#.... kinda worth it though

[razzamataz]

Got my 100% achievements award on AW2 yesterday! Saga can stop trudging through the woods looking for lunchboxes now.

[wullfric]

I am so full of pizza help

[spadesandstars]

went from reading sailor superstitions to cat myths and then reading an entire Wikipedia article about ship cats instead of doing homework

[bixels]

The Ryoko Kui interview's reception is such a disaster over a pretty normal (yet still flawed) interview between a non-Japanese fan and Japanese artistic. This is discourse for discourse's sake, and it's no surprise that almost every Twitter user I've looked at who's using this interview to parade Kui around as a goated mangaka standing strong against Western ideology is anti-trans.

Like, I do think the interview was kinda wonky with its focus on fandom culture, which Kui clearly didn't have much interest in. But sometimes that happens. Sometimes interactions between two people, especially a fan and a creator, two people who view and interact with a piece of media in completely opposite perspectives, don't click. Does this really need to get blown up into a "West vs. East culture war" issue.

Anyways, Kui saying "I don't consider my audience's interpretations when writing. I leave it to their imaginations, but I have my own read on things too" is the healthiest, most normal thing an artist/writer who wants a non-parasocial audience could say. Artists and writers use this line all the time. If Kui didn't enjoy autistic Laius or Farcille headcanons, she would have probably voiced/signalled her discomfort, like she did on the topic of Senshi fanservice. Overall, Kui handled the interview really well. Props to her to sticking to her guns and keeping a healthy disconnect from the fandom. While I think the interviewer could've/should've been more tactful and restrained, the flaws in their questions is not a symptom of the woke mind virus trying to wriggle its way into the pure Japanese psyche. It's the sign of an over-eager fan who sees a piece of fiction differently than its creator.

[tadc-harlequin-au]

If this was a game, I think a fun gameplay mechanic would be like a friendship meter. The friendship meter is affected by how you interacted with others. And if you have a higher friendship meter with people, they'd be more willing to help you. For example, companions with higher friendship do more damage when pomni takes them with her. Or another example is because ragathas kinda like the shopkeeper if she has a higher friendship her prices will be cheaper but if her friendship level is low they'll be really expensive. You can raise the friendship meter by going on side quests with the others or using positive dialog, and negative dialog makes the meter go down. Idk I just thought that it might be fun.

I like this idea. And you know what, FUCK IT.

AN AU OF AN AU!!!!!!! WHICH IS ALSO CANON-DIVERGENT FROM THE HARLEQUIN AU LMAO I TRULY AM AMAZING /j

THE AMAZING DIGITAL SOULS-LIKE!

I CAN"T seem to avoid the concept of "What if the Harlequin AU was a game instead", THE UNIVERSE KEEPS PUSHING IT TO MY FACE LIKE MY YOUNGER SIBLINGS WHEN THEY SEE A COLORFUL THUMBNAIL sighs....... back to my Shadow of the Colossus boss osts bullshit..... (affectionate)

The Amazing Digital Souls-like is a Non-canon compliant Alternate Universe (that's also a game rather than an actual fantasy world) of the Harlequin AU, where a stylized souls-like VR game called "The Marvelous Mechanical Harlequin" came out at some point during the rise of souls-like gaming.

Waking up in a well-lit main lounge of a manor, the new, amnesiac Harlequin player is met by "Bubble", a Butler Blimp, and "Caine" The Puppetmaster (whom is VERY VERY LOUD btw), claiming to be the only one who can "help her" in her current predicament.

As to be expected, she's very much on the verge of a mental breakdown, barely keeping it together while attempting to make sense of the world around her. (seriously, who thought pitching this game who sucks people inside of it to the public was a good idea??)

The Puppetmaster then proceeds to infodump everything the Harlequin player should know:

That this is a souls-like game;

she is a Harlequin Puppet in the middle of a TERRIFYING ROBOT apocalypse!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SCARYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

and that she has to go on a boss-rush type of playthrough IF she EVER wanted to have a chance at getting out!

He'll also be the game's official guide, to which the player is having trouble digesting all this information (not surprising at all.)

When asked what's her name, she can't remember and begins crying onto the floor again (lmao skill issue). The Puppetmaster then picks one at the top of his head; "Pomni", which she reluctantly takes because it's better than having nothing.

