#a question: why am i so bad at describing things. why am i struggling this much

[my-love-is-sunlight]

Turmoil

Law x gn reader

Warnings: little fight between Law and reader but nothing crazy, sfw and fluff at the end, good ending, FEELINGS

Word count: 1.6k

Summary: In which you save Law’s life and he gets mad at you

Masterlist

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

The moonlight danced with the dark sea water, accompanying you in your office as your eyes struggled to stay focus on the paper work in front of you, it was hard to tell the time when you lived in a submarine, but your body knows its well past 2 am, begging for you to snuggle into bed and drift away

From the shadows behind your door emerged your Captain, looking as tired as you did, a brow arching in confusion

“What are you doing?” His low raspy tone makes you jump on your seat as your eyes open wide in his direction, before they roll in annoyance and your eyebrows furrow

“Doing the work that YOU assigned me, Captain” the tone of your answer lets Law know that you’re still mad at him

“Should’ve thought better before-“ suddenly, and surprisingly you interrupt his so re-used speech he had given you a million times over since that evening

“Oh give me a break!” You trow your pen on the table, slamming your hands before gifting him the nastiest look he had ever witness painted on your face

Some days ago, the Heart Pirates found themselves in yet another fight were things weren’t going well for their Captain. You were the crews strategists and whenever you were caught in situations like these you were always by Laws side, but this time he had made you promise to stay out of trouble for this one, which in all honesty had struck your pride. Everyone knew how relentless of a fighter you were, that’s why you had gained such a position in the crew, so being told to back up was like a punch in the stomach, specially coming from your trusted Captain

Trafalgar Law was a stubborn, stubborn man, and that sometimes got him in more trouble that he could handle, as the enemies arrow flew trough his direction and a sword was drawn to his heart, in a blink of an eye you jumped in to protect him, without a second thought

Nothing bad had happened to you, you had came out victorious with a couple of scars nothing out of the ordinary, so when you were met with Laws angry eyes, a long speech on why what you had done was absolutely stupid and a punishment, you were left puzzled, and humiliated in front of all of your crew mates

Since then, you had been locked in your office, getting the extra work the doctor had assigned you so that ‘you learn how to listen’ done, and avoiding any words and looks of his

“I saved you” you got up of your chair as you walked towards the frame of your Captain, he may tower over you, but that would not stop you

“You put your life on the line y/n-ya, that I don’t tolerate” he answers you with a stern voice, eyes examining your every expression

“I did what I did because I wanted to, you may be the one giving orders around here, but you do not get dictate when or how I die”

As you get closer, Trafalgar cannot help but start to feel that maybe he was being selfish, after all, you had given him the greatest of gifts

Knowing there’s someone out there that is willing to die for you, no questions asked

But at the same time, the mere thought of losing you because he couldn’t be up to the task of protecting you boiled his blood and made his stomach turn a million times over

“Then maybe, you shouldn’t have joined my crew in the first place” he blurts out, every single word hitting you like a venomous snake bite, your heart clenching at the thought of being unwanted

Your greatest fear

Suddenly your body language does a 180, your anger being replaced with what could only be perfectly described as heartache. Almost immediately the doctor regrets even stepping foot in your office, before he can say anything you’re already back on your seat

“Sorry Captain” the pain in both your voice and your face makes Law hurt, and panic, and regret, yet words fail to come out of his mouth… just when he needed them most

“Don’t stay up too late” is all he can say before closing the door behind him

Next days in the Polar Tang were a pain, Law had been quite more irritable around everyone, even snapping on poor Bepo. You were either locked away working or in your room and sometimes even skipping dinner just to not cross paths with the damn surgeon, and if you were unlucky enough to do so, you would turn away immediately

Everyone knew something was up between the two of you, Ikkaku and Penguin had showed up at your office asking if everything was ok. You decided to keep it to yourself, you knew if Law found out you’re talking about him behind his back, about personal matters? Yeah, you would be dead to him, and even when mad, you respected him

Shachi was send to dig around Law, but when your name crossed his lips the doctor immediately shot down the conversation, this confirming their suspicions

But then, you finished the damn paper work, and guess who was the one you needed to hand it to?

You tried to convince anyone else to deliver the papers to Laws office, but it seemed like everyone had catch up and found this as an opportunity for you to make up with him, frustrating you beyond comprehension. They had even got to Bepo first

“Sorry y/n, I was told to tell you to deliver it yourself” he offered you a sympathetic smile, afraid of your answer, you just sighed defeated and thanked him anyways

“Just go in and hand him the papers! That easy” Ikkakus voice rings in your head as you try to wash your nervousness away in front of Laws office. Hesitantly you knock on the door, feeling lightheaded at the mere touch of it

“Go away Shachi” the doctors muffled voice meets your ears, confused you answer with the tiniest “It’s me, Captain” After a pause that felt like it lasted a decade, thinking he may had shambles himself out of the office, you hear a “Come in” so you do

You enter the office slowly, almost as if you made any sudden moves you’ll get caught like a pray in the wild. Trafalgar is sitting at his desk, his hands fidgeting and eyes following your form

“I have the paper work you asked for” you stay pretty far away from the desk, fear written all over you making Law feel twice as worse as he had been feeling this past few days

“Thank you y/n-ya, just leave them here” his voice sounded softer, but this didn’t made you feel any less scared as you approached the desk, gaze fixated on the papers in your hand. As you positioned your hard wok on the desk Law makes the uncharacteristic decision to hold your wrist before you retrieved, a shock running through your whole body at the action

Law’s heart beats a million times per second as he finds the right words to approach the matter, maybe he should’ve thought about them before taking your hand, your soft skin touching his freezing him. You lock eyes for a second and finally Law understands everything he had done wrong, from being ungrateful, rude, harsh and just overall mistreating the person he cares for the most

He would rather being shot than admit he was in the wrong, but he knew if he didn’t he’ll lose you, which was the reason he had caused this mess in the first place, so he swallows his pride

“I am sorry, I shouldn’t have screamed at you in front of everyone, or made you do all this work and… saying those awful things”

The fear washes from your body as you hear his apology, something you never thought you’d witness in your life, you let out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding since you stepped foot on the door, offering Law a genuine smile that made his heart fall to his feet

“It’s ok Captain”

“Law” he says, letting your hand go as his own insecurities disappear, thinking you were gonna bash at him after his apology

“Law” you parrot back, earning him another sweet smile of yours

“I just… didn’t wanted to lose you, I was so lost in that thought that I didn’t realize that’s exactly what I was doing” you had seemed to have pushed a button because he just couldn’t stop the thoughts that just fell directly to his tongue and overflow like a cascade out of his mouth

Laws eyes open wide as he sees you approach the other side of the desk, your arms wrap around his wide shoulders like the softest blanket, hugging him while he still sits on the chair, your head resting in top of his hat. The surgeon stays completely still, taken aback

“Thank you for apologizing Law, I really appreciate it” you whisper making his face bright red and his hands shake, the way your body weights over his makes his brain malfunction and his heart go wild

You let go and approach the door of the office, Law remaining completely broken and flushed in his seat

“See ya’ at dinner.. Law” you say his name mischievously, giggling after before you disappear

The Captain stays still for a while, alone in his office, thinking about everything being open about his thoughts and feelings had gained him, and how addicting his name sounded falling from your sweet lips

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

This came to me in a dream and wrote it in almost one sitting lmao, feel free to request anything you wanna read I am having so much fun writing his emo ass

Reblogs are appreciated ;)

#one piece #trafalgar law x y/n #trafalgar law x you #trafalgar law imagine #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law one piece #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgardwaterlaw #trafalgar one piece #trafalgar law #law x you #law imagine #law x reader #law one piece #law x y/n #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #one piece x reader #writting #fanfic #one piece imagine #one piece oneshots #trafalgar op #trafalgar law oneshot

[dr-felitas]

angel of sin - sunday

synopsis: dreams are unattainable imaginaries, fragments we’ll never get to experience and only ever see over and over as they replay in our minds like a broken record. they show us the things we’ve always longed to have and to sunday that has always been you. so is it wrong for him to provide you with a joyous life within the dreamscape, even if that means without him? 

pairing: sunday x reader | wordcount: 1.6k | content & warnings: MIGHT BE KIND OF OOC BUT I HOPE THAT IT WAS A SOMEHOW OKAY TAKE ON HIS CHARACTERS 😭 SORRY IF NOT ILL WORK ON IT I PROMISE, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst if you squint, metaphors (mentions of like “cannibalism”?? not really sure how to describe it but yeah tw), established relationship (written as couple in mind - can also be read as platonic), sunday-centered, sundays hella whipped and down bad icl; ficlet

a/n: i needed to post something and yay this is one of my like 5 sunday drafts or something!! or else it’s feliover. also this was written at 4 am lol so i’ll make my proper proofreads and adjustments tmrw HAHAHA edit: i changed the title to "angel of sin", the name it was supposed to be i just kind of messed it up due to my sleepiness HAHAH but the names inspired by my beloved ggz angel of sin

“tell me. why do you think we dream?”

bittersweet words that carry a sense of melancholy have been sitting atop the tip of his tongue for an eternal amount of time. there have been many - endless occasions where he wanted to confess, but in all honesty he can’t remember; he can’t keep count of the many times he’s wanted to ask you. 

every time he tried to voice the question out loud, the words in his throat died down - they went numb and to sunday it felt like he had lost the ability to speak, as if he had lost his speech - his voice. 

without the ability to talk, with no voice to say his thoughts out aloud, how was he supposed to express himself? with no words to leave his mouth he wasn’t able to soothe peoples worries - even if in sundays eyes he deemed those actions as unjust - inhumane.

not having the right words and owning no voice to say them would mean that sunday wasn’t able to tell and share his ideals - the ideology, his way to make humanity happy. a world where the weak don’t have to take risks and aren’t endangered, a society that deserves to indulge in happiness even when he isn’t able to experience it.

but most importantly, if sunday lost his speech, the trait to speak - the ability to voice his thoughts out loud, he wouldn’t be able to ask questions - questions asked by him to none other than you - questions which only you could provide him a satisfying answer that’d make him content and slightly put him at ease. 

the poignant words that unwieldy fall from his mouth, they nip into the air like a newborn bird that has only now learned how to fly and continues to struggle, nevertheless it’s able to leave its nest and tries its best to continue no matter the amount of failure, afterall it has been caged inside its nest for a far too long time to not escape, right?

his words have been swallowed one too many times, they slid into his gut and stirred uneasiness, so, at some point there needs to be a right and somewhat ideal time for him to ask his question which yearns for an answer - your answer. 

elsewise sunday doesn’t know if he can live with this feeling, the monster that lurks inside his mind any longer. it’s unbearable and he longs for you to open your mouth and answer him in the honeyed voice he seeks after.

he pleads for you to speak your mind before the monster continues to nibble at his flesh, shredding the layers of his porcelain like skin apart, tearing feather after feather from his seraphic wings, ripping his tongue stained in lies out and finally consumes him in whole - freeing him from his sins. 

“why we fall asleep and thus dream, you ask?” your eyes shine bright as you look up at the circled orb - the silver moon that illuminates the dark sky - nights cloak that shields the two of you away from any outstanders. 

the sky, which is encased in dark colors, except for the few stars and the moon that continuously shine, make it hard to see. but to sunday he can only see one thing - you. 

there’s no need for you to look at him to know that he’s anxious, that the hand you hold on so tenderly is tingling in fear as he tries to maintain a steady breath while awaiting your answer. 

you’re aware that sunday tries his hardest to compose himself and tries to not grab your hand too roughly out of fear of hurting you, eventually leaving harsh scars that’ll stain your sacred skin. 

sunday would paint your skin in kisses, every spot that he’s tarnished in wounds would be sealed with a peck until it heals and begins to bloom once again. to sunday there’s no disgrace when it comes to you, no shame or humiliation.  

to sunday you’re simply a blessing - a blessing which he can only repeat a “thank you” for over and over again, until it eventually stings on his tongue and rather sounds like a curse he chants repeatedly.

he’d get on his hands, making the palms of his hand meet the rough floor, dirtying his sacred skin with mud. the pebbles that are distributed on the floor come in all shapes and forms along with the glass shards and sticks, they dig through his palms, making them bleed, tainting his fair skin.  

he’d get on his knees, even if that means wrinkling his clothes and ruining the neatly ironed fabric as they get covered in dust while he gets on one knee to tie your shoelace properly or lovingly massage your calf. sunday would get on both knees if you’ve asked - without hesitation.

because when it comes to you, sunday, head of the oak family, knows no thing such as “shame.”

the fingers that run along the back of his hand, tracing around in a circle like motion are comforting, he can’t help but ask himself if they’d continue to hold him even when he were to fall into a deep pit, an ocean of unresolved emotions, questions that constantly plague his mind, internal conflicts - inner self hatred. 

If you were to see all of this - if you were to see how this all plays out and sunday eventually drowning in that void, would you continue to hold him even when decides that it’s the right thing for him to disappear into the waters? even if that meant that you’d drown with him and never be able to return to the shore?

you don’t deserve that, you deserve to live a happy life and indulge in all the things you’ve always wished for.

to sunday there has only ever been one wish he wanted to fulfill ever since he was young - a purpose he must accomplish: to make the people of penacony happy, especially robin and you, even if that meant being trapped in the dreamscape for an eternity.

due to his “minute”, personal, eternal sacrifice, he’ll never get to see that dream, he’ll be trapped somewhere else. perhaps he’ll rush to the end of this ignorant world, like a coyote mindlessly running around like a madman, searching for its prey. 

he’ll run to a place where he can be at peace because where else is he supposed to be if not in your grasp? after all, what other place does he belong to?

“some people are simply too unhappy with their current life. so, they turn to dreams to indulge and live a carefree life that isn’t theirs. they’re able to enjoy a life with no seemingly worries, i suppose dreams show us the life we could have.” you click your tongue as you express your opinion. 

“why only could?” sunday asks curiously, his wings slightly flutter at your response. 

“sunday, tell me. do you really think it’s good to live a life that isn’t yours? a life you’ll never get to experience outside of your dream?” he can make out a certain frustration in your voice, as if you’ve thought about this many times, as if you’ve had this conversation many times already. 

but with whom?

“so, why not stay in the dreamscape forever then?” he offers, it’s a light implication of what he plans. but it doesn’t come over as a warm welcoming invite - rather it sounds like a demand. 

