#yes I’m gonna write it

[fariesoiree]

MORE WEB RESTRAINTS 🗣️🔊

[flowercrowngods]

based on this concept of steve and mike coming out to each other

🤍 also on ao3

The sun is setting in beautiful hues of pink and purple, tinging the town of Hawkins, Indiana, in a light of serenity and beauty it doesn’t really deserve. Steve’s hands are gripped tight around the steering wheel as he carefully scans the road and the houses he passes.

He almost misses the bike where it’s lying on the curb, carelessly discarded by the looks of it, and a tinge of worry shadows his frown. Worry that doesn’t quite dissipate when he spots the figure sitting on the roof, almost black against the lilac colour of the sky, but he breathes a sigh of relief. He considers grabbing the radio to let the others know he found Mike, but decides against it. Something tells him that maybe they’ll take a while. Something tells him there’s more to Will’s stunned silence and Mike’s sudden departure from where they were all hanging out at Steve’s after another successful Hellfire session. 

With a sigh, Steve cuts the engine and gets out of the car, keeping his eyes on Mike the whole time — ready for him to take off again, ready to go sit a while and wait for him to come back. But Mike doesn’t move, even after he shuts the door and approaches the Wheelers’ house. He doesn’t acknowledge Steve when he pulls himself up to the roof, easier this time than the first time he did this. 

There’s a snide comment in the air between them, a version of Mike that would have lashed out at him, made fun of and insulted him. But this one just sits there, hands in his lap, frown on his face, and stares ahead. 

“What do you want,” he asks eventually, though it doesn’t have the kind of heat that Steve expects. He barely even sounds like a teenager. Just sort of… dejected. Steve aches for him; just a little bit. 

“Just making sure you’re alright,” Steve says, shrugging, looking ahead as well so Mike doesn’t feel watched. Or seen, maybe. 

Because the thing is, Steve does see him. He sees the way he looks at Will sometimes, and the way his eyes fill with something that can only be described as yearning, or aching, followed by regret and fear. Which always, always turn into anger. Into frustration. Into snide comments and rolled eyes and walls that keep getting an inch added to them each day. It’s never directed at Will, that anger, and rarely at the rest of the Party, but Steve still sees it. Gets the worst of it and takes it, because he knows something about how that feels. 

He knows something about looking at someone like that, about feeling that fear, that regret, that worry that come with it. He knows something about never really daring to meet someone’s eyes for fear of what they would see. 

“I’m alright,” Mike says, sounding anything but. There’s a bitterness in his voice. Frustration in the way his thumb is picking at the skin of his fingers. Confusion in the tension of his shoulders, and Steve feels like he only needs to make one wrong move, say one wrong word, make a single sound that’s off key to the melody of this moment, and Mike will jump off the roof and take off again with his bike. 

So all he says, after a moment’s consideration, is, “Cool.” Like he believes him. Giving Mike room to breathe, room to pretend. He knows something about that, too. 

He knows and he sees and he feels. 

And suddenly he wants to say something he’s never said before, something he didn’t even get to tell Robin because she knew and saw and felt, too, taking something from him that he hasn’t yet been ready to reclaim for himself. 

And maybe it’s because he sees something of himself in the way Mike holds himself, in the way he snaps at anyone willing to listen, in the way he frowns in regret and barely meets anyone’s eyes except when it’s in challenge — and, most of all, in the way he never, never meets Will’s eyes. In the way he looks away when the other boy turns to him, and in the way his eyes will snap back and take in everything about his best friend when he’s not aware of it. 

Maybe it’s because the sky is pink and lilac and purple above them, allowing for a certain magic to happen, allowing for a bravery that doesn’t come easy to him; but as he sits on the roof next to Mike Wheeler, the only one of the Party he never really connected with, he closes his eyes against the breeze that catches in his hair and opens his jacket a little further, slithering beneath the fabric as if in a brief embrace, a nudge, a sign to take this leap, and takes a deep breath. 

