy Falling In Love With You Would Include...

Request: hi there~ would it be possible to get buggy x reader headcanons of their time growing from friends to lovers? buggy is completely thrown for a loop when it comes to reader because they're polar opposites, but he grows to love how genuinely nice she is. she's able to bring out a more softer side of himself, which terrifies and frustrates him, but eventually buggy learns to accept it.

P.S. good luck on your surgery! i'll be wishing you a speedy recovery!

I genuinely love this clown way too much like Jeff Ward had no right to look as good in this role for real - also thank you so much sweetie!! I'm very nervous right now but getting back into writing such sweet requests is helping :3

Warning: slightly NSFW although nothing explicit, mentions of knives and cannons and slightly strong language!

(I do not own One Piece or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @goodsirs.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

Look, I love this man, but he is a full on idiot. He would not deal with these emotions well. Perhaps it was because of the thorn Shanks had left in his side that he refused to allow his heart to entrust itself into someone else's hands again: to be left disappointed once again. Perhaps, it was even the deep rooted, long-suffering repressed fear that he would lose you; the life of a pirate was an ugly one, full of bloodshed and tenuous treaties. Of a life lived from moment to moment, of foiled plans and devastating lows. There was no place for kindness, or selflessness, or care. Tenderness. The last time he had left himself concern for another flood his brain, he had been left bawling in front of Gol D. Roger's execution tower. He vowed then, he vowed that he would never allow himself to feel that weakness for another person again.

Tenderness. Yuck. Even the word still made him shiver in his boots.

And then you had to come along, and ruin every. single. one. of his incredibly well thought out plans. He was going to be King of the Pirates. He was going to kill that little Strawhat brat and take back his map to the Grand Line. And he wasn't, most definitely not, going to fall head over heels in love with you.

Speaking of, your entire relationship didn't exactly get off to a great start; during the practice for the Grand Entry of performers into the ring, Buggy was far too busy glancing his eyes sideways to notice where he was walking. He was far, far too busy trying to swipe the dopey look of his usually stony face, replacing it with a melodramatic frown as he tried to figure out, why oh why, his heart was striking his chest in tune to the marching band every time he dared steal a look in your direction. Far, far too busy growing more and more petrified about how stifling a presence you had on the tent as a whole, that this man dead-ass hit the toe of his boot off the striped edge of the ring and fell arse over teakettle into the sand. It would have maybe... *maybe* been a little less mortifying for Buggy if you hadn't rushed over to help him while he was trying to spit out grains of sand and smudged lipstick from his tongue with a disgusted splutter. The absolute derision in his curled fist as he swung his head away from your offering hand was the final blow to his already delicate pride.

You were getting in the way, and it was starting to infuriate the clamorous clown.

As soon as you would enter the tent, every crew member's head would swivel round towards you like five seesawing spotlights. Being so kind and attentive to the different members of the crew and their varying personalities: dreams, fears and wants, it seemed only natural that each member would gravitate towards you. Plus, it was an added bonus dumping their ropes and wonkily written cue cards to instead lumber over to your corner and escape Buggy's rant about the 'brightness of the spotlight being so dark it would make the sun look black!'

Since this man is genuinely such an attention hoe (mood), seeing everyone completely turn their asses to him and ignore every stamp of his foot and seething word from his curled lips would immediately set him firmly on edge. Queue the theatrical man folding his arms and huffing like a steam boat when he watches Cabaji offer you his hand to stop you from falling over some scattered wrist chains still left on the floor after the Buggy Pirates' last village destruction.

Buggy snaps everyone back to work with a brusk yell, the sound of your giggle as another member of the crew shows you how to use the red flares tipping his anger straight over into the abyss. His teeth grind harshly enough to leave a trail of dust behind his feet as he slaps the tent flaps open; he immediately flops down on one of the stacked crates by the entrance, thumping his head onto his folded arms as he tries to calm himself down. He swats everyone that comes his way away, pretending he's busy counting how many knives he has left stored away so he could bury his head into the wood and hope that no one would notice how devastated he looked.

The worst part of it all? Buggy, if he was being truly honest with himself, was unsure if he was so jealous over you stealing the spotlight, or by the way his whole body had bristled seeing you place your fingers so delicately against a palm that wasn't his.

Bless your heart, you make it a point to try and cheer him up the next chance you get, feeling so guilty about the fact that his whole face was nearly as red as his nose for the entire day, and he refused to enter the tent again. Once you're all safely back on the Big Top, you try your damn hardest to try and soften the captain to you a bit: or even better, to try and figure out why he seemed so antagonised by you. It was exceptionally hard: when you waved to him on the deck, Buggy's eyes fell as wide as saucers as he nearly fell to the ground trying to duck down behind Mohji, waddling away behind him like a duck. Or you would try and knock on his quarters' door, only to see an arm... and then a leg... and then the stupid man's grimacing head fly past the port windows and out of his room. One time, as you were heading down to the galley, you swore you heard a gaudy exhale and a sigh of relief come from one of the shaking barrels up by the railings.