“its alluring, isn’t it?” you chuckle and sunday can only listen as you open your mouth again. “i’ve thought about it many times too, but i realized if i were to do that, i’d always be trapped in this cage with no way to escape. i don’t think i’d ever be happy, not having my liberty nor freedom to do as i please.” you mumble. “and would i even have you by my side? or are you busy then? gone from my grasp - gone from me?” you whisper reluctantly under your breath, obvious uncertainty lacing your words.

perhaps this is the moment in which sunday realizes that he had forgotten his initial dream, to make you out of all people in penacony happy. it’s selfish to abandon his former plans and adjust them just because of you. 

but making you happy is somewhat connected to making the people of penacony happy, right?

also he has never mistrusted your judgment, your words were the only ones that put him at ease, the only words that actually understood him and his motives. 

even though he’s bound to that dream, he’ll shed tears for you, he’ll get on both his hands and knees if it means to see you happy. 

his heart has committed unforgivable sins. but to sunday it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter as long as it’s you. he’ll humiliate himself, turn himself into a criminal, go against his ideal - there’s no disgrace as long as it’s for you. 

sunday is fully devoted to you.

his heart won’t stop beating, it’s pumping loudly in his chest as his wings continue to flutter. his soft feathers fall like tears, sliding down like droplets onto the ground. his wings are no more than shackles chaining him back from flying, from roaming the sky and exploring its very first and very last corner. they chains keep him bound to the floor, a place where he’ll never experience freedom to its fullest.

you’re his blessing - you’re more than enough and if it’s for you, he’ll fulfill your needs and wishes even if it means to go past his (former) ideals and ideologies. everything that you provide him with feels unreal, it feels too good to be true, almost dream-like. 

a dream which he wishes he’ll never wake up from. 

but he knows he’ll eventually have to but he also knows that you’ll also be there and not just in his imagination. 

"ew omg who are they going to tag again, pls dont tell me its that kokomi person" (said no one ever) but YEAH indeed hello @azullumi while for me it's 4:30 am rn its 10:30 am for you!!! great innit (im not british) innit always reminds me of tommyinnit, tommyinnit reminds me of the jump in the cadillac, and that reminds me of bruno mars, bruno mars reminds me of good music, good music reminds me of tiktok and how it removed all the good music, AND TIKTOK ALSO REMINDS ME OF THE FACT THAT U TAKE 1 TO 2 BUSINESS DAYS TO RESPOND TO ANSER MT TIKTOKS AND ODNT YOU DARE BLAME IT ON THE WIFI NOW btw omg yeah guys im acc not a sunday hater lolll (th enote on my othe rnote said otherwise but i had to convince xue somehow okay..) i've acc liked him for a while - acc when he first appared in the story and i remember my friend not liking him and only liking robin loll while i was js gushing abt how cool and handsome he was HAGAG ANYWAY ENOUGHT ALKING ABT THE BUSH SORRY AZTUL ILL COME BACK TO YOU. im gkad to know that you recovered fropm your ilness!! and hope you'll enjoy the rest of your trip and write the aventurine angst (IM WAITING..) and also maybe i say it too rarely maybe i dont who knows idc but i love you a lotlotlototltotot, ill continue this shoutout in dms tho cause it'll get a bit more private (NOT PRIVATE AS IN INTIMATZE OR SHIT OKAY???)

e/n: you can tell i got lazy at the end. it was so sloppy and like so rushed im sorry :( like tbh im not content with the way it turned out at all at the ending but yeah idk

© DR-FELITAS 2024. stealing, copying, translating, reposting my works on other platforms or feeding them to ai is not permitted.

#felis-files #—stellaronhvnters. #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail x reader #hsr fluff #honkai star rail fluff #sunday x reader #sunday fluff #hsr imagines #honkai star rail imagines #sunday headcanons #sunday imagines #sunday hsr #hsr headcanons #hsr x you

[sincerely-sofie]

Chapter 4 of Sofie Plays "Slay the Princess": The Wild (Part 1)

I can hear what sounds to be a crying woman in the background music amidst ethereal vocals and I am not happy about this.

[ Beginning ] - [ Previous Part ] - [ Next Part ]

Okay wait wait wait WAIT. I'm really latching onto that last line but hear me out as I ramble for a bit. The Princess is not human. As far as I know, she can't even die--- though that might just be my bad luck and decision making at play. She describes herself as having no beginning and no end. This game tinkers with the concepts of time being cyclical, and the Hero and the Princess's memories are both untouched by time looping, unlike the memories of the Narrator...

... Is she the reason time is looping? The Princess is without end and beginning. In other words, a circle. Is she the embodiment of a time loop?

Alternate theory is that this game is a surreal allegorical story for man's quest for immortality. The Narrator is somehow a representation of the fear of death, and the Princess's imminent threat of destroying the world isn't as pressing of a threat as the Narrator makes it seem. She's inevitable, but she's not in a rush to end things. She said in the first chapter that she likes the world--- though that might have been a lie, come to think of it. The Hero might be a representation of an individual's struggle with death, and how oftentimes when we fight against it, we only draw closer to it. Maybe the whole "this is a love story" line hints at the Hero accepting the inevitability of death, and therefore falling in love with life?

Y'all I'm just slapping things at the wall and seeing what sticks. I don't think either of these theories will prove to be true, but they sure are fun to speculate over!

Okay yeah no I'm definitely playing an allegory for accepting death aren't I. Mankind trying to fight against death and prolonging lifespans past that which would be natural seems to be the symbolic undercurrent of that line.

Narrator are you even listening? It's the wifey talking. But in a disconcertingly neutral, mystically monotone voice that concerns me.

I wasn't even asking myself that second question before now and now I have MANY CONCERNS.

OH MY WORD the narrator's memories are affected by the loop but he's aware of its existence. That's what this means, right?

... I might have disobeyed the entire premise of the game? Just a little bit?

Okay okay this implies that the Hero, if my "allegory for the inevitability of death" theory is true, doesn't represent mankind. But if he doesn't, then what is he?

YOOOOOO NEW PARTY MEMBER!!!!

I'm picturing an exchange like the following:

Hero: Do you ever want to talk about your emotions, Hunted? Hunted: ... No. Broken: I do. Hero: I know, Broken. Broken: I'm sad. Hero: I know, Broken

I mean, there are probably worse things to be... eaten alive, for one thing.

Reading this and thinking about how "this is a love story" and losing my mind and losing my mind and losing my mind and---

Asked the Princess why she was being nice to me after the whole, y'know, swallowing me whole thing, and she's a bit touchy on the subject. She just as quickly resumed the otherworldly calm front, though. Does she have multiple Princesses like I have multiple Voices?

Ah. Hm. Well then.

If I'm going to be assimilated into the world around me and the being I'm struggling against, I'd like to do so after acknowledging the repressed fear I carry. It is time to ponder the orb--- I mean, terror in my heart.

Hahaha thinking about Twig/Ark's early relationship and not crying whatsoever rn :))))

Got a little worried that maybe I actually was a magic all-encompassing forest and had grossly misinterpreted the situation, but hearing the Broken express reluctance to leave a situation in which he's playing pretend at everything being okay makes me feel much more confident in the decision! Nice.

... Are we the same being, but divided in two? That definitely doesn't sound right, but this line makes me wonder...

OKAY ONCE AGAIN I KNOW THIS IS A SERIOUS SCENE BUT I'M JUST SITTING HERE THINKING ABOUT THAT DOG IN MONSTER HOUSE

Broken sweetie you read uncomfortably literally as someone who's been through a very bad relationship and I think you need therapy even more than the Hunted does.

I'm really tempted to see what would happen if I actually fulfilled the premise of the title... but I'm really curious about where that first dialogue option will lead.

We cut her free.

The Narrator threatening us for letting the Princess go is something very interesting and I don't know what else to say other than I'm worried.

Hey chat why are the borders of the screen turning red?

Hey chat why is everything going dark?

HEY CHAT WHAT'S WITH ALL THE ARMS THAT SWALLOWED THE PRINCESS UP AND DISAPPEARED INTO THIN AIR, LEAVING NOTHING BUT A MIRROR BEHIND?

I barely got a screenshot of the last frame of whatever that was and nearly threw my mouse across my room in the attempt.

I am once again coping with humor:

Hero: I'm sorry I'm such a handful. Princess: I have two hands. Hero: I--- look. If you want to play semantics, fine. I'm sorry for being a hundred handfuls. Princess: Hero: Princess (while sprouting several hundred arms): Try me.

(Ran out of image uploads. See you in the next post!)

#slay the princess #stp #sofie liveblogs stuff

[bwabys-scenarios]

hii i really don’t mean this in a bad way! but i saw one of your posts taking about how you mostly write for chubby readers, and i really admire that. keep writing!

buutt, i just have a (not very) little question. one thing about me is that i really do not understand why people write for specially one type of person? like, i absolutely love the inclusivity and i love all your works, but why can’t everyone just write.. for y/n?? if that makes sense.

like, not describing the reader’s body, skin tone, or anything else like that. i’m not trying to tell you what to do or anything, but it’s just something i have been curious about for ages! and i’ve been too scared to ask on the notes because i don’t want anyone to think i’m being mean ( ´ ▽ ` )

basically, what i’m trying to ask is; is it bad that i would prefer if writers wrote for nobody in particular?

because i think that it’s so much easier, that way everybody can be happy without leaving one type of person out?

also, i understand if it’s for one type of oneshot/ story, though. like such as reader getting bullied, harassed, or whatever because of the trait you chose to write about.

and i also completely understand if you write for a specific type of person because that’s what you’re like, and i think that’s great!! i love when writers write y/n as themselves, because honestly me too. but for the people comfortable with that, do you think they should write as i suggested?

like, writing a y/n that’s just.. y/n. not described fully so you can imagine whatever you want for them.

i love your works, and really want you to keep writing!

so please tell me your thoughts on what i said! i am trying to learn how to understand people better, but if you want to ignore that’s totally fine! thank you for reading, i hope you have a wonderful day. <3

note: im sorry if this is a lot and confusing. i kinda just dumped everything i was thinking because i’ve never brought this up with anyone and got a bit nervous to ask this. sorry!

short answer: I write chubby readers because chubby readers deserve to see stories where their bodies are mentioned, celebrated, and loved. Writing for a completely neutral reader is not something I’m interested in, because I would not be able to relate to that at all.

Long answer: Fat people, like me, are often taken out of the experience of reading a reader insert fanfiction because the reader is described as thin WITHOUT any warning saying the fic would describe the body type. You can write your the reader to look however you look, but not tagging it/warning about it can surprise readers and put them off, especially when it happens so often for chubby readers. So I’m not against a reader being skinny, it would just be nice to have a warning or tag.

But anyways, making the reader completely neutral works sometimes, but a lot of the time people write/read chubby reader inserts to see their SPECIFIC body type loved and celebrated because often times it is not in regular reader inserts. People seek out chubby!reader inserts to see a reader being loved that has their body type, they aren’t looking for neutrality. They want a character that has the same struggles, insecurities, and life experiences that they can relate to. A chubby!reader accomplishes that.

I hope this answers your question! It’s okay to be curious and ask questions nicely, so don’t feel nervous :)

#x reader #requests open #anime x reader #reader insert #anime x chubby reader #chubby!reader #chubby reader

[anonzentimes]

Hi Zen! This might be another difficult question for you to answer, but I'd like to ask: Which official artwork of Nagito do you like the most?

Even in the official art, he looks different sometimes, doesn't he? I am still confused as to what color his eyes are. (In a lot of fanfic they are described as gray, but in some art they are clearly blue).

I would like to know which of the official artwork, whether in games, anime or manga, is your favorite.

Whoa!! that Is a difficult question! I'll try to answer it though haha!

I have a lot of them I like but choosing one is pretty difficult... so I'll just start this answer off with a discussion on the inconsistencies statement! I believe Nagito's eyes are definitely gray, at some points it maybe hard to tell but they're definitely gray! There are a few anime moments where his eyes feel green, some promotional material straight up changes it to green, and a small amount spin off art may change it to something that can be interpreted as blue, but for the most part they are absolutely gray.

I think the only actual very small change he undergoes is his color tips? His hair always has a gradient but the colors used for it are a little inconsistent sometimes. In Danganronpa 3 they're red and occasionally purple so it's a little weird haha! Sometimes he's not drawn with his gradient at all, a slight gradient with the same color, a red gradient, or a purple gradient so it's pretty confusing. His gradient also changes with how prominent it is depending on the art if there even is one. He's drawn most often with red subtle tips though so I think that was the intention. You could probably chalk it up to lighting if you wanted Lol.

While I do love a lot of his sprites I think some of them are pretty restrictive and lack all of the emotions we know he's able to show because he does in other appearances. This is why I really like when the Mangas allow him to be very expressive beyond what his sprites can convey! I think his sprites can really excel with some expressions but falls flat with others.

Rambles about his sprites in Dr2 and his slight inconsistencies aside, a lot of his art is great! (I'm very biased) but I do have some strong opinions, positively and negatively, on quite a few of them. The main thing is that I don't know if I actually have a favorite??? It's a really difficult question.

But I do want to highlight these three dr2 cgs I really like! He isn't fully 100% consistent here but I really like them. I know a lot of people think Nagito's showing Junko's arm art looks bad but I honestly like it. Nagito about to play Russian Roulette is such an awesome moment too! The one where he has the fire behind him is not only really cool, but also a really good in game shot of most of his body from a different angle!

I truly, again, love his manga art! His specific spin off's manga has a lot of really amazing, interesting, and fun visuals! Even if I'm not really fond of the anatomy the artist uses it's still really good stuff. The Danganronpa 2 spin off mangas have really good anatomy and expressions he looks sooo good there I'm in love with it.

While I'm at it I also want to highlight his reference sheet, it's clearly consistent because that's the job of a reference and I think his expression is pretty cute here. I don't really see people talk about it so I just wanted to also bring it up Lol.

For the most part I've really struggled to directly answer your question because he has a lot of different interpretations, art, and appearances that all mix together into one mental image or understanding of what he looks like for me. I really love most all of his art so it's hard to say. Nagito has a lot of different tones in his art as well, from his crazed ramblings to happy expressions, he has so many tonally different art pieces because he excels at being sweet and intimidating. This makes it even more difficult!

In conclusion, I don't believe I can come up with an absolute answer for you unfortunately. Regardless though, I definitely learned from this that I have strong opinions on all of his art. I hope you enjoyed my appreciation for some of his art and small talk about mild inconsistencies of his haha!!

Apologies this took so long and Thank you for your ask <3

#nagito komaeda #danganronpa #danganronpa komaeda #sdr2 nagito #danganronpa nagito #sdr2 komaeda #komaeda nagito #sdr2 #danganronpa goodbye despair #nagito #dr2 nagito komaeda #sdr2 nagito komaeda #nagito art #nagito ask #nagito asks #danganronpa asks #danganronpa 2 spoilers

[cognacandlilac]

To the Depths - Part Five - NSFW

(Pirate!Silco x F!Reader) The Pirate's Waltz

AO3 - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3.1 - Part 3.2 - Part 4

Rating: Explicit/MDNI Chapter Summary: You struggle with the terms of your punishment even as you begin to win over the crew. For a moment, all is well even though you are technically a prisoner. Will the sea allow a moment of peace? Chapter Tags/Warnings: def a little nsfw but not nearly as much as other parts, nothing that hasn't been in past parts. Not beta'd bc I was too impatient to get the update posted lol *edited on 8/5 to fix mistakes that would have been caught with beta reading. There is a lesson here...*

You flee the cabin immediately without another word. Your entire body hums, rages, cries, and begs for release and you know you will not find it in that room. Something stings and burns in your chest, wrapping around your heart and squeezing tight. You’re reminded of Silco’s sea serpent tattoo but immediately shake the thought away. His body is the last thing you want to think about right now. 

Especially since the ache between your legs only grows with each step. You briefly entertain the idea of finding a dark, shadowy corner of the ship to bring the relief denied you, but that thought flies out of your mind the moment you see the crew standing idle on the deck, their faces all turned toward the short stairwell you’ve just climbed. You freeze on the last step.