His heart is picking up its pace inside his chest, taking this leap along wit him, and pulls up one of his legs to wrap his hands around it — just to have something to hold onto. 

He opens his mouth once, twice, three times, but the words never really come out. They don’t know how, and he’s beginning to tremble a little with it, tension building in his chest where the words are still locked away, hidden among layers of truth. 

Mike looks over with a frown and eyes him warily. It makes Steve want to laugh, this sudden change of pace, but he just keeps staring ahead; even when Mike asks, “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah,” Steve says. And then then dam is broken and breaking further, and with another deep breath, still not meeting Mike’s eyes, instead focusing on the tree tops in the distance that shine in hues of purple, he finally says, “I’m kind of dating Eddie Munson.” 

And just like that, it’s out. He’s out. 

He doesn’t know if the world still spins, if time still passes, if he still breathes, because for a moment there is only silence. Mike stops picking at the skin of his fingers, Steve stops trembling, and neither of them moves. 

It’s both anticlimactic and momentous, this silence between them when their eyes meet. When the words unfold and grow wings, when Mike understands, his eyes growing big with something that Steve can’t quite read with how tense he is despite his best efforts. 

The silence stretches between them, surpassing comfort and overstaying its welcome, and suddenly it’s Steve who feels like he’s about to take off if Mike so much as twitches his brows. 

“You… What?” 

Forget it, Steve wants to say. Nothing. 

But also, I’m in love with Eddie Munson. And I used to be in love with Nancy. And that’s okay. Both of that, it’s okay. 

He ends up repeating his words, though, because they know what it’s like to be spoken now. “Eddie. I’m kind of dating Eddie.” 

“But…” It’s Mike now whose mouth is opening and closing without saying anything. Mike who’s blinking, trembling a little, twitching, picking at his skin again, moving further along his hand this time to pinch the skin between his thumb and pointer finger. Steve almost reaches out to stop him, but he doesn’t really dare to. 

“But?” he prompts after a while, not quite comfortable with this loaded kind of silence. 

“Eddie’s a boy.” 

But Tammy Thompson is a girl. 

“I know,” Steve says, his tone carefully neutral, wanting to see, to wait where Mike takes this, to hear what’s on his mind, to watch the wheels turn and the gears shift. He feels awfully raw and open, vulnerable with someone who hasn’t been treating that with care yet. But there’s something about this moment that feels bigger than his own fears, bigger than the light nausea settling in his gut; far more important than the way he wants to run and hide, away from the scrutiny. 

“And…” Mike continues, still battling the words inside his head. Steve wonders if there are too many or none at all. “But you… You loved Nancy.” 

Ah. Smart boy. “I did,” Steve says with a small smile. “And it was never a lie. But I found that… Yeah, I can kinda like boys, too, y’know? And that’s, like, okay.”

A beat. A frown. A confused, hopeful, small, “It is?” 

Steve just nods, smiling in reassurance and relief at equal measures. Silence settles once more, now that the sky has darkened into a deeper, darker blue; but it’s not as loaded this time, not as tense. It’s an invitation. An offering. A promise of I’m here, I’m with you, you can take as long as you need. To get down from the roof, to come back, to come out of wherever you think you need to hide from the world. 

Mike takes it. He stays, pulling up his leg, too, mirroring Steve’s pose and staring ahead, but not as far away. He seems alert, seems to be thinking rather than dwelling, seems to be gearing up for something. Steve watches and sees and knows, remaining patient beside him, his chin resting on his knee as Mike learns to deal with this new world that has been presented to him. This new world that comes with opportunities and chances and possibilities that are scary and big and difficult to make. 

“Y’know,” Mike starts at last, interrupting the silence, playing with it, his voice hushed and quiet to keep it from disappearing completely. “Lucas, when he had that championship game? He told us, Dustin and me, that we didn’t have to be the losers this time. The nerds. The outcasts. Different. And all I wanted was to scream at him, because…” 

Mike swallows his words, keeping them from tumbling out of his mouth, and Steve aches for him again. He wants to reach out, wants to say it’s okay, tell him it’s alright, to take his time. But he waits in silence, lets Mike find the bravery he needs on his own, and waits. 