From there on out, Pomni undergoes through a series of hardships as she dies (in a video game!!!!!!!!!!!!! MIND YOU, SHE DOES NOT DIE IN REAL LIFE!!!!) over and over again, attempting to defeat various bosses, who are the NPCs. She gains more and more confidence in the battles, but she's still quite the nervous wreck otherwise.

But hey, at least she's getting quite close to Caine, right? He's so nice, and sweet, and very caring of her, careful to reassure her that she's doing a great job with the tasks. There's also a deja vu in her head that's telling her this is somehow familiar, and his presence is a comfort to her.

Surely, everything's all fine and dandy, right?

... right?

Little did this Harlequin know, there is a DARK secret to all this.

And that is the fact that the late bosses aren't just regular boss AIs, they're OTHER PLAYERS trapped in a boss's body, for some goddamn reason. She finds this out when she accidentally does a good chunk of damage to a boss's heart, making them able to speak to her for a bit before going back to being hostile.

With that in mind, Pomni has to DELIBERATELY hit their very durable hearts, if she wants them to be reform as normal players as the hearts imprisoned the ACTUAL avatars of the players.

The Puppetmaster is taken aback, but seems to let Pomni do her way reluctantly.

Once they are freed however, they become Pomni's allies, but they seem... unnerved by the Puppetmaster and tend to avoid him. Every time Pomni asks them why, they're just quiet and looking away. Otherwise, they seem to be grateful and helpful to Pomni about anything else.

This of course, raises Pomni's suspicions of the game's advisor, but she still needs to comply with the rules of this world and thus, has to keep throwing herself to the wolves over and over again.

By the time Pomni frees the Maddened Princess of the Theater, The Puppetmaster declares her ready to face with THE FINAL BIG BAD HIMSELF, The Patriarch of Puppets, an "evil entity who transformed everyone into horrible Puppet monsters". Everyone scoffs silently.

Pomni, according to him, must defeat the Patriarch as the final step to video game freedom.

But by the time Pomni arrives to the final arena, The Patriarch attempts to have a conversation, and seems to be struggling with himself.

The Patriarch explains that his boss body contains "Able", someone who was close to Pomni in real life, who entered in the hopes of making his brother leave the confines of the game. He was able to remember details due to his admin access. Caine only agreed to leave IF he was capable of defeating all the bosses without using his admin abilities, "just like old times".

It was only until his late game run when he figured out (after a heated argument) that the original AI gamemaster, the very heart piece on Caine's chest, took over Caine and was making him act like a manipulative monster. When he tried to pry the heart piece away, he got sealed in the Patriarch's body as punishment.

The Puppetmaster may be unable to revoke his admin access, but it can be sealed off.

Able's been stuck ever since, but still secretly had a bit of access to the game codes if he did it on the low, an oversight by The Puppetmaster, and thus, managed to gain some semblance of control over the Patriarch's otherwise very hostile and bloodthirsty AI just in time for him to talk to Pomni.

The Puppetmaster denies these accusations, and advises Pomni not to believe the boss's manipulative words.

Pomni now has two choices.

>Kill The Patriarch of Puppets, or >face The Puppetmaster.

"Kill the Patriarch of Puppets" ending:

if Pomni decided to not believe Able, he loses his control over The Patriarch and the final boss fight begins. Once Pomni is victorious, The Puppetmaster then congratulates Pomni, but reveals a secret: That there was never an exit.

Pomni simply passed the final test, and now, she's ready to become a boss herself. Try as she might, she cannot escape this and she becomes "The Mechanical Jester of the Circus", the new final boss of the game. All her movesets are reconfigured to become the boss' attacks.

Able resets to normal, now forever trapped to be The Patriarch as The Puppetmaster corrects the previous oversight. The others are reset to become bosses again.

A new player joins, unaware of the horrors that awaits them.

Sad ending :((( How very tragic....

"Face the Puppetmaster" ending:

if Pomni decided to believe Able, a boss fight still ensues but this time, The Patriarch of Puppets is only the Penultimate boss instead of the final stretch. Pomni frees Able, who reforms into his original 'card deck' avatar and regains administrative access to the game.

The Puppetmaster accuses Pomni of breaking his heart and breaking game rules, and thus, has to battle with him IN ONE GO. There is no more reset button for her.