Before Silco dragged you back down to the cabin, you’d passionately declared for all to hear that you were the reason they had to spend the night fighting a violent storm and why thick pools of drying blood now stain the deck. No doubt you’ve made an enemy of yourself to every single person staring at you now. 

You could return to the cabin but the thought of being enclosed with Silco is unbearable. You are caught between the devil and the deep blue sea. Almost literally. 

Luckily, you aren’t trapped in your frozen state for long. Jinx darts into your field of vision, her eyes wide and frantic. 

“You look awful ,” she says, cupping your face in her dainty hands. The coolness of her skin alerts you to just how scorching your face is. No doubt flushed, too. “I hope he wasn’t too harsh with you.”

Harsh certainly isn’t the word you’d choose to describe what just happened in his cabin. “I received the punishment I deserved for my error,” You say, hoping to avoid bringing up any particulars of that punishment, not when your ass still stung in the shape of his hand. Before Jinx can ask another question, you make your way across the deck to the poor crewmate you tricked. 

“I owe you an apology.” You speak to him with the same grace and dignity you would reserve for a noble. “Tricking you wasn’t just wrong, it was cruel. If I thought for even one minute that things would turn out the way they did, I never would have done it but that does not make it acceptable.” 

You bow your head and sink into a half-curtsy. 

“Please, accept my sincerest apologies.”

The walleyed crewmember says nothing at first. Your cheeks grow red from embarrassment as you try to figure out what you ought to do next. He saves you from your discomfort when he lets out a loud, cawing laugh.

“All those fancy words for me, miss?” He guffaws. “In all me days I never thought a lady would speak so pretty to me.” He throws an arm around you in a friendly, but rough, manner and you straighten up to avoid falling over altogether. “So, am I forgiven?”

“Ya ran a bad scheme and it bit us all in the ass. We’ve all done it,” he assures her. “But it’s nice to know you aren’t too high and mighty to take the consequences.” Relief floods you as the other crewmates circle around. They give you approving nods, though you won’t go as far as to say they look upon you with trust or friendliness. 

“Surely, the Captain requested more than just an apology,” Sevika says with a suspicious glint in her eyes. 

“The apology was my own doing,” you say as you approach her. “His punishment dictates that I am to report to you. I am to clean the deck.” Her eyebrows twitch as the corners of her mouth quiver like she’s trying not to laugh. 

“I wouldn’t trust someone so soft-handed with the care of my deck but if the Captain insists…”

She trails off as she walks away. You realize you are meant to follow and hurry after her. She doesn’t offer anything by way of instruction. She tosses a bucket and a thick bristled brush towards you, which you fail to catch. The items clatter onto the floor. Your cheeks burn when you hear chuckles behind you. “Get to it,” Sevika grunts. You look at the empty bucket, noticing that it’s…well, empty. 

“Where would I find water?” As soon as the words are out of your mouth, you realize your mistake. Everyone who heard begins to laugh. 

“I think you can figure that one out on your own, princess,” Sevika smirks before heading below deck. 

Jinx appears at your side, silent as a ghost but with the energy of a toddler who has had nothing but sweets all day. 

“I rigged up a pulley system so you can fill your bucket. I’ll show you.” 

She loops her arm through yours and pulls you across the deck. You fill your bucket with saltwater and approach one of the more gruesome remnants of the morning’s violence. Your stomach heaves as you spot something that might very well be a skull fragment. 

Determined not to look foolish or weak, you get on your knees and scrub. You work diligently and without complaint, even when your arms start to ache and the wood remains stained despite your efforts. 

It isn’t the approval of the crew you want, exactly. But you are going to be trapped on this ship for two weeks. While you aren’t looking to make friends with your captors, you also don’t want to find your throat slit in a moment of anger. 

“How long are you going to keep doing that?” Jinx materializes by your side. Her braids fall into the puddle you’ve created with your scrubbing efforts. She doesn't seem to mind that she might be getting blood in her long hair. 

“Is this a trick question?”

“No.”

You lift your head to find wide blue eyes staring at you with curiosity. 

“I will keep doing this until the deck is clean.”

She barks out a laugh. “You’re never going to remove all the gross stuff with just water. Didn’t you know that?”

“I don’t often find myself in positions where I am scrubbing up gross stuff ,” you reply. “What else am I supposed to use?”

“Did Sevika not tell you?” Her brows knit together in a mix of concern and confusion. 

“Tell me what?”

Jinx studies you for a moment longer before giggling. “Oh, I get it. Sevika’s having a go at you. Don’t worry. Everyone knows you’ll work without kicking up a fuss. I’ll be right back.”

She bounds off, leaving you confused. You take a moment to give your aching arms a break. You are aware of eyes on you, though the crewmates scattered around the deck do a decent job of not staring at you directly. You know this is some kind of test, one you’re determined to pass with flying colors even if the reward is earning the respect of pirates. 

Jinx returns with a small tin. 

“Watch this.” With a grin, she opens the tin to reveal vibrant purple powder. She sprinkles a little over the blood-soaked wood. “Pour a little water on that.”

You do as she instructs. With wide eyes, you watch the water hiss and bubble. It takes on a pale purple hue as it spreads. It eats away at the blood but leaves the wood unblemished. 

“More water,” Jinx instructs. You comply. The bubbles wash away leaving behind smooth, clean wood. 

“What is that?” You ask, eyeing the purple power. 

“We’re still working on a name. I have several ideas but they always get shot down,” she says as she replaces the lid and tucks the tin into one of her many pockets. 

“We?”

“The ship’s doctor. He likes to experiment.”

“This is the same doctor you got that strange drink from before, when I was first brought aboard?” You press. 

“Yup!” Jinx beams. 

“Well, the Captain tore that drink from my hands and threw it overboard before giving me water. What was wrong with it?” You shudder at the thought of drinking a substance that is capable of dissolving blood and chunks of brain matter being served to you in a cup. 

“Nothing!” Jinx raises her hands, palms facing you. “Sometimes it has side effects, but usually it’s completely safe.”

“Usually?” You arch a brow. 

“Sometimes it makes your veins swell and glow and you can occasionally develop abnormal growths on your body,” she explains. “But that’s only if the batch is made wrong or you take way too much.” 

“None of the words coming from your mouth are bringing me comfort.”

“It’s science! It’s all about trial and error,” she shrugs. “If I thought it would hurt you I wouldn’t have given it to you.” 

Despite everything, you believe her. You haven’t seen a hint of malice in her since you were brought aboard. 

“But you still haven’t told me what it is,” you press. 

“It’s…a tool,” she says with thoughtful consideration. “Depending on how we process it, it can do a lot of things. It can be medicine and poison at the same time. It can clean wood with gentle precision but also dissolve bone. A tricky thing, it is. Truly fascinating.” 

“Interesting,” you murmur as your mind wanders to a person who possesses that same versatility. Another tricky thing. 

You see Silco’s face in your mind’s eye but quickly shake his image away. You don’t want to think about the Captain right now. You’re still cross from the way he teased you and denied you. You’re even more cross knowing how much you would have begged for your pleasure had he not chosen to punish you the way he did. “Thank you for the help. Can I have some of that powder to help me clean?”

Jinx almost seems like she’s going to agree but she holds back. “I’ll just stay with you. We can talk and I’ll sprinkle a little whenever you need it.”

“That works for me.” You offer her a warm smile, a genuine one. She smiles back and settles between two crates to keep you company as you clean. ******** Though you finish cleaning the blood and gore from the deck the very day they were spilled, Sevika isn’t shy about giving you extra tasks. She never gives you anything too difficult though you know it’s not out of consideration for you, but for the ship. 

You’ve scrubbed the deck twice a day for three days. When you aren’t scrubbing, you put your sewing skills to use mending sails. The thick material is hard to work with and the needles are little more than scraps of half-rusted metal but you make do. 

With the help of quick hands, fast learning, and the strange purple powder Jinx offers you soon have far too much idle time on your hands. 

You aren’t particularly fond of aimlessly pacing the deck. The Captain’s cabin is always open to you, but you spend as little time there as you can manage.

Despite Captain Silco’s demanding schedule, he always manages to be in the cabin whenever you are. The room is small enough as it is, but when you are in there together, the very air seems to struggle for space. You don’t speak to him. You don’t look at him unless you can help it. Yet, he never misses a chance to brush close to you. You feel his eyes on you, always. Even when you sleep. 

Sharing his bed is a necessity but you keep your limbs tucked close to you and your body curled toward the cabin wall. He never touches you, which brings both relief and unimaginable frustration.

On the third night, you lay wide awake. Your entire body hums with pressure from the release that was denied days ago. The longing never went away but tonight it’s nearly unbearable. 

You listen in the dark. Silco sleeps beside you. His breathing is deep and even. Though there is a soft glow from the ember of his ruined eye, you know he’s asleep. Slowly, very slowly, you shift onto your back. You wear only a borrowed shirt to sleep in. Your legs are left bare and your undergarments never recovered from your unexpected dip in the ocean. Tonight, it’s an advantage. 

With great care, you slowly lift the long hem of your shirt until you feel the skin of your lower belly. You part your legs only an inch or two before letting your hand slowly wander between your legs beneath the shared blankets. 

You listen intently as you move. Silco’s breathing never changes and you keep the rustling of bedsheets to a minimum. 

You find it safe to assume that Silco is a heavy sleeper. Between the winds and rocking of the ship, it would be difficult for a finicky sleeper to find peace here. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. As sound as your logic may be, logic is not what drives you at this moment. 

The sensation of your fingertips against your skin is enough to make you shiver. You freeze, silently admonishing your lack of self-control before making another attempt. You don’t need much. Just a few light, indulgent touches. Just enough to remove the biting edge of desire that has taken up permanent residence in the back of your mind since Silco bent you over his knee. The pad of a single fingertip brushes against that sensitive, soaked bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, hard enough to hurt. The pain is necessary if it keeps you from making even the softest of sounds. 

You wait for a moment, listening to Silco’s breathing. When you are certain there is no change, you allow another slow drag of your fingertip. Then another. And another. Pleasure spins through your mind and soothes the needy ache you’ve carried in your core for days. 

Fragmented images from the night of the storm slip through your mind. The memory of Silco’s soft groan when you rode him so slowly sends another ripple of warmth through your body. You can recall the exact sensation of his tongue as he teased your nipples. You can feel the way he throbbed inside of you when you drove each other to maddening releases. 

Yet, somehow, you manage to keep your movements minimal, discrete, and silent. Even as your blood heats up and your heart pounds, you have enough self-control to keep yourself quiet as you relieve your desires. 

An intoxicating sense of smugness adds another layer to your pleasure. Though it was memories of Silco that fueled that pleasure, he remains asleep beside you. Completely oblivious. 

His ability to consistently underestimate you was truly something-

“What do we have here?” His velvet voice slides through the darkness and wraps around you as his hand finds yours. You’re grateful for the pitch blackness of the cabin so he cannot see the redness of your cheeks. Your mind, still caught in the haze of pleasure from your fingertip, struggles to come up with any sort of explanation. 

There is nothing you can say for yourself. You’ve been caught. 

His hand, still covering your hand, moves. He presses down on your fingers, forcing you to tease yourself. You push your hips down into the mattress to avoid the pressure of your own touch. “Oh, now you wish to follow the rules?” He taunts lightly. 

You roll so that your back is to him. You tell yourself that you remain silent because you will not sink so low as to dignify his taunts with a response. Yet, deep in your belly where that spring of desire sits tightly coiled, you know that you cannot trust your own tongue right now. If you open your mouth to slice him with scathing words, there is a chance you’ll simply end up begging for pleasure. 

Hatred blooms within the blush on your cheeks. How dare he toy with you in such a way? How dare you struggle so much to keep yourself in control around him? What happened that night, within the violence of the storm, was about control more than it was about pleasure. 

But now? You have your hand between your legs, sneaking pleasure when you’ve always been able to go without when it suited you. 

He’s made you desperate. 

You remove your hand from between your legs and tuck both arms against your chest. You clamp your thighs together and pray that the sweet ache between them fades soon. 

“If I catch you doing that again, I will not hesitate to bind your hands behind your back.” Silco’s voice comes through the darkness once more before he falls silent. You continue to say nothing. When the sun rises, you dress as quickly as you can and flee the cabin. Silco sits at his desk and you do not even have to look at him to know there is a smug smile on his mouth. Embarrassment and irritation propel you through your daily tasks in record time. It is not yet midday when you find that you have nothing to do. 

The rest of the crew mill about at a comfortable pace. They don’t seem to be in any particular rush. Jinx is nowhere to be found. You assume she’s below decks with the strange doctor you have yet to meet. Disappointment flutters in your chest. As strange as it is, your favorite parts of the past few days were when she would perch near you ask you worked, and ramble on about everything and nothing. She often jumped from topic to topic without rhyme or reason and rarely bothered to make sure you had the proper context to understand anything she said, but you enjoyed listening. She helped you keep your mind busy. 

When your mind is not busy, even for the briefest of moments, your thoughts always turn to Silco. More specifically Silcos’s hands. Or his mouth. Or his voice or his cock or his insufferable personality. Without care, it’s so easy for you to lose yourself in a whirlpool of obsessive, never-ending thoughts about that ridiculous, despicable, revolting pirate bastard. 

Prickles of pure fury ripple over your skin. With a soft snarl of annoyance, you scan the deck for Sevika. You find her near the bow, watching the calm sea. 

“I need something else to do,” you say. 

She initially seems as though she does not hear you, but you’ve come to realize that it’s part of the game she plays. She makes you wait before turning slowly and looking at you as though you’re a piece of flotsam. 

“Mend the sails,” she says. 

“They’re all mended.” Despite their somewhat worn-down appearance, the sails are of remarkable quality. Even after that vicious beast of a storm, little mending was needed. 

“And the deck?”

“As spotless as it can be with all of the wood rot.” 

“And the spare line?”

“In perfect condition. It may as well be coils of silk.” 

“How many pickled eggs are in the barrel?”

“Two-hundred and seventy-three.”

Her thick, dark brows shoot up. “You’re kidding.”

“If you want to double-check, you’re more than welcome but please give me something to do first before I throw myself overboard.” 

Several emotions fight for dominance on Sevika’s stern face. You see flashes of surprise, humor, annoyance, and perhaps a little bit of respect though that might have been a trick of the light. 

“Arlo is doing one of his big cooking hauls today,” Sevika says. “I’m sure he can use an extra set of hands.” 

You had yet to venture below deck to meet the ship’s cook and see the mess deck. Jinx preferred to eat in the open air and had taken it upon herself to bring an extra serving for you at mealtimes. 

You find the meal offerings of the Zaun’s Revenge to be, frankly, repulsive. At first, you assumed it was because your palate was used to Piltover’s fresh vegetables, vibrant spices, and choice cuts of meat. But you’d seen the way others look at their meals with disgust and longing and you knew you weren’t alone in your dislike of the cuisine. 

Of course, could you truly expect to find something tasty aboard a pirate’s ship?

Sevika does not wait for you to answer. She turns away as though you are not there and focuses her gaze on the sea once more. You wonder if she’s looking for something or simply pondering. It’s not hard to imagine that those aboard this ship have had difficult lives filled with strife. You have more than most ever will, despite your losses, and you often need to take a moment to deal with the weight of it all by gazing at a soothing view. It clears the mind. 