“Because how could he say that, you know? How could he, when… Will wasn’t there. And all I did, all I ever did anymore, was miss him. And I loved El, I knew I did. And she was gone, too, but…” 

He trails off again, and this time Steve picks it up. To let him know he’s not alone. To let Mike know he understands what he’s saying. He understands. “But she’s not Will. You needed Will.” 

“But I shouldn’t!” Mike explodes suddenly, riled up because Steve adds fuel to the fire, because Steve has that same fire, too; and because they are so, so similar when they want to be. “And now he’s back and it should be fine, I shouldn’t be feeling like this, it doesn’t even make sense! How can I…” 

Steve looks at him, at his expression that is nothing but lost — completely and utterly. He’s seen it on the bathroom floor at the mall; high out of his mind as he was, he’ll never forget the way Robin looked at him, the sheer crestfallen expression. All that confusion, all that fear and frustration and, in the end, resignation. He’s seen it in the mirror, and he’s seen it in those pretty brown eyes that he just can’t get out of his head anymore. 

He offers, gently, “How can you need him when he’s right there? How can you love him when a year ago you loved El?”

And Mike just looks at him before he deflates completely, his shoulders falling along with his face. He nods. Shrugs. Looks away and hides his face behind his leg. 

Steve sighs softly, watching the boy and speaking the words he wants to say the sixteen year-old version of himself. “I don’t know,” he says truthfully. “I really don’t, and it sucks sometimes, having this need to, like, decide. Or understand. Or stop and be like the rest of them.” Like Robin and Eddie, or like the rest of the world. “But I like to think, sometimes, that maybe it’s a good thing. That there’s just… I don’t know, it sounds corny as hell, but like, there’s just so much love to give, we can’t even stick to only boys or girls, y’know.” 

“That does sound real corny as fuck, man,” Mike says, and back is that long suffering tone of his, back is that eye roll and the twitching elbow, ready to nudge Steve in the side. It’s still tinged with that vulnerability, not quite Mike yet, but it’s an offering.

One of many tonight, it seems.

Steve grins, a bit lopsided and raw, shoving Mike gently as he remembers something he overheard once. “Sorry, mister Heart of our group, but I don’t think you have any leg to stand on here.”

That makes Mike freeze, though, and he stares at Steve wide-eyed; caught. Exposed. Reminded.

“What did you say?”

“Uh,” Steve falters, not sure where he went wrong — or if he went wrong at all. “I overheard Will calling you that, talking about you to, uhm. Someone. I don’t know. Why, what’s— What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Mike says, way too quickly, pulling away again with everything he has, hiding behind those walls once more, and Steve feels whiplash from it.

“Mike,” he says, his voice quiet and gentle as he turns to face him completely.

“No.”

“It’s okay,” Steve says. Promises, as much as he can.

“Shut up!”

“You’re not wrong or bad or broken. It’s okay, you’re okay.”

“I said, shut up, Steve.”

“You should see the way he looks at you, too. You should go talk to him. You—“

Mike lashes out, finally coming out from behind those walls again, only to shove at Steve, to push him away — hard enough for him to lose his balance and almost fall off the roof, clenching one hand on the edge, the other in the rainwater gutter with a bitten-off curse.

“Shit, I’m sorry!” Mike reaches for him immediately, snapping out of whatever anger Steve caused, and pulling him back until he’s safe again, apologising over and over, dead to Steve’s promises that it’s alright. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, Steve, I’m so—“

He pulls Mike against his chest, finally reaching out to hold the boy who always pushes people away when they get too close — quite literally, too.

But he doesn’t shove this time, doesn’t move out of Steve’s grasp as the mumbled apologies become heaving sobs.