But Able comes in clutch and ensures her that HE will be the one to make sure Pomni can come back as many times as possible to finish the fight and free Caine.

Once Pomni is victorious, The gamemaster heart piece breaks, and Caine is knocked out. All the blocked out memories return to the players.

(Able's design belongs to sm-baby btw!!!!)

Apparently, the VR game was revolutionary. Players could physically enter the world and be immersed in the game's astounding graphics, creative boss rushes and open world exploration aspect. It did VERY well initially, but not well enough to stand the test of time.

Player numbers eventually dissipated when the brothers moved on to greener pastures (so the game didn't have updates), and the AI gamemaster was heartbroken for essentially being abandoned. As a result, any new players that entered the game could not escape, simply because they all forgot they had access to the menu from the very beginning. lmfao

When Caine rediscovered the game and wanted to replay it for old time's sake, the same fate befell him. The gamemaster recognized one of his creators, and took over his entirety, becoming The Puppetmaster.

Able followed suit, wanting to let Caine out but he was sealed into the Patriarch's body before he could succeed.

Pomni, who's actual name is "Penelope", was Caine's significant other in real life and got worried that Caine wasn't responding to her calls while she was on a business trip. She tried contacting Able, no response either.

When she finally arrived to their apartment, The Marvelous Mechanical Harlequin game was on, and recognizing it to be the brothers' old souls-like game, she put on the headset. And from there on out, the story begins.

The other players are able to forgive Caine's actions, and not pass lawsuits once they are able to go back to the real world. Now, with the gamemaster gone, the game has become somewhat active again, though this time, it was the others (and additional new people) hopping in back into the game just to hang out and maybe do some DLC boss rushes implemented by the brothers.

It's pretty epic, y'all. Happy ending yippie!!!!!!!!!

Now if you'll all excuse me... OWIEEEEEEEEEEEEE MY ARM AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-

[ganondoodle]

got this reblog on one of my posts were i talked about being anxious about the future of the zelda series after totk and-

i even went back and unblocked them just to check my own post and check twice what they meant exactly- but i still dont know how they got to these conclusions

i never said i 'want a good uwu ganondorf' (bc that would mean hes aligned with hyrule bc thats how goodness works!!!!11!1!!!), i also dont think of any of the zeldas as 'whores' (seriously, where did that come from?? neither me nor the addition of someone agreeing with me said anything like that??? did they think bc the addition called tloz misogynistic means we think zelda is a whore????? huh???)

its also funny how they say they want zelda to stay a simple fairytale rather than have 'people like me' bc .. one point i talked about in the og post was how the evil arab thing VS good white people media likes to do so much is so normalized here that its simply seen as a simple harmless fairytale trope instead of a big underlying issue in general media and the writers might not even realize it (which is worse) bc the most 'generic' appeal is to people who dont think of it as a problem in the first place, because it is so normalized

(huh, i wonder about what kind of person that part was about .. hmmmm)

(ALSO funny they mention princess hilda as nuanced villain ... like ... wow they are so nuanced about purple haired people!!- like guess why we want a nuanced/less badly/less flat written ganondorf and what he, in particular, has not in common with other villains! its not his hair color! .... or was that point supposed to mean .. look we have one female character that is a villain, its not misogynistic! idk honestly)

(and the classic, "you just call it this/dont like it bc its not what you wanted !!!!!!!2!"1!112!!")

also funny how its 'never gonna be progressive enough' like asking for the franchise to maybe put a little more thought and nuance into their white divine right vs evil desert man simulator instead of making it worse is already asking too much

(i dont know what the last point has to do with anything??)

(also yes totk is racist, like most if not all of the franchise and a alot of other media as well, shocker- you can still like it though, i and plenty of other people are still fans of it, we just wish they did a little more with their stuff and maybe not make the racism problem WORSE)

(also yes the hyrule monarchy is also evil :))) )

(and also not so secretly so either :)) )

[noirrelite]

my take on a halolz.com meme, inspired by a similar Houseki no Kuni edit 🥹 also full version below the cut:

[creativesparkz]

some kind of animal cannibal

[deadsetobsessions]

I am waiting for my terrible decisions to come feast upon my corpse (I had four slices of mozzarella cheese and I am wildly lactose intolerant) so tall can have this thing I wrote while my bowels attempted to curdle up and wither.