You make your way below deck, passing the crammed tables of the mess deck. 

Arlo isn’t difficult to find. The mess deck and the kitchen are one and the same. A heavy-set man covered in a light sheen of sweat frantically tosses…something in a wide pan over a massive flame. The air carries a scent of burnt food and vinegar. Arlo watches the pan as though he believes the contents will jump out and bite him. To be fair, that doesn’t seem impossible. 

“Hello?” You call softly, over the violent sizzle of the ill-fated meal. 

Arlo looks over his shoulder and sets the pan aside, looking relieved to do so before a stern expression overtakes his somewhat doughy features. You can’t help but notice the red tinge to his watery grey eyes, irritated by the fumes of cooking such a creation. 

“No early meals. You should know the rules by now, princess.”

“Oh, no,” you shake your head. “I’m not here to beg for food. Sevika suggested you might need an extra hand. She said you were doing some kind of…food haul?” While you understand what each of those words mean separately, you are unsure of the combined meaning of them in this context. 

“Aye?” He sniffs as he brings the corner of his apron up to rub at his eyes. “I like to cook big batches of things all at once and preserve them so it is easy to handle mealtimes. This lot is hard to feed.” 

“Preserve them?” You ask. “You have enough salt for such a task?” 

“Of a sort,” he says. “The good doctor below decks whipped up a preserving powder that works wonders. It tastes like nothing.” 

Arlo jerks his chin towards a bowl sitting on one of the stained, cluttered counters. The bowl is filled with a grainy substance the same vibrant shade of purple as the powder that helped you get blood out of the deck. 

“What is it?” You ask, leaning forward just a little. 

“Beats me,” Arlo shrugs. “It’s not my place to ask questions, especially not when I’m given something helpful for free.” 

“I can understand that,” you nod. “Do you need help with your food haul?” 

“I won’t say no. Can you cook?”

You hesitate for a moment. “No. But if you have a recipe I can look at, I can surely figure it out.” You’ve always been a quick learner. And so many people know how to cook so how hard can it truly be? You doubt whatever concoctions Arlo makes take much skill. 

“I don’t waste my time with recipes.”

“Then how do you cook?” You ask, unsure if you want to know the answer. 

“I do what feels right.”

What feels right often leads to grey foods that are both mushy and crunchy at the same time. 

“Did you study somewhere to become a cook?” Your training in polite conversation rears its head before you can stop it. Of course, he didn’t train anywhere. He’s a bloody pirate. 

“People are trained to be cooks?” He looks at you with utter confusion. 

“They prefer to be called chefs, but yes.”

“Ach,” he waves her off. “I’m no chef and I do not pretend to be. I just do my best to use whatever isn’t rotting or foul to keep the crew fed.”

Well, at least Arlo seems to have some sort of self-awareness. “Were you not able to gather more ingredients when we stopped at Port Fairna?” You ask. You vividly remember plenty of spice sellers and bakers lining the dirt streets. 

“No,” Arlo answers sharply. “I do not mess about with such things.”

You tilt your head in confusion. “You do not manage your own stock?”

“No.” Came another curt reply. The cook avoids your gaze, choosing instead to look at his own hands. 

You decide not to push the matter and instead, turn your attention to the shelves of the well-stocked scullery. Unfortunately, your confusion only deepens. The shelves are lined with rich spices from all over the world that look untouched. You spy garlic, onions, potatoes, carrots, and all manner of staple ingredients labeled and stored with heaps of the purple preservative. 

“What are all of these?” You ask. 

Arlo looks at the shelves you point to but quickly looks away. “Don’t know. Never seen ‘em before. Don’t know how to cook with ‘em so I don’t use them.”

“But it says what they are right on the containers,” you point out. “Surely, you’ve heard of garlic and potatoes even if you’ve never had them. Right?” 

Arlo goes quiet for a moment and you briefly wonder if you’ve made some unforgivable error in an innocent question. “Aye. Yes, I’ve heard of them but I did not know we had them.”

“But they’re labeled. Did you not label them yourself?” He controls the kitchen, does he not?

Arlo’s cheeks turn a patchy red color that is not from the fumes or heat. “No, no I didn’t. I…can’t.”

You stare in confusion before shame and embarrassment creep into your gut. “You do not know how to write?”

“Or read.”

Arlo can’t meet your gaze. He seems frozen in place. Though he is nearly the side of the large, tattooed crewmember that once pulled you from the sea, he looks like a small child. 

“Oh,” you say softly. It’s clearly a point of tenderness for Arlo. You don’t wish to upset him even more. “Well, then this seems like a perfect arrangement.”

He lifts his head and looks at you with a quizzical expression. “What?”

“I can read but I cannot cook. You can cook but cannot read. It seems like an ideal pairing to me.” You offer him a smile. 

For a brief moment, you wonder at your own actions. You’d never go out of your way to be unkind to someone who did not deserve it and you always try to do what’s right, but you know yourself. You have a temper and a spiteful streak that prevent you from ever calling yourself a nice person, though you like to think you are kind in all of the ways that matter.. Arlo is a pirate. Arlo likely knew of the plan to kidnap you and hold you for ransom. Arlo is one of Silco’s men and, therefore, cannot possibly be a good person. 

Yet, you find it easy to be nice to him. Natural, even. He doesn’t seem like a scowling, sneering member of a villainous pirate crew determined to put you through hell before returning you to your father and fiance. 

He’s just…a person. 

So is Jinx. 

You are surrounded by people. Just people. 

You shake away the thought. Yes, the crew of the Zaun’s Revenge are people but they are people who willingly follow a terrible man capable of terrible things. There are no innocent people aboard this ship and you cannot allow sentimentality and loneliness to cloud that fact. 

Still, if a little teamwork can yield some decent food, you’re willing to give it a go. 

With Arlo’s approving nod, you push into the scullery and examine what you have to work with. The stock aboard this half-rotted ship rivals your larder back home. You gather up ingredients you know work well together and read the labels to Arlo. His eyes light up with inspiration. 

“If I had known we had such things, I would have used them ages ago,” he says with an excited smile. 

“No one helped you until now?” You press. 

“In case you haven’t noticed, we’re not exactly a helpful bunch. We handle our own responsibilities and we don’t gripe to anyone else. No one wants to be seen as a weak link in the chainmail. Weak links don’t last long. Asking for help would mean dumping some of my responsibilities on someone else’s lap. It’s just not done, you see?” 

“No, not really,” you answer. “Asking for help is not a weakness.”

“We can agree to disagree on that but let me ask you something.” Arlo took a head of garlic and began peeling and mincing the cloves with speed and precision. “When was the last time you answered a call for help?”

You open your mouth to answer but falter. You cannot remember a time you were last approached by someone in need of help. 

“Well, no one has asked me for help in recent memory so I cannot say,” you answer. 

“And that automatically means that no one around you needed help?” 

“I-” you stammer. “I don’t know.”

“I bet you live in a big, fancy house. Yeah?”

“Yes,” you say, your cheeks coloring with embarrassment as you pass a vial of dried green herbs to Arlo. 

“And lots of people get paid to be in that house and make your life easier?”

“Yes,” you repeat. 

“And you don’t think those people have struggles that you could probably help with?”

You want to say no. You want to believe that everyone working for your family is happy and content with their job as well as their personal lives but you are not that naive. 

Except…perhaps, you are. 

“I never thought about it,” you admit. 

“And they never asked because that’s not how it’s done. Their burdens are their own. My burdens are my own. It is the way of things.” 

You let his words sit heavy on your chest as you rummage through the scullery. You’re almost grateful when you smell the thick stench of rot from ingredients kept too long. You clear out everything that doesn’t look right and shove it into a bin to be disposed of later. 

You think of your lady’s maid and realize you know little about her. You do not know if she has siblings, a lover, a best friend, or even if her parents are alive. You have no idea why she applied for a position with your family. As much as you’d like to think your family are good employers, you know it’s foolish to believe her greatest joy in life is tightening your corset and brushing your hair. 

“Would this be a tasty addition?” Arlo calls, bringing you out of your thoughts as he holds up a jar of dried peppers. You read the label and wince. 

“Are spicy dishes popular among the crew?” You ask. “Just one of those would set your mouth on fire.”

“Better leave it for another day, then,” he shrugs. “I don’t want to overwhelm anyone with too many new flavors.” 

Though Arlo never had any training, his instincts as a cook come to life the moment he fully realizes just what he has to take advantage of. Vegetables are minced and sauteed quickly. You find some bone broth tucked away in the scullery. There is no shortage of fishmeat to choose from. You read the labels to Arlo who looks on in wonder. 

“I thought this was bass and this was carp,” he says, pointing to two containers of preserved fishmeat. “I never knew that was eel. It all looks so different when it’s sliced up and skinned.”

“Who does the fishing?”

“A few crewmembers have a knack for it. All of Sevika’s gadgets make her the obvious choice for skinning, deboning, and filleting,” Arlo explains. “It’s brought to me all packaged up like this.” 

It seems odd to you that the systems around food are so sloppy, especially since Silco seems to thrive on order. Upon further reflection, you realize you haven’t actually seen him eat. He left his plate untouched at the tavern. He let you eat his bread and potatoes. You saw him drink from his tankard but you cannot recall him taking a bite of his food. 

Surely, he must eat. Though he is a pirate, he’s displayed a sense of elegance and taste on more than one occasion. You simply cannot see him eating the food prepared by his illiterate cook. 

But why does it matter to you? He’s obviously eating enough to keep himself alive. Why would you care what he eats? 

You don’t care. And you don’t want to think about him. You have an important task on hand that is, truthfully, quite fun. You’ve come across many of the spices and herbs stored in the scullery during your travels. Smelling them brings pleasant memories. While you do not know how to cook, you know how to describe what things taste like. In the event Arlo knows nothing about an ingredient, you are sometimes able to provide some knowledge. It’s a strange system, but it somehow works. 

Arlo keeps your mind busy. He even teaches you how to chop a few things. Your hands are clumsy but you make it work. Within an hour, you are dutifully stirring a massive pot of fish stew. While it’s not something you’d choose for yourself, it’s an improvement on whatever Arlo made before. “It’s strange to be a cook on a pirate ship in the middle of the ocean and have access to things I never even knew existed growing up,” Arlo says, holding a potato in his hands. 

“You never had a potato until joining this crew?” You itch to ask why he joined in the first place but you allow him to reveal information about himself at his own pace. 

“Potatoes grow from the earth, yeah?” He asks. You nod. “Which means they need something in order to grow.” He gives you an expectant look. You know you’re being tested again but potatoes are a safer topic than the unknown personal lives of your staff. “Sunshine, water, and fertilizer, I presume.” 

“There is no sunshine where I come from,” Arlo says. “Water can’t be wasted on plants but even if it could, there is no earth. You can’t grow something of the earth if there is no earth for growing.” 

“Oh,” you murmur softly. “You’re from the Undercity, then?” 

“Almost all of us are,” Arlo says. “I’m surprised you didn’t know that.”

“Well, I haven’t been in a very social mood as of late. Being kidnapped tends to do that.” You offer a small smirk, which Arlo returns. 

“Fair enough,” he nods. “You seem like a decent sort for a spoiled heiress.”

“You seem like a decent sort for a pirate who can’t read.” 

Arlo barks out a laugh. “Perhaps, your ransom money will buy me a tutor.” 

You can’t help but laugh at that as you continue to stir the stew. With a little thrill of accomplishment, you realize that you’ve not only assisted in the preparation of a meal but you’ve done so without thinking of Silco for more than a few moments. He’s hardly entered your mind at all. 

Footfalls thump on the wooden stairs leading to the deck. You spot tall, well-kept boots wrapped around slender legs. 

It is as if your thoughts - or lack thereof - summoned him like some kind of devilish moth to a flame that would prefer to be left unbothered. “Ah, there you are,” Silco says as he enters the mess deck. “What on earth are you doing?”

“Working,” you reply, keeping your eyes on the stew. 

“I did not assign you to the kitchen.”

“You told me to take orders from Sevika. Sevika sent me here. Arlo and I are getting along brilliantly, aren’t we?” You look over your shoulder at the cook who glances between you and Silco with a look of panicked confusion. Eventually, his gaze stops on Silco. 

“I didn’t know you didn’t want her working in the kitchen, Captain,” he says quickly. His voice trembles with nerves and you feel anger flickering to life in your stomach. 

“I should warn you, Arlo,” Silco speaks as though the cook said nothing. “Our prisoner does not have a talent for following directions. She can be sneaky and disobedient if she believes she can get away with it.”

Your cheeks burn as you understand exactly what he means. 

Before you can stop yourself, you pull the wooden spoon from the stew and chuck it at Silco. He dodges, but barely. His good eye widens in surprise as you search for something else to launch at him. Perhaps a nice sharp butcher’s knife. Instead, you find a whisk. You throw it without hesitation. 

“Have you gone mad?” Silco snaps, dodging the second projectile. How can someone with one working eye be so good at dodging and judging distance? Although, you don’t know for certain if the ruined eye still has a vision. Could that be possible?

You let out a frustrated groan as your mind tries to give in to your curiosity about the infuriating pirate before you. 

“Oh, I see,” Silco chuckles. “You’re just upset I won’t let you cu-” 

He is silenced by a spatula spinning through the air as it hurtles toward him. He dodges once more. 

“I have plenty of things to throw at you,” you warn him. “And if I have gone mad, it’s entirely your fault so I will not feel bad if I crack your nose with a rolling pin.”

“I don’t have one of those,” Arlo murmurs softly. 

“Temper, temper,” Silco tuts before backing up toward the stairs. “Don’t let her poison me, Arlo. I don’t put it past her to try.”

Arlo gives you a concerned look as Silco vanishes. 

“Don’t worry,” you say with a bitter note in your voice. “I won’t poison anyone.”

“It’s not that, though I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “But you just threw things at the Captain. Have you lost your bleeding senses, woman?”

“Most likely.” You find another spoon to stir the stew with and continue on as though Silco did not interrupt your work. 

“Just be careful,” Arlo warns. “The Captain is not to be trifled with.”

“Neither am I.” ******** The stew is well received, but that’s not a surprise. Even if it still tastes off to you, it’s a massive improvement. The mess deck is packed with crewmembers licking their bowls clean and sniffing out second helpings. You and Arlo made enough stew to last several meals but it is all gone in the span of an hour. Arlo frets about rationing ingredients but his worries are soon put to rest from an overflow of praise. Even Sevika cracks a smile as she sips her broth. 

Silco does not eat with the crew, but that doesn’t surprise you. A spiteful part of you is glad that he will miss out on such a delightful meal. It serves him right for being so…so… Him. 

As night falls, the crew settles into a leisurely state. 

You get to work scrubbing the dirty dishes, eager to have a task that will keep you out of the Captain’s chambers for as long as possible. 

“Ach, leave it to me,” Arlo says. “You’ve done enough.”

“I don’t mind,” you protest, even though dishwashing is not an appealing task after seeing the way the pirates eat. “I should be helping.”

“Come have a drink with us,” comes the deep voice of the tattoo-covered man. After listening to the conversation during mealtimes, you gleaned that his name is Locke. 