“It’s okay, you’re okay, you’re so okay, Mike,” Steve tells him over and over as he holds him. The sky above is almost black now and Steve lets Mike cry into his chest.

It takes a while for Mike to calm down, but Steve just holds him through it, ready to let go whenever Mike wants to pull back and snap out of it again — but he never does, and Steve feels a certain kind of affection for the boy that is usually reserved for Lucas or Dustin.

At last, when he’s calmed down, Mike pulls back a little. “Do you really… Does it… Is it really okay?”

Can it be okay? Can I really like both? Is that not just me, being broken and wrong and bad? Will I get the chance to not be alone?

Steve swallows hard, and his voice is hoarse when he says, “Yeah. It’s really okay. ‘N’ I’m with you, yeah? If someone gives you shit for it. Or if you need a reminder.”

And Mike — puffy eyed, snotty nosed, so, so young — looks at him with those trusting eyes and nods, like he believes Steve. Like he trusts him. Like he hopes.

“Just don’t fucking shove me off your roof again.”

Ans just like that, the spell is broken, the tension is lifted, and silence has left them, as Mike almost chokes on a laugh and shoves at him again, lightly this time, before jumping off the roof so Steve can’t retaliate.

“Asshole,” he mutters, shaking his head as he, too, jumps off the roof, dusting off his pants as he watches Mike grabbing his bike. “Hey, Micycle,” he calls, cackling when Mike flips him the bird. “You want a ride back?”

Mike stops, considering as Steve casually flicks his keys into the air and catches them expertly. “What kinda music do you got?”

“The Clash, ‘cause Eddie hates them.”

“Yeah, that’s because they suck!”

Steve snorts, opening the driver’s side door. “Y’know, they’re one of Will’s favourites, actually.”

He watches Mike freeze with a grin on his face, knowing there’s no way the boy would take the bike.

“You’re so annoying,” Mike sighs as he brings his bike close to the garage and carefully lays it on the grass this time before hurrying over to Steve, getting in on the front, rolling his eyes when Steve cackles. “I don’t know why Eddie would date you—“

His words are drowned out when Steve turns up Train in Vain, drumming along on the steering wheel with a shit eating grin. Though the atmosphere is wildly different now, the spell broken and the bubble burst, it’s undeniable that something happened between them. Something big, something important.

Something that makes Mike’s annoyed, long-suffering expression be broken by the smile he’s trying to hide. It makes Steve laugh, elated and feeling something that’s much, much bigger than he himself ever could be.

It’s going to be okay. So, so okay.

Before they know it, they’re pulling up to Steve’s and he turns off the car, is about to get out when Mike makes him still again.

“Hey, Steve?”

“Hm?”

“I think it’s cool. You and Eddie.”

He smiles, relief and fondness washing over him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks.” He reaches over and ruffles Mike’s hair — a wild mane these days, but they could make it work with some care and some products. “Now go get your man, lover boy.”

“God, you suck so much, you’re so annoying!”

Steve’s cackling again when the passenger door slams shut and Mike lets himself into his house.

He spots a figure in the dark, their face lighting up when they take a drag of a cigarette — and Steve’s heart stumbles in his chest. He scrambles to get out, attempting to look calm and collected, even though Eddie always manages to see right through him.

“Hello, stranger,” he says, leaning against the wall beside Eddie, hiding away in the dark, where the world won’t see their shoulders touch, or their fingers tentatively playing with each other before they can’t take it no longer and lace their hands, holding on tight.

“Hi,” Eddie breathes. “How’d it go?”

“Fine, I think. But, uhm… I told him. About me. About us. That, uh. That okay?”

Even in the dark, Steve can feel eyes on him, but he just stares ahead, opting instead to give his warm hand a squeeze. He smiles when Eddie’s thumb begins to draw patterns on his palm.

“Hmm. Very. You think they’ll be okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, stealing Eddie’s cigarette from his mouth and pulling it between his own lips. “Yeah, I think they will be.”