This man was a tough shell to crack, but you were determined to finally win the great Pirate Buggy over.

After about three days of constantly trying, you managed to make him yell and nearly jump out of his coat up on the deck; he swivelled round when he felt a soft triple tap on his shoulder, and there you stood: hands tucked nervously behind your back, a kind smile brightening your face as you noticed him gaping at you.

'Good morning, Captain Buggy!', you swing a little from side to side, noticing the thick swallow he gave at the sound of your voice. Did he really despise you so much, that just four simple words could make the bile rise in his throat?

Inside, Buggy was burning. By all the seas, did the sound of your wind-rushing voice make him want to do nothing more than grab onto your face with an clad-iron grip and do nothing but kiss you silly until the saccharine saffron sun dawned. His gloves clenched at his sides, will-power winning out as he threw you a shit-eating grin and raised one leg comically, as if he were about to run over the edge of the ship.

'I'm a little busy right now Y/n. See?' He pointed a finger towards the ocean, and then held them up by his shoulders and shrugged.

'But-', you started, grabbing onto his collar and nearly toppling the man over with how shocked he was. 'I just wanted to ask you about your battle with the Golden Lion Pirates!'

His eyebrows raised, and his head tilted slowly to the side. 'You... you know about that?'

'Of course! That's why I joined your crew! Only a talented and clever pirate could have sailed with Gol D. Roger - that's why I respected you and your crew so much! And don't forget devilishly handsome!'

You... you respected him? Oh no. Oh no no no. This was worse than kindness. Far worse than tenderness. The words fall on short-circuiting ears: the branding pain of your fingers brushing over the bare skin on his wrist as you held tightly onto his sleeve forgotten as his brain worked overtime trying to figure out what you had just said. ...Handsome?

He cocks his head back to you, blinking rhythmically, as if he were a wound up spring toy rather than a man. But he looking at you: really looking at you for the first time. His face softened a little - the cracks finally beginning to show through his gaudy façade. As you reached up on your tippy toes to press a chaste kiss against the skull-and-crossbones lying over his left eyebrow, little could you know that no one had shown Buggy that much care since he was thirteen years old.

Oh noooo. He was falling in love with you, and it terrified him. But damn it all if he doesn't want to feel this flash of lightening strike through every nerve ending in his body every chance he got: if he didn't want to feel his breath stick in the back of his throat at the slightly sticky feel of your lips pulling away from his forehead. If he didn't want to be greedy, and steal away the flushed smile you gave him before scurrying off, hoarding it all for himself.

Buggy comes to practice his new jokes on you every chance he gets after that encounter, the feeling of being near you so addictive it almost swings round from love and back to annoyance again. He stands awkwardly at the swing door of the galley: a nervous shadow creeping around the fringes of your scintillating smile. Everyone on the crew just pretends they can't see him lmao, even when they can hear his impatient 'oh, come onnn' and 'how long does it take to eat a bologna sandwich?', moaning and muttering and spluttering from the corridor. Was it so hard for the poor man to get a minute *coincidentally* alone with you? Considering he had done nothing the last week but try and do the exact opposite oops Buggy I love you but you're a straight up histrionic dumbass-

He literally grabs people by the collar and hurls them out the door like a cannonball if they walk past him too slowly.

When he comes sliding up on the bench beside you, elbow on the table and head resting nonchalantly on his fist like a slipping squid nearly knocking itself into your torso head-first, you can't say you're too surprised by his antics. Bless, he looks so proud of himself for fooling you into thinking he was here so candidly that you can't help but giggle, which turns into rip-roaring laughs once he starts up his routine. Truth is, as he spends hours and hours telling you terrible, cheesy ass jokes, he just wants to hear your laughter. Wants to feel your knee knock against with each shake of your belly his until his whole body jolts. Wants to admire you up close, to mark down in the depths of his mind the way the corners of your eyes crinkle when you're especially happy.

He wants to outline it all in his head: memorise it, lay it out so it covered every inch and crevice and recesses of his vindictive brain. All he wanted in that moment, as you tried to choke back your laughter with a spluttering cough, was to frame the most important map he would ever find: the intricacies of you.

When he slaps his hand down on the table at a particularly rib-tickling crack, and you accidentally bring yours down to settle on top of his glove, he starts so suddenly you're worried he's going to start avoiding you again. And although he stops giggling, and although his face falls to gravely stare at your skin resting on top of the white leather, he surprises you both by twisting his hand so he could grip loosely onto the tips of your fingers. He's so embarrassed when you start knitting your pinky finger between his larger, slender one that he tucks his left hand between his knee and has to turn his head to face the wall, still trying to swallow down his pride and allow himself to indulge in that disgusting word... tenderness again.