“Oh, I-” You stammer, surprised by the invitation. A slender crewmember with dark choppy hair moves to Locke’s side. You’re fairly certain they go by Ran. 

“Come on,” they urge. “You’ve worked hard enough. And none of us have given you proper credit for taking Walley’s punishment the other day. It took nerve to speak up like that. Most of us wouldn’t have done that.” 

You look back at Arlo, who gives a nod of approval. Your gaze returns to Locke and Ran. Though they do not look as intimidating as they did when you first came aboard, you wouldn’t call their demeanors friendly, either but that’s something you’ve come to expect. Everyone on this ship comes from a rough place. It makes sense that even kindness looks abrasive in your eyes.  “Okay,” you nod. A part of your mind begins to scheme. If you can befriend some of the crew, perhaps you can pull off an escape after all. The other part of your mind is simply glad you have a reason to stay out of the Captain’s cabin. Besides, it will surely irritate Silco that his crew is being so welcoming to you. That’s a lovely bonus to this situation. 

You follow Locke and Ran to the main deck where quite a few members of the crew including Jinx and Sevika stand around a cluster of torches bound together in a damp barrel. It doesn’t seem like the safest arrangement, but you don’t say as much. You move to Jinx’s side. She beams when she sees you and throws a playful, but rough, arm over your shoulder. 

“It’s about time you started being social,” she says with a glint of mischief in her eyes. You almost want to remind her that you are a prisoner, a captive. Socializing is not a priority. You decide against it. She’s just a kid. She’s happy and she’s aware of the situation. You’ll leave well enough alone. 

“Here, princess.” Sevika presses a tin into your hand. You can smell the alcohol even though the tin is nowhere near your face. 

“What is it?” You ask. 

“The finest vintage imported from uppityland courtesy of Star Crossed Shipping,” Sevika snorts before taking a gulp of her own drink. You try not to bristle at the mention of your father’s company. 

“Seriously, what is it?” You whisper to Jinx. 

“I don’t know. I only drink coralberry juice,” she shrugs. “Nothing else is sweet enough.” 

You’ve never heard of coralberries or their juice. It’s entirely possible that Jinx is making up a random drink for the fun of it. Either way, your cup is filled with something dark and pungent. It is only when you notice that many crewmembers are watching you with curious and expectant looks that you realize they’re waiting for you to drink. They probably expect you to choke and sputter, proving that you’re too soft and fragile compared to them. 

You don’t know why the idea bothers you, but it does. You brace yourself and take a drink. 

And it is awful. 

If you had to guess, you’d say it was some kind of spiced rum but that doesn’t make the burn any easier to bear as you swallow it down. Your eyes water so much that everyone blurs together in a smudgy mess. For a moment, you think you’re going to be sick. Or that your skin is going to melt off. It’s hard to know for sure. 

Even when you swallow the liquid down and the feeling passes, your tongue feels numb. Surely, that’s nothing to worry about. Right?

You are rewarded with approving glances but never any outright praise. Not that it matters. Why would you want the praise of a bunch of pirates? Why would you want praise for choking down something that tastes like it was made in a boot? 

You shudder as you realize that it likely was made in a boot or something equally foul. 

Thankfully, attention moves away from you as everyone settles down to swap stories. Jinx pulls two crates together and urges you to sit on one. 

“Every word of these stories is utter shit, but they’re entertaining,” Jinx whispers to you. “I hope Locke tells about the time he caught a deep sea spineshark with nothing more than a stick and some fishing line.” 

You listen to the stories and Jinx’s words ring true. It quickly becomes clear that the purpose is not to share experiences, but to outdo each other with fictional feats of glory. Though, when Sevika speaks of punching a ravenous whale right in the eye, you feel as though there is a measure of truth in her words. Especially if that punch was done by her three-pronged attachment. 

“I wonder who is going shout liar first,” Jinx murmurs as her eyes scan the faces of those around her. 

“What?” You ask. 

“Eventually, someone tells a story that’s so impossible, so unbelievable, that someone else calls them a lair. Then they fight over it.” 

“Fight? As in, fight ?” You shake your head. How is this considered a fun activity? 

“Yup!” Jinx’s eyes sparkle with excitement. “It’s the best part.” 

“If you say so,” you shrug and continue to listen. 

Sure enough, a skinny sailor with sunken eyes and a permanent scowl tells a tale that is just a little bit too farfetched and it sends Locke over the edge. 

“Lair!” Locke booms, spilling some of his drink. 

“You wouldn’t know the truth if it bit you in the ass,” the other sailor snarls. 

“This is going to be a boring fight,” Jinx mumbles. “No one will throw a punch at Locke and Locke is too honorable to punch someone smaller than him.”

Never in a thousand years would you have looked at Locke and thought the word honorable applies to him. But Jinx’s prediction rings true. The two sailors shout and swear at each other for a little while but they do not come to blows. 

“At least I am a decent shot,” Locke grumbles as the argument reaches its head. 

“My nan is a better shot than you are and she’s fuckin’ blind,” the other man snarls, earning a round of snickers from the rest of the crew. 

“Your nan died three years ago, you twat.”

“Yeah! And she can’t see for shit!” 

You nearly spit out your tentative sip of likely-rum at that. You try to rein in your laughter when you realize everyone else is doing the opposite, especially Jinx. 

“Bring me a rifle,” Locke snaps. “We’ll settle this now.”

“You don’t have any targets to aim for, you buffoon,” Ran quips as they drain their cup. 

“That don’t matter,” the skinny sailor says with a dismissive wave. “I’m so drunk I can see just about as well as my nan.” 

“Then how are we going to settle our little disagreement?” Locke demands. “By proxy?”

“Sure, I’ll choose a proxy to defend my honor,” the sailor scoffs. His bleary eyes scan his surroundings before his gaze lands on you. “I bet the little heiress can outshoot you.”

Locke rolls his eyes and your cheeks flush red. 

“I’ll bet my life’s earning she’s never even held a firearm before,” Locke mutters. 

“Yet she can still outshoot you,” the sailor slurs. 

Your apprehension melts away as you realize everything is said in good fun. For reasons you are unsure of, you decide to join in. 

“I’ve never held a firearm but I’m certain Locke has never danced a waltz,” you say. 

Locke levels you with a hard stare, one brow arched. “Who needs waltzing?”

“Who needs to be a good shot in alone in the middle of the ocean?” You point out. 

“Good marksmanship is very useful in piracy,” Locke says. “Waltzing is not.” 

“Waltzing requires grace, balance, self-awareness, spatial awareness, and the ability to read those around you. You don’t have only your partner to worry about but other pairs around you. Can the same be said for shooting?” 

“Yes!” Jinx exclaims. “Well, maybe not the bit about a partner but that’s all true.”

“What a load of shit,” Locke grumbles. 

“It’s true,” Sevika chimes in. Her word seems to make all the difference even if she only speaks up for the sake of her own entertainment. 

You look at Locke who still seems to be struggling with the idea that a waltz and a rifleman use the same skillset. “I propose a challenge.” 

That gets everyone’s attention. 

“If I can shoot better than Locke can waltz, I win,” you say. 

“Win what?” Locke asks. 

“Bragging rights?” You suggest. You don’t want to trade away any chores since you need them in order to avoid being alone with Silco. 

“Done,” Locke nods with a smirk. Despite his menacing appearance, he looks almost…giddy. Like he’s happy to take part in something that’s truly ridiculous. “Come take your shot.” 

You stand and approach Locke as Ran brings a rifle to him. 

“Do you have any idea how to shoot this at all?” Locke asks. 

“Nope,” you admit. 

“In the spirit of good sportsmanship, I’ll show you just enough to keep you from hurting yourself,” he says. 

“How gallant.” 

He shows you how to hold the rifle, which is far heavier than you imagined. As per instruction, you keep the barrel pointed toward the open ocean at all times. As you hold it, your arms start to tremble. Locke prepares the rifle for firing and you suspect he’s taking longer than necessary just to see you struggle. 

“If there is no target, how can we know whether I’ve made a good shot or not?” You ask. 

“Don’t worry. That won’t matter.” 

“But my part of the challenge is a test of marksmanship,” you protest only to be met with a chuckle. 

“Okay, princess. Go ahead and fire.” Locke gives you a nod and you gently tap your finger against the trigger. Aiming at the endless, empty expanse of the black ocean, you pull the trigger fully. You expect the loud boom but you do not expect to feel the entire rifle revolt against your grip, slamming into your shoulder. You stumble back with a small yelp, much to the enjoyment of the spectators around you. 

Locke tosses his head back and laughs, his shoulders shaking. 

“What the hell was that?” You stammer. Ran takes the rifle from you, freeing your hands to rub at your shoulder. 

“Recoil. To be honest, I expected to you land on your ass,” Locke chuckles.

“You might have given me some warning.”

“Where is the fun in that?” The pirate says. 

“Well, once I confirm that my shoulder hasn’t been launched from its socket, I’m going to make you waltz and we’ll see how you do,” You mutter, still testing the soreness in your arm and shoulder. “If you complete the waltz without tripping, you’ll win. Is that fair?” That seems fair to you since Locke expected the rifle’s recoil to send you to the ground. 

“Easy enough,” he agrees. 

“Good. Stand here.” You direct him to stand in front of you. “Watch my feet.”

With a phantom partner, you demonstrate the basic steps of a waltz before returning to Locke. 

“Got it?” You ask. 

“Yes,” Locke nods though he does not seem very confident. 

“Good. Remember, if you trip, I win.” You place his hands in the correct positions and do the same for yourself. He’s much taller and broader than anyone you’ve ever danced with. Your arms feel suspended in an awkward way that almost makes you laugh. 

“I don’t suppose we have any music?” 

“Depends. Can one play a waltz on the side of a barrel?” Jinx asks. 

“Likely not,” you chuckle. “It’s no matter. I will count out the beat. That won’t be too difficult for you, will it?” You taunt Locke who only nods. 

You begin to count, but nothing happens. Locke stands stock still. 

“You’re the man. You’re supposed to lead,” you prompt him. 

“Right. Naturally,” he grumbles and waits for you to begin your count. When you do, he steps forward instead of backward, trampling your foot. You hold in your laughter as you shake your head. 

“I didn’t think you’d stumble on the very first step,” you tease. “Had I known such a game would be so easy to win I would have joined the fun sooner.”

“I’ve never done any of that fancy Piltover dancing before. Let me try again,” Locke mutters. “It’s a stupid dance. It’s not that hard.”

“If you say so,” you shrug before taking up position again. You begin to count once more. To Locke’s credit, he manages two steps before stumbling, earning a round of laughter from the crew. 

“What is the meaning of this?” A voice like a burst of cold wind blew over the deck. Silco stood at the top of the stairs leading to his cabin. The laughter amongst the crew faded into nothing. Only Jinx looked unaffected by the Captain’s sudden presence. 

“A friendly challenge,” you explain. “Nothing more.”

“I can see that,” Silco says as he steps closer to the cluster of burning torches. The firelight casts his face in harsh shadows that make him look even more inhuman than he already does. “But I cannot allow the crew of the Zaun’s Revenge to look incompetent. Locke, step aside.”

“Aye, Captain.” The confusion is clear in his voice as he stumbles back. You are unable to fully hide your confusion as well, especially when Silco steps before you and takes your hand. 

“The honor of the Zaun’s Revenge is at stake. You will not leave this ship under the misbelief that no one here can execute a decent waltz.” 

Well, that’s an unexpected development. 

“Do what you are able,” you reply with a note of challenge in your voice that does not go unnoticed by your new partner. You bring your hand to rest on his shoulder as you prepare to dance. “One more thing,” he says before looking to his crew. “Walley, do you still have that old fiddle?” 

“Aye, Captain.” 

“Fetch it.”

The crewmember scurried away and quickly returned with the promised fiddle. 

“Play Across a Sea so Clear and Blue, ” Silco orders before looking down at you. “I doubt you know it but it will suffice for a waltz. Surely, you can adapt.”

“Surely,” you bristle. 

Walley beings to play his fiddle. Though you do not know the song, the time signature is well-suited for a waltz. You wait for Silco to lead you into the dance, expecting him to miscount or falter but he doesn’t. The pair of you move across the deck as though you’ve done this a hundred times before and plan to do it a hundred times more. 

You quickly adjust to each other’s movements and soon he leaves room for you to add flourishes to the simple steps, which you do without hesitation. Your movements are slow and precise. As you dance with him, you cannot help but think of how different this is from the passion you shared during the storm. Silco leads you through the dance expertly, trusting you to be a competent partner. This isn’t a show of dominance or power but a display of grace and unity. Two bodies moving as one to create something elegant and lovely. 

The song ends far too soon, as does the dance. You feel breathless even though the dance was not at all physically demanding. You’re speechless even as your body moves you through the motions of curtsying to your partner. 

Thankfully, Jinx appears at your side. She’s nearly vibrating with excitement. 

“How did you do that? You looked like you were floating!” She says, looking between you and Silco. Her question is a good one. 

Where does a pirate learn how to waltz, let alone waltz so well? 

“I…” You start only to trail off. “I need a drink.”

You move away from Silco, back to your abandoned cup. You force yourself to take a sip and you are grateful that it goes down easier this time. The alcohol settles in your belly and dulls the unwanted feelings swirling through you. 

Jinx joins you soon and within minutes, the crew is back to swapping stories and boasting as though the waltz never happened. 

Your gaze wanders to the bow. Though that part of the ship is kept in darkness, Silco’s figure is even darker and you can see him easily. 

Curiosity and something deeper that you do not wish to think about tugs at you. You do your best to ignore it for as long as you are able, but it’s like a persistent buzzing fly hovering around your head. 

With a resigned sigh, you get up and move toward the bow. No one stops you or questions you. 

You reach Silco’s side and stand quietly in the darkness for a moment. You can hear the gentle lap of the water against the ship’s hull and you can see the sparkling array of stars above, but everything else is black. 

“If you’ve come to beg for another dance, I’m afraid I will disappoint you,” Silco says, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it, as though he does not wish the stars to overhear him. 

“I wasn’t going to,” you say. “But I was going to ask where you learned to dance like that.”

“It does not take much to learn how to waltz,” he says. Though you cannot see his face, save for the glow of his ruined eye, you get the sense that he’s avoiding something. 

“It’s not just that,” you say. “You dance like a gentleman. You carry yourself like a gentleman. You speak like a gentleman, for the most part. Yet, you’re…”

“A pirate? A sea hound? A scoundrel? A criminal?”

“You could have stopped at pirate but yes,” you nod, earning a soft chuckle from Silco. “But even still, you’re nothing like the pirates my father has encountered.” 

“I’ll admit to that,” he says. “I am not like any other pirate roaming the seas. I have no wish to scavenge from trade ships. If I wished to fight for scraps with a thousand other desperate fools, I would have stayed in the Undercity.” 

Silco does not need to see your face to know his words have thrown you. 

“Is it more believable that a pirate can carry himself well than it is to believe a gutter rat can do the same?” 

“I have not known what to believe for several days now,” you say. “I’d be willing to believe almost anything.” 

The chuckle that leaves Silco’s throat is dry and humorless. “The Piltover Naval Academy loves bottomfeeders with a sad story.” 

Your eyes widen in the darkness. 