[caelanglang]

Living Longer

a message for someone on the edge…

from the waters of the sea, to the sands of the beach, to the concrete of the city, to the floorboards of your home — i hope you’ll be proud of yourself for living longer.

[emry-stars-art]

You may ask “Emry how do you imagine it goes down if Neil and Andrew are comfy enough to use the pool they miraculously have to themselves”

Shameless flirting and simply enjoying each others company ✨

[mtndw-whteout]

Some doodles based of my previous post -> link

Oohhh man

[hoperenae]

Playing FMK w/Kenma and Kuroo (f!reader)

BACKGROUND — You've been best friends with Kenma and Kuroo since elementary school. You go to all their volleyball games, therefore you’re friends with all the other volleyball boys by default. You’re like everyone’s favorite sister. But one friendly game of ‘fuck, marry, kill’ could change all that.

A/N — Wrote this on the clock at work, so does that mean I’m a paid author now? 🥴

WORD COUNT — 885

“I’m not playing that.” Kenma glanced up from his game long enough to roll his eyes at you. You were all sitting on the floor in his bedroom.

“Oh come ooooon,” you pleaded. “It’ll be fun. What about you, Kuroo-kun?”

“You know I’m always down for a little drama,” Kuroo grinned slyly. You clapped your hands gleefully.

“Ok, we’ll start with you, then!” You turned to face Kuroo. “Hmm…Bokuto, Yaku, and Lev.”

“Oh please, that’s too easy,” Kuroo said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Fuck Bokuto, marry Yaku, kill Lev.”

“Fair enough,” you laughed. “Ok do me.”

Kuroo rubbed his chin in contemplation. “Kageyama, Shrimpy, Akaashi.”

“Oh man.” You paused. “I guess it’s gotta be fuck Kageyama, marry Akaashi, kill Hinata. Sorry Hinata.” You and Kuroo both laughed, and you swore you saw Kenma snicker out of the corner of your eye.

“Your turn, Kenma,” Kuroo said. “Give one of us 3 names.”

“No,” Kenma retorted plainly.

“Kenmaaaaaaa,” you groaned. “Please please pleeeeease.”

Kenma, finally done with your shit, took a deep breath, set his phone down, and said, “Fine. This one is for you, Kuroo. There’s only two people, and you can choose between fuck and marry.”

“That’s not really how it works,” you interjected. Kenma shot you a death glare that instantly shut you up.

“Me and y/n. What’ll it be?”

Kuroo’s face went ghostly white at the same time yours turned beet-red.

“Th-that’s not fair,” Kuroo stammered. “You can’t use people in this room.”

“Why not? Are you scared?” Kenma’s lips curled up in a cruel smile.

“Of course not!” Kuroo declared.

“Alright, then choose.” Kenma crossed his arms across his chest with the same sly look painted on his face.

“I-I don’t think you should be allowed to just change the rules like that,” Kuroo said, his voice cracking.

“Quit stalling, Kuroo,” Kenma said with raised eyebrows. You were still as stone, not daring to show any emotion one way or the other. But you had to admit, you were very curious to hear Kuroo’s answer.

“Okay fine!” Kuroo shouted. “I’d fuck and marry y/n because, frankly, I don’t want anything to do with Kenma right now if he’s gonna be a little brat.”

“So I’m your last resort? I only win by process of elimination?” You tried to suppress the grin forming on your face.

“What? No, that’s not what I meant!” Then, seeing the coy look on your face, Kuroo said, “I hate you both.”

“You love us.” You playfully punched his arm, very much aware of the blush that had crept onto his face.

LATER THAT NIGHT

It was late. You were in Kenma’s living room, and the host of the evening was fast asleep on the couch, leaving just you and Kuroo sitting on the floor in front of the couch watching a movie.