——

Jason laid face down on the floor of his safe house, cheek miserably smushed to the carpet as his joints screamed in growing agony.

“Oh, shit, you good, little wing?”

Jason groaned, not even having enough energy to flip his face to the other side as a pair of boots came into view. Dick.

“Jason, are you okay? Where’s the wound?”

“C’mon Todd, even Timothy knows the importance of addressing open wounds.” Shit, the brat was here too.

“You coming down with something?” Tim’s voice asked from his other side.

Great, Jason grumbled, the whole idiot platoon is here.

A warm hand shook his shoulder, Dick’s concerned mug showing up in Jason’s- huh, when did it get this blurry?- sight. His face scrunched up in worry.

“You look stupid.” Jason said, though it sounded more like ‘yew loo stew pud’ with his face still smushed onto the ground. Reluctantly, he added, “No wound.”

“Tim, help me out.”

Jason groaned when the world spun as Tim and Dick hefted him up.

“What’s happening, Jason? Talk to us.” Tim said sharply, knowing that the tone would get Jason to respond.

“Growing pains.” Jason mumbled. “Laz pits side effects.”

“I see,” Damian suddenly said, and suddenly Jason was so much more grateful for his presence. The demon brat understood. “Richard, Drake, get him to bed. I will retrieve the ice.”

It probably spoke levels of how bad he looked that Jason’s brothers didn’t bother to even comment on the brat’s orders. Jason was lugged to his bed and tucked in.

“Sorry,” he mumbled at Dick.

“For what?” Dick patted him on the head as Tim went to get a glass of water and the painkillers he stored in the bathroom mirror cabinet.

“I’m heavy. You have old man knees.”

Divk gasped, mock offended. “Excuse me?! I’m not old! You’re fine if you’re talking shit, Jay.”

“Feels like shit…” Jay paused. “Not as shit as your gray hairs.”

“Tim! Jason’s bullying me!”

“Gray is a good color on you, I think,” Tim said, walking back in with water and meds. They helped Jason drink the meds as Dick alternated between whining about not being old and indignantly sayin ‘respect your elders, you brats!’

“Here.” Damian walked in with both bags of peas and actual ice packs. “It should be better after you have rested, but if you don’t, mother knows an acupuncture treatment that would help.”

Jason shivered as they applied the ice packs.

“Ugh, fuck off.”

“Just sleep, you raging asshole.” Tim said, sweeping a blanket onto the crime lord. “Oracle’s got Steph covering your routes until you’re better.”

Somehow, surrounded by his brothers, Jason finally found the energy to fondly flip them the bird and fall asleep.

[thevegetablewhichnoonedaresname]

throwback tuesday to that time when i took one of the few large lecture hall classes i ever took in college, a class on pre-1500s English literature, and the professor (a balding man with a British accent who banned computers because, according to him, he once caught someone watching Shrek 2 on a laptop during the lecture and he was upset it wasn't Shrek 1) stopped in the middle of talking about Beowulf to a hundred students to ask ME SPECIFICALLY (in the back half of the room but not all the way at the back) if I was using my smartphone under the table, so I had to lift up my hands and show him that no, I was knitting because the class had a bunch of printouts so I didn't need to take notes but the man wouldn't let me play spider solitaire or scroll tumblr and I had to do SOMETHING with my hands, and he was like, "ah, weaving peace I see. it seems we have the peaceweaver in our class" and then just carried on with things

[hplonesomeart]

I can’t think of any funny quips to put as description for this one so uh- suppose this time around I’ll just let the art speak for itself lol

Enjoy the daily dose of fanart while it lasts because I can’t quite guarantee I’ll be able to keep up this speed throughout the upcoming month. But I’ll sure try to! Thank you all for the support <3

[silverware-is-interesting]

I'm sick rn but hey. i can still draw. with only mild inconvenience!!

i fucked up eucerin a bit but i think it's good for using no ref

here. have some ms pain too

[j-aborg]

🌕Bane Lesath🌕

Ok here he is finally, Bane✨

Bane is a renowned Monster/Beast hunter in Astrea✨

He travels a lot and looks for beasts thats been troubling towns and cities and basically slays it for them then gets a bounty afterwards

He's somewhat a mercenary too but beasts is more of his specialty

Also think he's someone Sage looks up to :]

Ask questions if any! I would love to talk about him :D

[cyanide-sippy-cup]

"Psychic Spectres intro" this, "Anime OP" that. Y'all are sleeping on the true king fr

[paperultra]

prometheus.