Of course, that makes perfect sense. He wasn’t daunted by the storm. He runs his ship with precision and discipline one would not attribute to ordinary pirates. He’s managed to instill a sense of both fear and loyalty in his crew. And those who attend the academy are taught etiquette, dance, deportment, and anything else that can shape them into shining jewels of society. 

Your mind snaps back to the day you were kidnapped, before everything went to hell. Captain Vander spoke of the academy briefly. There was a moment when a shadow fell over his features as he spoke of his past. And he knew Silco. As did Quartermaster Benzo. 

“Did you know Captain Vander?” You ask softly, unsure if you wish to know the answer or not. 

Silence stretches out between you and Silco. Even though you are within arms reach of him, you feel as though you may as well be an ocean away. 

“Yes.” His voice is soft yet somehow still harsh. Bitter but sad. 

“Were you…close?” you ask, unsure if there is a better way to phrase it. The way Captain Vander looked at Silco aboard The Hound went beyond normal anger. There was history there. 

“For a time,” Silco replies. 

You’re shocked that he gave you any kind of real answer. 

“What happened?” You press, wanting to see how far you can take your questions. 

“Professional differences,” Silco mutters. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I think it does.” 

Silco turns to look at you as silence falls once more. Though you can barely make out his features, you can see he is fighting some kind of war within himself. You are about to take the high road and apologize for prying, as the rules of polite conversation demand, when the ship suddenly heaves hard to one side. 

Unable to right yourself in time, you start to fall. Silco’s arm snakes around your waist as he pulls you to him, allowing you to use his body to steady yourself. Farther down the deck, the crew voices their confusion amongst themselves, unsettled by the sudden jolt. 

“What was that?” You ask, turning your gaze to the sky as though you expect another terrible storm to blow in out of nowhere. But the skies are perfectly clear and the wind is calm. The ocean, however, tells a different story. The faint light of the torches reaches the water closest to the ship. Instead of the calm, docile sea, the Zaun’s Revenge glided on only moments ago, the water was as violent as a bubbling cauldron. 

“Get back,” Silco urges, guiding you away from the railing. 

“What is it?” You repeat. 

Silco does not get a chance to answer. In the blink of an eye, the sea erupts. At first, you fear the ship has nudged some kind of explosive. You can think of nothing else that would explain the towering column of water rising just off the starboard bow. 

The water crashes back down to the ocean’s surface except that it doesn’t. Water rolls off the form of something huge, something that also looks like water. You blink over and over, trying to make sense of what you are seeing. 

You spot two glowing orbs that shine brilliant blue, brighter than any star in the sky. They look like glowing stones that are somehow perfectly round. Your stomach drops as the crew leaps to action around you and more torches are quickly illuminated. The glowing stones are not stones at all. 

They are eyes. 

Glowing, unnatural eyes deeply set into a massive head made entirely of living water. The head boasts a long snout. Water vapor floated like smoke from what you believe to be nostrils. Its long, curving neck ripples as the water that made up its body somehow managed to keep its shape. Its serpentine body vanishes into the sea as its proud head takes in the sight of the ship. Its watery jaw opens revealing long, sharp teeth that look deadly despite also being made of water. 

The creature let out a shriek that makes your vision go blurry for a moment. Your mind still grapples with what your eyes attempt to understand but there is one thing you know for certain. You are not safe. 

The water monster shrieks once more and dives toward the deck with open jaws. 

#silco #arcane #silco x reader #arcane silco #silco arcane #pirate!silco #silco fanfic #silco fic #silco smut #to the depths

[the-actual-gojo-satoru]

I got a tarot reading done (past, present, future for anyone who cares) and essentially it boiled down to them saying that everything has come easily to me and I’ve never really struggled and that I have unlimited possibilities but I should make sure to watch my ego and not wait to long to make a decision. (Which like fair ig)

BUT….

It got me thinking about the fact that there is no winning when you’re just…. Good at things? I sound cocky when I just explain what I’ve done or just do what I’m able to do with little effort. If I downplay my skills I’m humble bragging or seeking attention and asking for compliments.

And when I do find the very few areas I struggle in I’m completely inept at handling failure and moving on because these are life skills that I never learned.

I know a lot of people talk about the gifted kid burning out and I sympathize and agree with so much of that rhetoric BUT what do you do when it’s not that you CAN’T do what you used to it’s that the appeal to doing well has worn off? Like completely losing motivation to put forth anything beyond minimal effort because there’s no “reward” so to speak.

I can’t help but imagine that’s why Gojo is the way he is. I know people have said it before and will say it again. It’s not that Gojo doesn’t care it’s that doing work, exorcising curses ect ect literally does nothing for him. It’s just an expectation that he’s able to do it, there’s no internal or external reward for doing such things. And there’s no one he can turn to for help when he is struggling because who can understand him? Who cares that he struggles when he’s perceived as having everything so easily. (Yall know the spiel).

Which got me thinking Gojo probably enjoys hanging out with non-sorcerers, or just being around them in general. There’s a whole group of people that don’t give a shit about who he is, doesn’t know what he can do -there’s absolutely no expectation in his interactions with them.

I felt this kind of freedom myself when I studied abroad in a Spanish speaking country. Even though I could understand and respond well it wasn’t anything close to how I am in English, and suddenly around complete strangers I was on the same level of everyone else. It was such a liberating feeling I can’t even describe it.

So I truly believe Gojo doesn’t just go out to get sweets and candy and dessert just because of an insatiable sweet tooth, but because it’s the only way he can interact with the world on the same ‘level’ as everyone else.

If he’s having a bad day, he’s accepted as having a bad day. No one would question if a stranger has the right to be in a bad mood. But back in the world of sorcerery there will always be that level of ‘what does he have to be upset about?’ because whether they want to or not they cannot separate Gojo the person and Gojo the strongest.

#there will always be that level of miscommunication because Gojo has not undergone the same maturing process as everyone else #instead of learning how to accept failure and lean on support from others he’s learned there’s no way for him to win #and the others can’t help but feel annoyed and frustrated by his behavior because they can’t fathom why someone #who hasn’t struggled the way they have #could be struggling #(to no discredit of them I’m sure it’s difficult being around someone like that) #(not that I would know) #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #jjk #gojo #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen satoru #headcanon #jjk headcanons #Gojo and non sorcerers #the honored one #satoru gojo #jjk satoru #satoru jjk #gojo jjk #satoru gojo jjk

[donnerpartyofone]

nothing to see here

I have to get over this crippling fear of being misunderstood that makes me angry, paranoid, anti-social, and sometimes even aggressive. It makes me say too much or too little. It makes me a worse writer.

I think that when most people complain about being misunderstood, they are talking about having a bad reputation, being slandered, or having no one who takes the time to get to know them. The latter thing correlates with a false equivalence between being understood and being liked, which is not a necessary product of understanding. Sometimes people also equate being understood with being correct--forgetting that someone can understand what you are saying and still disagree with it. Variations on all of those things have happened to me, just like anybody else, but my anxiety is really about people simply not comprehending the basic things that I am actually saying.

People in my life tell me that I'm very articulate, this is held to be my main quality I think, but that idea is contradicted by the frequency with which I go to great pains to explain something as specifically as possible, only to have people (often the same people who tell me I'm smart and well-spoken) completely misconstrue it, project their own baggage onto it, hold me responsible for assumptions about what I mean that are contradicted by what I just said, repeat back to me what I just said as if it were their own original idea, or even answer questions that I didn't actually ask. Mansplaining is alive and well in 2024 CE, perhaps especially among leftist men who believe they could never personally commit this crime, which presumption leaves them wide open to mansplaining all the time without thinking. But that's only a small part of the story of why so many people never seem to have the slightest idea of what I am saying to them, no matter how specific and detailed I try to be in my quest to say one thing clearly, while eliminating all over possible meanings.

I suppose it is terrifying to be misunderstood because it can make it so that you cannot control your circumstances. Advocating for yourself counts for nothing if people witlessly or willfully fail to understand your words. Language control is a major weapon of authority. I have been in corporate situations where my colleagues and I were prevented from resolving problems because upper management, who were tired of hearing about the problems, instituted language bans that prevented us from even discussing the problems clearly and effectively. I was once at an ayahuasca retreat (don't ask) where the shady organizers banned everyone from using the word "sick", which I guess was contrary to their whole healing ideology; so if you had to "get well" then you would "get well" into your bucket and an attendant would empty the bucket into the "wellness pit". One of the people I was with had grown up in an evangelical environment and went on to study religions and cults, and he pointed out that this form of language control is a classic red flag--and in particular if you are taking away a person's ability to make a critical distinction like the one between sickness and health, that can indicate a pretty dangerous situation. For another, even more obvious example, if you're in a relationship where someone is creating ambiguity around words like "yes" and "no", and inventing all kinds of subtext and context for your words, you're in trouble.

Of course, misunderstanding happens for all kinds of innocent reasons too. People don't listen that well, they don't read that well, they are just waiting for their turn to talk, they're angry and they don't think about what they're really hearing or saying, they are full of subconscious projections, they assume they know what you're talking about without reviewing your whole statement and then they just make their usual foregone conclusions. They have some narrative in mind, often a more optimistic one than whatever you are struggling to describe, and they'll contradict you with this attitude like they're doing you a big favor (like they're not kind of calling you a liar). It's incredibly frightening to be misunderstood. It's like one of those nightmares where you're running away in slow motion, or more aptly you try to scream but nothing comes out. I'm 100% sure this is why I'm so obsessed with language: I think that if I can just figure out how to say things that are always understood, then I will be able to save myself from danger.

But this fear makes me take things seriously when I shouldn't. The internet can help you find your people and it can show and teach you things you didn't know about before, but every time you say anything online, to friends or strangers, you create limitless opportunities to be misunderstood in ways that you have never dreamed possible. It is so hard for me not to correct people. I KNOW that it is not important for internet randos to understand me. I also KNOW that most people still won't understand me even if I correct them. But it is SO HARD not to say "That's not what I said" or "That's exactly what I already said" or "You're making an assumption that isn't based on anything and is also not true" or "I didn't ask" or "That's not even what I was talking about." I KNOW it doesn't matter, and that if I dig in with someone, I am likely to become MORE FRUSTRATED. But when I don't correct the person, this DANGER light goes on in my brain and all day long I have this anxious feeling like I forgot to do something important, like I left the oven on or something, and I had better go back and fix the problem OR ELSE. It's easy to decide intellectually that not everyone's opinions and perceptions matter, and it is obvious that misunderstanding is a common problem that you can never eliminate completely, so the only thing to do is ignore the situation and keep living your life. But if only ignoring the situation were not so emotionally loaded, it would be a lot easier to steer clear of making bad situations worse.

Another option is to just stop saying things altogether, and this is actually an appealing possibility. Unfortunately it comes with just as much emotional difficulty as the fruitless struggle to make oneself understood.

[iraprince]

hi idk if this is a weird question but like. how do u Make Art with adhd? you mentioned in your comic that you struggled w various other creative hobbies, but like drawing feels to me always like the Big Bad Thing I Cannot Ever do. even tho i want to make it my career LOL

how'd you get past that?

not a weird question at all! this is actually a question i ask myself pretty much every day, bc generally my answer to "how do i make art with adhd" has always been: With Great Difficulty, lmfao.

it's hard! i am not always good at it! i made art my job bc i realistically couldn't imagine being truly happy with anything else; if that wasn't the case, i'm not sure i would be doing this. like, that ends up being a big divide between the hobbies mentioned in that comic vs art, which is something that it seems (according to viewing my online activity) i do "Consistently;" it is my career, so there's a level of like, urgency and necessity there that my hobbies don't have. which, like, obviously my advice is not "make it your job so that you HAVE to OR ELSE :)" because it doesn't work like that. i am spending an amount of time OR-ELSE-ing that i think might surprise ppl, and i am frankly very lucky that my wife is the primary provider for our family, because it gives me a safety net for when my brain makes a loud grinding noise and then belches a big cloud of smoke and i have to spend a week hitting it with a wrench.

ANYWAY. this is going to get long bc i have a lot of thoughts abt it. there's really no one answer to getting past it, and i am not "past it," i don't know if i think anyone ever can be! we can just try really hard to keep going in ways that won't burn us out. if i had to pull out the absolute #1 most important thing i've learned over the past few years, it is -- and i know this sounds like dumb corny bullshit but you really have to stay with me here -- being kind and patient with yourself.

i'm being so dead serious. if beating yourself up and freaking out and constantly agonizing over how much more you Could be drawing worked, you would be drawing right now. if beating ourselves up over our output worked, EVERYONE would be drawing ALL the time. it doesn't fucking work! it does not! do literally anything other than yelling at yourself. it's bullshit. it's fuckery. it does not work.

on the other hand, cultivating as much kindness and patience and compassion as i can muster -- saying, "well, it looks like i just don't have it today. that's okay, let's try again tomorrow," even if i'm saying it through clenched teeth and i don't really believe it -- THAT works, because it chips away at the idea of drawing being life or death. it's probably a very similar feeling to you describing art as The Big Bad Thing. of course if you hang all your self worth on it and let it become immense and dominating, it's going to be hard to interact with it! it's scary! it becomes easier to avoid it than to try to tackle it and then feel disappointed in yourself in a more active way (vs. just disappointed in yet another day where u didn't try). but every time i sigh and say "okay" when my brain is screaming and crying bc art just is not working, and i decide to rest and try again tomorrow, 1. it is easier to do a little bit of work the next day when i'm rested than it is to do ANY work when i chain myself to my desk for 9 hours and demand results, and 2. i learn that it is not the end of the world. it just isn't. and so art gets smaller, and less frightening, and it can just be my job (something i have to wrangle my adhd around just like anything else, like grocery shopping and keeping the house clean and keeping up with my friends) instead of some huge destructive boss battle with my identity hanging in the balance.

sometimes you have to talk to yourself like a little kid. if a little kid came to you upset and was like "i wanna draw but i just can't. i don't know why." you would (hopefully) not be like, "whatever, i guess you're just not cut out for it then!" or whatever other mean shit we say to ourselves when we can't draw. you would be like, "well, okay. do you want me to sit with you? how do we start? where's some stuff we can draw with? hm, i can't really think of what to draw either. did you see anything pretty or cool today? let's just draw some shapes." etc etc. and if the kid got frustrated and it still wasn't working you'd be like, you know what, that was a good try. let's have some lunch and try again later. and you deserve that same level of patience, and that level of CURIOUS problem-solving ("what can we try? what might be easier?") instead of, like, adversarial/blame-assigning problem solving ("what the fuck is the matter with you? why can't you just do it?")

also, shaking things up!! one of the most frustrating things abt adhd for me is i'll find a new strategy that Works, but it only works for like, two weeks or whatever, and then it stops working and i have to do something else. i have had a way better time just accepting that that's how things work vs thinking of these cycles as "failures."

if i start dreading working at my desk, i throw a block of printer paper onto a clip board and work on the couch for a few weeks. when that stops working, i get back on drawpile and do all my warmup sketches on an interactive canvas, with strangers around me (virtual coffeeshop lol?). when i get tired of that, then maybe i'm ready to be alone with clip studio again. nope, still not working? okay, let's stream while i'm working for a while then. let's start drawing differently. let's change the background color i draw on. just, like, i keep shaking things up to see if maybe i can trick my brain into feeling like we're doing something totally new for a while, and a lot of the times it works, and when it does not work i am not an asshole to myself, which is, as i keep reiterating, super vital.

when i make the most art is when i get super excited about something and i let myself go apeshit. (there's a reason my guild wars 2 stuff is corralled on a sideblog lmao.) when commissions start grinding to a halt for me, a lot of times it's bc i've let them become Tasks on a to-do list instead of remembering that each piece is a DRAWING; it can help for me to sit down and go through each piece in my queue and really look at it, and remind myself that these are DRAWINGS and i LOVE drawing, and to point out to myself stuff in the wip that i like, and stuff i'm excited to draw the next time i work on it. it's very easy to flatten stuff into just An Obligation if you stress too much about it, but it's very helpful to slow down and step back and remind yourself WHY you care that much. it's not just bc you have to.

i don't really want this to get much longer than it already is, especially when i don't really have concrete tips so much as rambling opinions and examples of stuff that Kind Of works for me Sometimes. i think the tldr is: relax, be nice, keep it fresh. i hope at least some of this is helpful!