One time, while you were pouring over some old maps the crew had stolen from a Marine base a couple of weeks ago, you absentmindedly reached over to where Buggy was sewing up his coat on the sand and began twirling the surprisingly soft strands of his hair between your fingers. Thank goodness the two of you were alone, because the uncomfortable tent that grew between his shuffling thighs, and the gasping splutters that blew out of his mouth mortified the clown to his core.

He was still getting used to all this. Just give him some time. And a whole lot of reassurance.

You're the only other person that Buggy will allow to sit on his make-shift throne. When your Captain had asked you to come help chart out a path to whichever small village you thought was best to steal restock supplies from, you imagined you'd be standing by his armrest like his right hand man does. Surprise surprise to the both of you when you end up nearly glowing, puffs of steam escaping both your ears by how maroon you both turned.

When he had faux-confidently clapped his knees and beckoned you over to him with a wave of his hand, he was only, like, 30% certain you would take him up on his offer. When you slid onto his lap, he was nearly as gobsmacked as you were. He tried, he really did - he tried to hide his curling smile and wonderstruck widening eyes behind your neck, but his warm breath grazing over your collar bone kept making you squirm. Which, of course, with each shove backwards of your hips, and well... your buttocks against his pelvis, he kept having to moan internally and grit his teeth to stop himself ripping off your clothes right there and then.

It really doesn't help that he starts tapping the heel of his boot against the floor as if to expel all of his nervous energy, making his knee bop up constantly against your inseam, making it hard for you to concentrate on anything but holding onto his forearm for dear life to try and settle yourself.

Buggy's own grip on the chair was tight enough to chip off wood when you shakily pulled the crumpled map out of your back pocket, the feeling of the back of your hand brushing innocently against his inner thigh making Buggy throw his head back and close his eye in intense concentration.

Oops, too bad you had to go back since you'd forgotten your compass; wrestling deeper into the pocket, your hand accidentally brushed over the most sensitive Buggy's crotch, making him buck his hips up and nearly sending you flying across the room.

It's when he gently places the side of his head against your cheek and reads almost absentmindedly over your shoulder, despite how hard he was pretending not to be breathlessly glancing at you through his thick lashes intently enough to burn a hole through the hull of the ship that you finally realise.

Oh. He doesn't hate me. He likes me.

His nose bumps against the edge of your Cupid's Bow, and you take a chance. You lean forward, both your breaths frozen as Buggy follows the trail of your lips until he goes almost cross-eyed, finally computing that you had just pressed a sweet kiss on his nose.

For a moment, he's stock still. He just gawks harshly at the inner seam of your bottom lip, as if lost adrift a tumultuous sea of thought. And then when I say this man pounces, I mean he pounces.

All the rest of the crew are too afraid to come in and disturb Buggy about the small three-manned boat encroaching on the horizon, though, because of the absolutely ringing, frantic noises coming out of Buggy's throne room.

Let's just say, although they were incredibly glad you brought out a softer, mushier side of their Captain, they all now had another problem on their hands: his raging protectiveness. Now, not only were they getting yelled at for messing up his entrances, they were getting honked at and prodded with his dismembered hand anytime someone dared to even look at you for a second too long.

[a-substantial-trash-pile]

welcome to the Garbage Dump™

here to provide you with all your trash-producing needs.

🐠 Links (aka where you can find my trash):

~ if you just want to see my art shenanigans, i’ve shoved most of it into my secondary blog here: pile-of-trashley

~ Ko-Fi                  ~ Bluesky ~ Twitter

~ Instagram           ~ YouTube

🐋 other Things to know:

~ i mainly queue reblogs to my blog cuz i like having it on a schedule, so if you see just a like from me on something of yours, there's a 99.9% chance i’ve reblogged it too! it’s just waiting for it’s turn to post in my queue.

~ ID text for my art posts can be found under the ALT button 👍 (sorry in advance if i forget to do it on any my brain is broken)

~ MY TAGS: my personal ramble posts are tagged as "trash rambles" and my more negative ramble posts as "trash rants" or "trash sads." queued posts are tagged as "q." feel free to blacklist these as needed!

🍉 Links to resources to help Palestine:

Operation Olive Branch: google spreadsheet that provides resources & places/families to donate to.

Help Gaza: another spreadsheet that provides a list of places/families to donate to.

ceasefiretoday: site to help you find your representatives (US/UK/Canada).

article listing Palestinian artists/designers to support

article explaining what companies to boycott

tumblr post by user sulfurcosmos that compiles A TON of resources into a list that’s being actively updated as of now so please check it out!!!