Pairing: OPLA!Nami x Fem!Reader Word Count: 2,717 words Warnings: Swearing, alcohol use

mesmeric (adjective): appealing; drawing attention limerence (noun): the state of being infatuated with another person

The first time you see her, you think that perhaps you’ve had way too much to drink.

The tavern is crowded, loud, filthy, the countertops tacky with spilled booze, the music too sharp and the air too humid. Sweat covers your forehead the way condensation coats the outside of your glass; the drink inside sloshes over the top as your crewmates push and shove you around in your seat, their clamoring for more beer drowning out any semblance of a thought in your head.

Noise. Drunkenness. Celebration. It's everything a pirate could want after a successful raid.

You just want to go to sleep.

“Mind if I sit here?” The voice of your ship’s first mate cuts through the fog.

“Sure,” you mumble. Truth be told, you wouldn’t mind if a rabid grizzly took the neighboring stool right now. “You can have the rest of my drink, too.”

She laughs. You’ve never known the first mate to laugh, so you use what little of your strength is left to turn your head and look over at her.

Everything else in the crowded, loud, filthy tavern ceases to exist.

Sitting in the seat right next to you is the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen. She smiles at you, and it’s the kind of smile that follows hearty laughter, the kind that makes a person’s face glow and crinkles the corners of their eyes. Roughly chopped hair frames her face like untamed fire and her gaze feels like the ocean on a sunny day. She has freckles.

Your grip tightens on your glass. Mouth dry, you open it to speak, to apologize and ask if you could buy her a drink or several, but nothing comes out.

“Are you guys celebrating something?” the girl asks. “You sure filled up the place pretty quick.”

When she speaks, the chaos around the two of you rushes back into your ears. Blinking, you look around and pause at the sight of your captain and the shipwright sparring on top of one of the tables. Embarrassment flashes hotly through you as you glance back at the girl. (She’s still there.)

“Yeah,” you answer. “Treasure.”

Her eyebrows raise. “Oh? That’s definitely worth celebrating.” She slides her bottle over to clink it against your glass, then brings it to her lips; your heart thuds as she meets your eye from the corner of hers. “Tell me about it.”

You finish the rest of your cocktail and tell her.

When dawn broke this morning, the first mate had recognized another pirate ship sailing in the same direction as your own. She alerted the captain, who, itching to settle a personal score of which you had no details, ordered the crew to tail it. The rest of the morning and the entire afternoon was spent in a bloody chase-and-attack. Ultimately, your crew prevailed, and upon pillaging the other ship laid claim to a large pile of gold and silver.

You, being only one position removed from a lowly cabin girl, spent most of the time serving as cannon fodder. You don’t tell her that. The details are a bit foggy, anyway.

“That’s amazing. I’ve heard of you guys before, but I never thought I’d ever run into the whole crew,” the girl exclaims once you’re done recalling. “What’s your Jolly Roger look like again?”

“It’s …” All of a sudden, you draw a blank. Shit. “Um … oh, it has violet crossbones and a crack straight down the skull. I … I think …” You frown. “I should check.”

The girl grabs your shoulder and chuckles as you attempt to teeter off the stool, keeping you in place. Her firm grasp burns against your skin.

“I think you’re a little too drunk to wander off right now,” she chides while you steady yourself against the counter, your head going fuzzy for more than one reason. “You’re definitely right, anyway. I remember what it looks like now.”

“Okay.” The next thing you know, she’s standing up, letting go of your shoulder. You frown. “Where … where’re you going?”

“Just going to the bathroom. Watch my drink for me?”

She winks. You assure her that you will, but you break your promise the moment you make it, eyes fixed instead on the back of the girl’s head until the bright fire of her hair is finally lost in the crowd.

She never comes back.

(It’s almost dawn when your crew stumbles back to the ship, loose-limbed and completely exhausted. And as you drag yourself into your hammock, only partially sobered up, you think you hear somebody shriek that half the raid’s treasure is gone.)

(You just turn over and go to sleep.)

—

The second time you see her, it’s by accident.