#ira answers

[justanotherhh]

@girlbossradiodemon: Queerness as an insight into humanity. I am curious what that means.

heya, hope it's ok to move your question to a new post, because it gave me an opportunity to ramble about something I've been thinking about -- so we'll call this post:

hazbin hotel, aroace alastor, and complicating redemption

cannot remember how i phrased it in the original post, but the main crux of the idea about queerness as humanising is "when does horror and villainy use queerness as a shorthand for Other/deviant and when are those thing subverted"

in terms of alastor specifically, aspec identity (especially the kind that is on the repulsed side of things) is often used -- without people knowing they're even describing real experiences and identities -- as a way of describing a lack of feeling, a lack of empathy, a lack of connection with other human beings, as a way of signposting "this is going to be a Bad Guy, look at this person who can't engage in the Universal Human Experience Of Love (sometimes with the prerequisite desire for sex, and sometimes it's the just-wanting-sex-but-not-love that's the Evil Code)"

note here, of course, that a lack of empathy also shouldn't be a shorthand for evil! the word "psychopath" generally needs to be put on a high shelf for anyone writing anything unless they can prove they know what in the world they're talking about!!

with alastor, when reading with the aroace hat on, we get an insight into how he does relate to other people. rather than going "he's so evil he can't love," it's opening up questions about what sort of connections he does form with people, and how those are complex, and possibly there's a lot of backstory there -- that's part of the whole story we're seeing with pretty much all the main characters: "misfits who have struggled to form connections because of their specific brands of Weirdness (and also they're in hell)"

now something im interested in with him being aspec, is how the show also to an extent deconstructs the ideas that being alloromantic and allosexual are necessarily indicators of goodness, and could go a lot further in future, if it wanted to -- this works better because almost all the characters in this show are queer (and tbh, until niffty is confirmed to be allorom, i am hc'ing her as aro), and so there's much less risk of falling into the trap of "deviant sexualities vs normal sexualities" that even some shows with queer characters fall for, because they still set up monogamous, allosexual relationships as More Correct vs Other Kinds Of Queerness That Is Bad

in the hellaverse, being kinky isn't semiotics for evil, being poly isn't semiotics for evil, being arocoded isn't semiotics for evil, etcetc.

being aspec is a difficult pill for a lot of people to swallow, including other queers, especially aromanticism, and so it's neat to consider the potential of portraying depictions of love and sex that are healthy (charlie and vaggie, pentious and cherri bomb, etc) next to depictions of love and sex that are unhealthy/toxic/abusive (valentino's and vox's ways of interacting with these things) next to depictions of not-love and not-sex that are complex and (i hope) indicators of how to get to know a character better, rather than villainising or simplifying a character. that maybe initially a character like charlie (amongst others) might not get it, but that's something she needs to sort out, not alastor

it's another way the show could go a step deeper into deconstructing how we take in ideas about "goodness" in narrative and in life based on simple clichés, for example the idea that "love redeems you" -- well, what if you don't love? and what if you do love, but that's not an indicator of goodness at all? is "love" in fact an all-encompassing positive force in the first place? why do we place it on this pedestal?

in many ways the potential of alastor through being aroace, reminds me a little of how we see angel in season 1. he's introduced a Certain way -- as shallow, as someone who doesn't put the work in, as someone who "doesn't care," -- and these narratives are enforced diagetically and non-diagetically by showing that he's an addict and a sex worker. a lot of the scenes related to drugs and sex work and kinky sex are funny (crack is expensive), and/or are met with disgust by the main characters (the sex dungeon), are considered things he needs to overcome in order to be worthy of redemption (the roleplay with sir pentious)...

and then those things are pulled apart, and both narrative and characters go: "what's wrong with being a sex-worker? what's wrong with being an addict? hell, what's wrong with liking sex???" and through that "why does he need to prove himself to be redeemed?" and i predict, eventually, already heading in that direction "why even need to be redeemed when the problem is the black-and-white morality of pure goodness/badness to begin with?????"

and i think alastor being aroace could play a cool part in that. it's not love that makes alastor human, and it's certainly not sex. it's how he interacts with not fitting into those normative boxes, and how other characters, hopefully, eventually, will learn to see things from his perspective (at least, in this case)

the whole the idea of "queerness as an insight into humanity" is something both hazbin and helluva do really well, because of their portraying queerness as a given, as the thing that it simply is how these characters interact with the world -- whether good or bad or somewhere in between, the characters' queerness invites us to ask questions about them, and i think some characters offer that opportunity even more starkly than others...

i mean alastor of course. keeper of the aroace Themes.

so yeah. aroace as humanising. love doesn't mean goodness. what even does redemption mean?

#aroace alastor #alastor #alastor meta #hazbin hotel #hh meta #my meta

[yourpalmickeymouse]

Hello Mickey :D I just want give a little head up that a certain inky dog and green lawyer are on here. Any thoughts on them?

...

Are you kiddin' me? Are you serious? Those two are here? On THIS SITE?!!!!???

*sigh*

Sorry, I don't mean to be rude. It's just... I've had very bad experiences with both of these "gentlemen". They are some of the slimiest most rotten villains that you would ever hate to meet. I guess it would be good to answer your question, so you know why you should avoid them at all costs...

First up the "Green Lawyer" which I am sure you are referrin' to the deplorable Sylvester Shyster. What do I even say? He's a corrupt lawyer who abuses the law to swindle innocent people and try to evade consequences for his criminal activities. Did you know that he tried to steal Minnie's inheritance? And after she trusted him as a friend too. Yeah, I know. And that's barely the tip of the iceberg. There's almost no end to his depravity. He'll do anythin' to get a quick buck, even put multiple people's lives at risk.

If he ever offers you any legal services, SAY NO!!! I'm not jokin'. He'll try to come across as someone trustworthy, but he's not. He'll somehow find a way to screw you over and take all your money. It's best to ignore him, or even better yet report him. I honestly can't stand people like him. People who just see others as potential targets to squeeze every penny from. I can't even imagine how he sleeps at night.

And now for the "Inky Dog", I know exactly who you're talkin' about. The wretched evil that is The Phantom Blot. Him. Well the most important thing you need to know about him is ...

I mean to say that he's ...

It's just that ...

Sorry. It can be hard to talk about him sometimes. I have had some... intense... experiences with him and while he's not the only one who I struggled with... With him, it just feels different. I don't know how to explain it. He just feels so... off. He's unsettling in a way that is hard to describe. He masks it pretty well with his "charisma", but once that mask starts to slip... Well...

... He kinda scares me.

It doesn't help that he is extremely conniving and can make devices and schemes unlike the world has ever seen. Every time I know he is involved in something, I just feel like I have to be on high alert. He always manages to surprise me. And not in a good way.

I guess what is most important for you to know is that he's extremely cruel and manipulative, and will do anything, anything, to get more power and control. I wouldn't recommend tryin' to deal with him. It's not worth getting entangled in his traps, both physical and mental. He's a wicked monster with a stone-cold black heart made of coal... Then again, I wonder if even that's true. Sometimes I feel like there's still some humanity in him. A part of him that does know better... I kinda feel like that makes him worse.

Regardless, I think it's important not to be afraid of him. That's exactly what he wants. He's not as invincible as he tries to appear. He's not unbeatable. In the end, he's just a guy. Just a guy in a cloak. And just like any guy, he has, can, and will be defeated.

...

But seriously if you happen to catch either of these two in suspicious activity please alert me or the Mouseton police. We'll do our best to try and take care of these scoundrels.

Perhaps this is a blessin' in disguise. I could use this as an opportunity to keep an eye on these two and keep them out of trouble.

#mickey mouse #phantom blot #the phantom blot #sylvester shyster #mickey mouse and friends #mickey and friends #askblog #answered #disney #mouseverse

[theonevoice]

Sorry if this is a little foggy and poorly worded, but I have been sitting on this thought all day, after working on a scene from Mamoru Hosoda's Wolf Children, and might as well put it here. The scene in question is the one where little wolf-boy Ame, sweet child who loves stories and picture books and who struggles to come to terms with his hybrid identity, one day while out in the woods with his sister and his mother on a sort of wolf-training excursion suddenly starts crying. And the reason why is crying is that, in all the picture books, he keeps seeing the wolf depicted as the bad guy that ends up shooed away or killed. And because of such representations, now he wants to repress his wolf identity, that has always been a lively and funny, although hard to figure out, part of his life. He is terrified of being what he is because the narrow representations that he has access to tell him that the world does not like people like him. It's a powerful little moment in a beautiful movie, that always makes me tear up, and if you missed it I highly recommend you watch it. If you are not into anime movie and just curious of the scene, I found a clip on YouTube:

Anyway, this scene made my lonely braincel twitch, and I was thinking, now that we are approaching the end of this glorious - as far as the mediascape is concerned - year 2023, that many people underestimate the enormous power of fantasy narratives in expanding the borders of gender (and minority in general) representation. Having an author canonically establish that certain fixed categories do not apply to one or more characters for in-universe reasons takes away that nasty oblique excuse that some people use to deny and disparage diversity in media (where I live they usually sound like "they only made this character a person of color to please the woke liberalsTM even if the historical context doesn't allow it", or even, comically, "it is narratively implausible that this character is or shows to be queer but they were forced to do it by THE GAY LOBBY" - yes, this is an actual conspiracy theory loudly promoted by Italian journalists and politicians, and yes, I am personally deeply ashamed by it). Obviously, almost none of said people has the faintest actual interest in narrative aspects, but they still use the excuse to pollute the public discourse and attack minorities. And I am aware that there is a possible dark pitfall here: in the best possible world, we should not need to take the route of fantasy settings to have something that should never have been denied in the first place, but from a pragmatical standpoint it does work. Having authors saying "nope, sorry not sorry, they are wolf-children / angels and demons / weird vampires / anachronistic pirates in a fantasy context so your self-proclaimed laws of plausibility do not apply and you can shove them where the sun does not shine while we enjoy the show and put this beautiful, funny, delicate, deep and sad things on screen", is like having a cultural picklock which is also a cultural battering ram thrusting the representation-door open. Shows like Good Omens, Our Flag Means Death, What We Do in the Shadows (and their fandoms with their massive collective creative endeavour), by offering the symbolic shield of a fantasy setting can establish a safe space where 1. queer people (especially young people but not only) can finally recognize themselves and stop feeling like they are alone and don't have the words and images they need to describe themselves; 2. not queer people can get used to a larger set of possible identities and not only realise that 100% of said idenities are in fact - hold on to your butts - still people with thoughts and feelings and needs, but also, through the power of mimesis, acquire a deeper understanding of forms of life that they don't directly experience. Including, hopefully, understanding how similar we all are when it comes to us being ultimately a bunch of naked apes who walk on this spinning rock trying to be as little miserable as possible.

Again, sorry if this sounds clumsy and blunt, given how delicate and complex this subject is (one does not simply walk into Mordor talk about the lives and needs of other people like that), but I had this thought stuck in my shallow brain wrinkles and I wanted to try and put it into words.

#celebrate your fandom #go #ofmd #wwdits #ourgoodshadows #good omens #good omens 2 #our flag means death #what we do in the shadows #Youtube

[blaqueswanzaghouliishiilikeda]

iwtv ep 1 rewatch thoughts

[i am eating Popeyes right now and i promise didn’t plan it this way, but seeds were planted so here we are.]

first things first we [the viewers] are introduced to our two time Pulitzer Prize winning professor Daniel Malloy. We all come to this course with a variety of understandings of the topic just like in any other course. Right off the bat he’s telling us of his expertise in a pervious recording and at the same time we witness his visible skepticism of his own claims in the more nuanced present setting. if you think he’s the only reliable character it’s very much being challenged in the first few moments, which i’m sure has been pointed out many, many times.

he flips the channel there’s a war happening (clue about where we’re at in terms of timeline?? idk. i’ve only engaged with AMCverse so maybe?) and flips it again and the fantastical is going to become a reality. he just has to put the pieces he doesn’t have together so he sits down to do a puzzle (a devils minion easter egg apparently) and he’ll get those pieces by accepting the extended invitation sent to him by none other than Louis de Pointe du Lac, which picks up from his mail box after trying to fit missing pieces together. very solid intro.

Daniel: Why get any closer to the bug than i need to?

he says before he gets on an international flight and exposes himself to countless risks. It’s what he does tho right? i’ve seen a couple sc of the books where he describes Armand as looking like an insect. he is not put off by getting close to perceived bugs. Its funny tho as he’s asking the question, he’s unboxing the answer—louis’ handwritten invitation—as to what would be worth risking your life for right above the devils minion easter egg.

-bc the bug has been following your career (like the way armand followed him yes?) and you like that

-bc the bug wants you and has invited you and you are a risk taker in the ways an investigative journalist has to be to get to the story/truth. in a way a man who refused to face his mortality chooses to be as pointed out by the lovely tumblr user blueiight here (hope it’s okay that i linked you. lmk)

Louis definitely clinging to threads of the past. in 2020 he’s sending hand written letters (on papers with Lestat’s initials) instead of emails and original cassette recordings instead of digital recordings. A lot if not all of his threads to humanity are threads to the past (“in my day” old headass) since right now he seemingly doesn’t really have any connection to humanity in the modern time. being an out of touch billionaire will do that to you, on top of being a century old vampire.

I think thats another evil that gets overlooked when some of y’all are looking for “he’s just as bad” reasons to pin on him. Instead of the imaginary he bit claudia before bringing her to Lestat…like…in addition to his pimping he’s literally a billionaire. like its right there. that encapsulates the worst ways to exist in this world. he the manpire of humanity as well like…

which i guess is goes into the many faces of violence that fade to the background and don’t get called out enough. violence isn’t alway brutality and i noticed just this past couple of days people only see violence when it’s in tandem with brutality, but im not about to sit here and lecture y’all cause that’s not at all fun. and thats why im doing this. bc its fun. i just think this show does a wonderful job of showing the spectrum of violence and evil and i think you do a great disservice to what they have done here if you’re only seeing those things from one angle. and i think thats one of the reasons why so many people struggle with Lestat and don’t appreciate how masterfully (no pun intended) he’s been crafted bc you don’t recognize those things [violence and evil] anywhere else in the story as being as bad.

if thats Daniels box of the past he doesn’t have much kids stuff, just a pink stuffed animal and a bike helmet, so i wonder how much of his kids lives he’s really missed. Like it doesn’t even seem like there was a joint custody situation where they spent a great deal of time at his home as well. idk maybe he has things in storage. but i’m curious about that and how that parallels with how louis let his own child down as has been pointed out.

ngl he look tf good while he listening back to this tape 😩😅 someone zoomed in on his muscle flexing when he pressed play and i just want to say to you i agree wholeheartedly with you whoever you are.

he mad tho. snatched that letter up quick after pausing the tape. 😂

He dives into the (possible) eternal sunset on a highway that looks like water.