Of course, you were only half paying attention to the movie. The other half of your brain was preoccupied with how close Kuroo was to you, something that never seemed to matter until now. Your arms were nearly touching, to the point where every once in a while his arm hair tickled you. He was giving off heat like a radiator, so much so that you discarded your blanket long ago. Was he this close when the movie started, or did you gradually gravitate toward each other like magnets?

You moved ever so slightly to relieve your aching tailbone, and your arm bumped against his.

“Sorry,” you mumbled. He waved it off.

Despite the movie, the silence between the two of you felt deafening. You had never felt awkward around Kuroo before, so why now? Was it because he was so nervous to answer Kenma’s question earlier? Was it because he insinuated that he had feelings for you? Or was it all just part of the game?

You felt his gaze on you, so you turned to look at him. Your faces were mere inches away, close enough to feel his breath wisp across your face. It smelled like the pink Starbursts he had munched on earlier, refusing to eat any other flavor.

“What?” you whispered.

His eyes briefly flickered down to your lips and back. “Nothing.”

“It’s clearly not ‘nothing,’” you said, your stomach turning over and over and over. He said nothing for almost a full minute.

“I just…I hadn’t thought about it like that. About you like that.”

“Oh,” you breathed. “And now?”

“Now, I can’t stop.”

You stared into those familiar hazel eyes, and time seemed to slow down. Neither of you moved even an inch for fear of losing the moment. You felt suspended in midair, as if you were floating and falling at the same time. Everything you thought you knew was collapsing in on itself, but something new was being rebuilt from the rubble. Something beautiful and familiar and utterly terrifying.

“Would you guys just kiss already?” Kenma mumbled from behind you.

You both jolted and, realizing how close you were, quickly scooted apart. The spell was broken, and now you just felt flustered and embarrassed.

“Oh hell no, I’m not letting him ruin this.” Kuroo leaned back toward you and, in one swift motion, cupped your face in his hands and pressed his lips to yours. And it was perfect.

Check out my masterlist here!

[retroautomaton]

🍯🍨📘

[zsbrainrot]

Does anyone else think about how Rei can only sleep on the couch when he’s completely wrapped up in a blanket burrito? Because I think about it often.

Happy Buddy Daddies Friday!

[clock-06]

Confession:

I desperately want to be part of that online friendgroup of miraculous artists

What’s stopping me:

I don’t actually draw or post about my miraculous obsession all that much

Leaving that goal for my dreams and possibly the future

In the meantime,

Here’s my MLB AU fic

[bicheetopuff]

Happy birthday to this nerd i guess

[himbo-in-limbo]

“Little Things”(tw alien blood)

Yautja!Raian often comes back to you in a bloody mess (usually not of his own but this was a special case)

Your already waiting for him aside his bed with a wash cloth and a medical kit to patch up minor scratches. To which he’s grown accustomed too (he denies any medical care from his own, he wants YOU to heal him. No one else.)

He boasts with a puffed up chest on how he bested that “normie jungle-head” yautja!Ohma today which marks his 3rd win this week (he would not stop geeking about it for a couple of hours…)

But as he kept on rambling about his victory (and bashing Yautja!Ohma 🙄) you couldn’t help but stare at his face…

The way his moon colored eyes lit up, his mandibles flared up into his iconic grin…he looked so happy.

And not in his usual bloodlust way…(maybe a little) but the way he kept looking back at you, to gauge your reaction at his stories and quips…he looooved it when you slightly giggled at an insult or marveled at his move re-enactments.

He loves how attentive you are at him and only him.

He doesn’t know how fast he actually walks to his room now when he’s eager to tell you something 🤭

You’ve become his confidant without him realizing that.

[cushfuddled]

Y’all I’m lmaooooo I got Tumblr-ed so baaaad. I got the impression from a post that John and Sherlock in Sherlock & Co were canonically in a relationship and started listening with that as my hook…only to find out after like ten hours that wasn’t the case

Tumblr if you got me into this show only for John to fall in love with Mariana I swear to god I will trebuchet this entire planet into the sun

[spineless-lobster]

No thoughts only thanatos being gentle with souls and giving mort to the children taken too early and letting shades say goodbye to their families and reuniting friends in the afterlife and looking fondly upon mortals as a shepherd would his flock of sheep

[bull3t-f0r-my-v4lentine]

always see myself profoundly curious at waluigis backstory since there isn’t many hints out there as to who or why he is.

i always thought, what if he was once just like luigi? shy, cowardly, a messy amount of disoriented and always found himself an outcast. while luigi is currently praised for being himself and called a hero despite his flaws, waluigi just wasn’t ever able to obtain that level of appreciation and respect. no matter what he tried, he found himself circling between different personalities, until he found his current one. nasty, unfiltered, crude and at the same time, lost. in what he thought would make him stronger and more well liked, he actually lost his way in finding out who he wants to be.

it’s why i feel he isn’t nasty to daisy or even remotely forceful in his advances. he doesn’t envy daisy, but he envies luigi. so reasonably he’s more hard on him and has no intention on having any form of relationship with him. with daisy however, he respects her to the best of his abilities. he has no reason to be hasty to a woman he fancies.

luigi in a big way can understand his anger at the world. he can’t deny to anyone or himself he too has experience with anger and sadness within himself. insecurity is no stranger to him, and he’s no stranger to shame. he wishes sometimes he could have a chat with waluigi 1 on 1, specifically about what he’s ever done to him to make him angry at him. he knows he’s the main target for WL’s antics, though this specific time, he can’t find a reason to be angry back, just ever more confused and curious.

waluigi does wish he could just ask him “how do you do it?” — as in, how does he gain the respect and praise from people for being himself? he is far from being able to find his own personality again, but he at least wants to know how he can stop hiding. what opportunities and things he’s missed can he still experience? what’s waiting for him beyond the veil of honesty? though he could, he couldn’t possibly work up the courage, nor live with the potential shame afterwards of being a sucker. with that, he’s also reminded this is exactly why he’s just like luigi. which pushes him more, for a longing of relatability and true love.

his relationship with wario is just complicated. he treats him like he’s a nuisance some days, and like an acquaintance other days. can he say he doesn’t feel loved by wario? in all honesty— no. it’s been the only friendship he’s had in his life where he had a purpose and a role in life. he’s at the point where he takes any positive attention— maybe not even positive most of the time, but just attention. in a way he feels he’d be nothing without wario. though, thing is, wario is not cruel enough to say something like that. he can’t articulate or pinpoint his own feelings himself, but waluigi is his friend. he’ll say “you’re a big dumb idiot” but he’ll never say “i hate you” or anything. he’ll knock him on the head a few times a day, but he’ll never twist his arm and break it or something. (well, i actually have no idea what they’re capable of. lmao)

all around waluigi is confused, and confusing. while i like the mystery around him, why not make the mystery a part of him?

[cubikzoa]

fantasy nerds are always like “waaah waaah being immortal would SUCK bc you’re alone forever and your significant other always dies and humanity moves on without you 😢”

meanwhile I’m over here rolling my eyes heartily bc I’m an ADHD aroace introvert with an extreme passion for knowledge and cool shit, if I was gifted immortality I’d promptly fuck off to go hyperfocus for a couple centuries or just travel the globe until my feet fell off, I could procrastinate for 57 years and it wouldn’t matter, if we discover aliens 300 years from now I’ll get to see ‘em and you idiots WON’T, I will outlive both Jeff Bezos and my villainous student debt, I will experience infinite awesomeness and be perfectly content with my zest for the Loner Life™️, you cannot deprive me of this astounding opportunity go sit in the corner and suck on your loser lollipops of limited thinking and cry

[doctorsiren]

you know you have a great roommate / friend when she lets you read what you’ve written tonight for your “Bill Cipher in the Theraprism” fanfiction you’re working on to her as a bedtime story <3