If this is a way to get Lestat’s attention, which I think it can be said is a part of why this second interview is happening given the papers Louis chose to write the invitation on, I think its very pointed that Louis is introducing himself as a keeper of knowledge considering one of his (possible*) final moments with lestat as pointed out here.

one of the last things Lestat ever did before he was poisoned, had his neck sliced, and was dumped in a garbage yard to feed on rats, was humiliate Louis about his love of books and claim the role of the knowledge keeper in their family. I think its a very pointed message that this is a book (especially with all the mediums available in 2020), of course Louis loves books, but also Lestat has beef with books lol (Between Gabrielle and Louis). If there’s anyway to get a rise out him (hehe) its a book where Louis is identified as the knowledge keeper of the immortal life Lestat gave to him. and it’s written by a savory inferior as well. louis could have written the book himself. God knows he has the skill, time and the access to do it so that was intentional. Lestat gone drop through the ceiling of the dubai penthouse in a rage.

*possible final moments bc we don’t know yet if Louis has seen Lestat since Paris etc. etc. which i think he will see him in paris bc of Rolins “can’t burn him twice” comment, but i’m open to being wrong.

i haven’t pointed out anything that hasn’t been discussed extensively, but this is a verrryy solid opening introduction to the show. right off jump they established this to be a well crafted episode.

i need yall to know right now that as we go forward in this episode i cannot be held accountable for who i become when faced with brown eyed louis’ fine self. you’ve seen it yourselves please don’t hold this against me!!!! i am not god’s strongest soldier! i am weak at the knees! i will buckle! i will fold!

#iwtv ep 1 rewatch #daniel malloy #louis de pointe du lac #iwtv #we are the viewers and the students #mw posts

[wisecrackingeric-2]

((Redoing this cuz TUMBLR FLAGGED IT DAMNIT))

20 Questions for Fic Authors !!

Thank you S O SOSOSOSOOSSOSO MUCH @sunhatllama & @courtofparrots for tagging me!!!!! :DDD

1. How many works do you have??

36!!

2. What is your AO3 word count??

202,659!!!!!!!!! God fucking damn!!!!!!!!!!!!!

3. What fandoms do you write for??

Just Resident Evil!! :D

4. What are your top 5 fics by Kudos??

1. All You Have To Do Is Ask

2. Your Drunk Words Are Sober Thoughts

3. Leon (Finally) Gets Top Surgery

4. Anemoia

And Love Me Like There’s No Tomorrow in that order!!

5. Do you respond to comments??

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES EVEN IF IT TAKES ME FOREVER I ADORE COMMENTS THEY KEEP ME GOING

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending??

OOOOOUGHH this is hard because I am ALLERGIC to writing angst BXBDHENSJ I don’t know why I just struggle to do it!!!! I always feel too bad for the characters!!!!! But if I HAD to pick I’d proooobably say It Was Only Yesterday for @aquarelacosmica because old age is sad I guess BXNENNEDJ

7. What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending??

Literally all of them HDBEHENDJJ happy endings are guaranteed with all my fics but if I had to chose my favourites, they’d be, in no particular order;

1. Marido

2. Matteo

3. Beautiful Boy

4. New Years

5. I’ll Help You Pray

And 6. Save A Horse, Ride A Cowboy!!

8. Do you get hate on fics??

Not so far thank god!! I’ve definitely received WEIRD or overbearing comments but no hate!

9. Do you write smut??

My only NS f W fic is Feeling Loved, and it’s more a piece on Luis’ chronic pain and self esteem after RE4 than it is smut I’d say!! It’s very near and dear to my heart <3

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest crossover you’ve written??

I’ve never WRITTEN a crossover HOWEVER I have PLENTY of AU’s in my art tag!!! I’d love to write my Warriors Serennedy AU out someday though!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen??

Nope!!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated??

I’ve actually been asked by somebody before if they could translate my fic one time!!! I don’t remember which it was, but I had to politely decline since I didn’t know the language and wouldn’t be able to crowd control the response, but they were super duper polite and kind about it!!!!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before??

I’ve never co-written a fic per se but I’ve definitely had my friends bounce ideas between me and help me with proofreading!!!!! Ily guys <<<<333

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

leans on the suspiciously serennedy-shaped box standing in my room Why do you wanna know?

15. What’s a WIP you’d wanna finish but doubt you ever will??

I have quite a handful that I’ve started but unfortunately lost the momentum for and can’t find it again.

Writing is a lot like art for me- if inspiration strikes I have to do it THEN AND THERE or else I’ll lose the groove for the kind of style/inspo I wanted to do it in, and unfortunately I had to give up quite a few fanfic projects this year to focus on art and also mainly cuz the beginning of this year has been VEEEEEERY tough and I always prioritise my art over writing unfortunately!!

I’m proud of myself for finishing (I’m Just A) Sweet Transvestite though- that one was made through blood sweat and tears :,)

16. What are your writing strengths?

UHHHH NO CLUE!!! I’ve been TOLD it’s how I characterise my characters and how I write dialog, but I think the easiest thing for ME is describing scenes so I dunno!!

17. What are your writing weaknesses??

Can saying ‘everything’ count HFNEHENDJ I’m more of an artist than a writer!! But I think the thing I struggle with the most is stretching out important emotional beats. And also commas.

18. Thoughts on writing dialog in another language??

I do it all the time for Luis so Hell Yeah!!! Thank you Wilfreeeeeeeddd for helpiiiinnngg <<<33

19. First fandom you wrote for??

Also Resident Evil!! Serennedy has a violent chokehold on me

20. Favourite fic you’ve written??

(I’m Just A) Sweet Transvestite !! I am S O proud of myself for finishing it man!!!!! I went through HELL and back writing it and I made something that means a lot to me!!!!!!

Tagging @blveherb , @geddy-leesbian , @leonsbunny , @hamartia-grander , @ugetelynx , @theprestigegirly @mooseonahunt and anyone else who wants to join!! :DD

#ericswriting #serennedy

[sea-salted-wolverine]

Do you ever have a moment where a passing recollection from childhood flutters through your brain, and you almost don't consider it until you realized that it was actually really fucking strange? And then you call your mom, and hesitatingly because you don't really trust your six-year-old imagination and memory, describe your version of events and ask for the perspective of someone who was an adult at the time, only to have her offer clarification that is perhaps a dozen times more bat shit than what you thought happened?

I was 6. I might have been 5. Maybe 7. I dont really know. It's not important. My brother is 4 years younger than me and he could walk and had teeth at the time. That is important.

We were regularly going to service at my grandmother's church. There was a children's area/playground/daycare thing that was offered as an alternative for sermons so no one had to deal with the loud fidgety babies. I think, like I said, I don't super trust my recollection.

There was a disagreement. I made someone cry. There was no hitting. We were asked to leave and then only showed up to church again after that on Easters and Christmas.

That's what I remember. Which isn't a huge deal until you think about how badly things had to go for an entire family to get kicked church. Semi permanently. So I asked about it several decades later.

Let it be said that I am an atheist not because I had some grand dramatic break up with God, but because there just was no religion at all in my life, certainly nothing that's stuck. This is why. It is also worth noting that this happened within like a month.

So first, the pastor/the reverend/someone in charge was embezzling money. How? Is that even possible? Fuck if I know. My grandmother did not go to church for the reverence or the religion, she went for the politics. She's the kind of woman who enjoys holding power over other people. She and Pop-pop were at elders at the church and had opinions about the misappropriation of funds. It gives me joy to conceptualize this in the tones of some gritty mafia movie so that's how it's gonna be. There was a titanic covert power struggle over the fiscal health of this suburban community church.

Dad actually did have a dramatic break up with the bad boyfriend that is God. How and where exactly this happened in the timeline is unclear.

Mom and Granny were both in the bell's choir. Singing and music and fun times. Also quite a bit of homophobia. This was the nineties and a different church down the road had announced they were open to having gay weddings. This resulted a fervor of gossip and unchristian remarks about awful degenerates burning in hell. Mom did not appreciate this and managed to create a schism throughout the choir, starting a cold war of dirty looks and sneers. Evidently the music took a turn for the shitty as well. To be clear, This was not a case of activism or allyship. This was a group of people who believed themselves to be superior for not being gay versus a group of people who believed themselves superior for not gossiping.

The day care thing, turned out to be a series of separate incidences. The first being when baby me having hyperfixated on Greek myths decided to info dump on my sister and inform her that the Greek gods were just stories and fake, just like jesus and the Christian God. This also resulted in some consternation from the adult who is supposed to be watching us and in theory guiding us towards a more godly life. Supposedly there was a serious talk with my parents after the fact. However there have been so many serious talks with my parents about my behavior and the things that come out of my mouth that they have in fact blurred together and even my mom has no idea what I did. It is worth noting that this probably did not help my dads Spiritual Questioning.

There were several other incidences but the culminating moment, the one that wound up with us walking out mid service to never return, started when my mother's 17 year old cat died fighting something in the Bush.

This cat was an outdoor cat and as a result kill a lot of things. Baby me had a very good idea of what dead animals looked like and everything that entailed. Baby me had also not really been formally introduced to the concept of heaven, which seems like an oversight on the part of some adult.

So at the day care thing we are all sitting in a circle, going around, and talking about sad things that have happened to this group of slightly older than toddlers so we will have something to pray about. There is another little girl whose cat has died.

I would like to think that the adult version of me would have handled this better.

The long and the short of it is, I informed everyone that heaven wasn't real, dead things stay dead forever, there isn't really such thing as a soul, especially not for cats. Just imagine the worst tone-deaf atheist asshole you know, except 6.

So, she started bawling. The adult that is meant to be in charge is just staring at me in horror. No one told him that he would have to explain the afterlife today. And they really didn't mention that he would be cross-examined by a critical six-year-old while another one sobs.

The conversation that followed had to be hilarious, but due to the foibles of my brain and the intervening decades, I do not remember it at all. A great loss for us all.

Remember how I said it was important that my baby brother has teeth at this point? While I am engaged in theological debate with an increasingly desperate Day care worker, my wonderful loving and loyal baby brother is told that I am a mean person. While this is arguably true, he also loves me. Significantly more than he loves common sense. Or manners. Or Jesus for that matter. His big sister is the best person in the world, actually.

Queue the fighting for my honor.

Yes, he started biting.

My sister is an empathetic cryer and is now also sobbing.

The poor daycare man has not convinced me that heaven exists, but he's now wondering if this is the threshold of hell. Someone goes to get mom or dad or granny or anyone who can do anything about the tiny heathens unleashed on the kiddy hour.

So, yeah. We never went back. Only my sister ever missed it. Next Sunday, Mom told us to go explore the abandoned gravel pit for an hour or so.

#religious trauma #Technically #Someone is definitely traumatized #Famdamnily #Wolverine warbles #There are extra spaces in here i can't remove #Im gonna end up turning the reblogs off on this one

[emumybeloved]

I don’t have anything in the works unfortunately to post, but I randomly remembered this long? poem that I wrote early 10th grade still a sophomore for an English performance task that I got an 100 on even though I did it on a Tuesday at 8PM because I got hit with inspiration.

The performance task was supposed to be a poem about your identity, but I absolutely despise writing about myself so I was really struggling until I read one of the base questions that was given to us which was something about perspective? I don’t remember, but I made my poem solely on that and now I wanna share how cringe it is :D

Also, I physically cringed at reading it because it’s basically a vent but poetic or in poem form lmao my mental health was trash when I was writing the poem lol

So uh…yeah— Trigger warning!! Mentions of wanting to unalive but with pleasant wording!!

If only I can drift into a deep peaceful slumber for the rest of eternity

Cringe ass title, I know but I used all my inspiration on the poem, not the title. I actually titled it last lol

____________________

Birth. Each birth is filled with mirth or lacks mirth, perhaps in between.

Birth. Something no one in this world has asked for. So, why? What’s the point in living?

Just why do we exist? Do we exist just to exist? Even if we have a choice to do something with our existence, what is the point of it all? All our lives have the same outcome, death. So, why?

Such a thing eludes me, it’s an Enigma. Not only does it elude me, but surely eludes others as well.

In my time existing, I’ve been doing nothing but drifting along an endless stream. Slowly, but surely, drowning.

____________________

Blank. A blank canvas is what I am. That’s what I was born as and what I still believe I am today.

No, that’s what I was, but still am at the same time. What a contradiction.

My experiences, whether they be with people or with an object, just experiences, they’re the colors painted on the canvas.

Yet, those colors aren’t mine. I stole these colors from people, whether they be from reality or from fictional series I appreciate.

I stole their colors. They painted me. So, I’m a blank canvas yet colors splashed on a canvas all the same.

For as long as I deceive them into thinking everything is all right, as long as I make sure they’re safe and happy, I can slip away and fade from existence with ease and relief. After all, what’s the point in existing to begin with if I didn’t ask for it?

_________________

Humanity. Such accursed beings. Good and bad, positively and negatively, all things have a balance but from my eye, yet humanity does not.

I don’t like humans, but I don’t hate them either. Though, I’ll be glad to rid myself of being among them.

Sometimes, I take pleasure in my alienation. I don’t have to be "human" or be described as one for their existence is controversial.

Yet, they’re all liars. I didn’t want to be put in this deceitful and hatred filled world and I am certain others didn’t either. Even so, humans deceive one another for their own benefit yet they mask it by stating it’s for "the well being of others." Such blasphemy.

A tool. I’ve been a tool countless times to other humans, humans younger, older, or same age as me.

They’ve done nothing but use me for their own selfish gain. It angered me, but I withstood it with a smile painted on my face.

My pleas and cried fell upon deaf ears. They claimed to care about me, but once I start lacking in one thing or acting "differently" they question me and believe I’m putting on an act just to avoid doing whatever they want me to do.

Countless times while looking up at the night sky lacking its bright stars, I thought of how I would like to disappear from the world.

Yet, I can’t help but think about the effects it would have. I don’t require nor wish to bring anyone down because of my own selfish desire to disappear.

So, one can only dream of achieving such an act. The world is a cruel place, all are destined to be crushed in some sort of way by its weight.

Such a shame I was crushed by such a weight at an extremely young age that I was forced to grow up and mature.

If only the world was a better place. Then perhaps, it’ll be worthy of living. As of now? Not so much.

Christ on a stick, that was so cringe- well anyway, should I recreate this poem?? (I probably won't) This poem was also inspired by some quotes from books I've read too so yikes

Anyways...I wrote this headcanon thing awhile back about what I thought Alastor's love language would be and now I'm tempted to rewrite and upload it on here since I lost it- Hope you all look forward to that!!

#writing #writeblr #poem #poetry #random #personal rant #tw vent #this is cringy