You’re in town to buy candles and rope with the cabin girl, having been relegated to babysitting duty once again, but she somehow managed to slip away while you were walking through the market. You’ve been going in circles for the past half-hour trying to locate the damn kid.

“Genie!” You narrowly avoid a stack of cages with chickens in them – the cook will probably get some, you figure – and cup your hands around your mouth, pushing against the flow of foot traffic. “Genie, you little brat –”

Someone bumps your shoulder as they pass by. You feel a weight leave the belt loop of your pants.

The money.

Fuck.

Whipping around, you spot a flash of navy-blue polka dots just as they disappear into the throng of people. Genie gets shoved to the back of your mind as you immediately set off in pursuit.

“Hey! Get back here!”

Nobody else seems to care as you squeeze in between bodies and boxes, jumping over stray dogs and shouting after the thief. It’s your fault, after all. You were thoughtless with how you carried the money.

(Or maybe they can tell you’re a small-time pirate, greedy and violent, and have concluded that you got what you deserved. You are not a person to be feared and certainly not one to step aside for.)

After what seems to be an eternity, you manage to break out of the crowd, promptly stumbling over a broken brick in the road. Sweat drips down your back and sticks to your blouse as you catch a glimpse of polka dots vanishing into a nearby alleyway.

You’re screwed if the captain finds out you got robbed.

Sprinting into the alley, you leap at the thief, grabbing them by the collar of their shirt just as they begin to scale the wall.

“Oi,” you snarl, spinning them around, “who the hell do you think you –"

A face that you thought you’d never see again stares back at you, and the rest of your sentence breaks off in your throat.

The girl from the tavern takes the opportunity to knee you in the stomach and twist away. But you’re stronger, and you’ve felt worse; instinctively, you move behind her and wrap an arm around her neck, holding tight while your other hand slips behind to prevent her from headbutting you. Her hands shoot up and her nails dig painfully into your skin.

“Let go of me!” she orders through gritted teeth, kicking at you.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” you say, thoughts running a thousand miles a minute. “Just give me back my money.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t even know you.”

You grit your teeth. There’s no doubt in your mind, and you know that there’s no doubt in hers. “You ran away after taking my bag.”

“I didn’t take anything. You started yelling and chasing after me out of nowhere.”

“Why would you run if you didn’t take it?”

“You’re a pirate,” she hisses. “Of course I would run.”

“How do you know I’m a pirate?” you ask.

The girl stills for a mere second. It’s enough to feel her inhale against your chest, your nose nearly pressed against the cap that she’d tucked her orange hair underneath.

“I can just tell,” she mutters. Her tone is so bitter, so hateful that you can taste it. “All pirates are the same.”

Your arms begin to bleed.

You open your mouth to protest. You want to argue that she’s wrong – you aren’t the same, you’re not bloodthirsty or greedy like your captain, your first instinct isn’t to hurt people to get what you want.

But to say that now, with your arm around her throat, unwilling to let go under the pretense of demanding money that isn’t even yours to begin with? Even you recognize the hypocrisy. That bitterness and hatred is directed at you too.

You let go of her, jaw clenched.

“Sorry,” you mutter. You release her and step away. She steps back as well, eyeing you warily, and the muffled sound of coins clinking together reaches your ears. You don’t so much as direct your gaze towards the source. “I must’ve mixed you up with the thief somehow.”

She scoffs. “Yeah.”

(So she’s committing to the bit until the very end.)

You take one last look at her. Her stony expression, so different from the smiling, pleasant one you can only recall through a haze from three months ago, sinks into your memory and settles there with purpose.

“Have a nice day,” you say.

You turn on your heel, fingers brushing over the trail of bloody crescents she had left on your arm, and leave the alleyway for good.

—

The third time you see her, you know it’s fate.

You’re at a different tavern, on a different island, for a different reason. The patrons are elderly and sparse in number, and they like to brag about how they can still drink you under the table. There’s no music and the countertops are kept clean.

When they walk in, it’s almost the end of your shift – you’re sweeping underneath the corner table for the second time and hear them before you turn around.

“Ah, great! I’m starving.”

“You ate just before we disembarked.”

“And I’ll eat afterwards too!”

You suppress a snort, dragging your broom around the table’s base. Grey will be happy with these customers, for sure. More dishes bring more work, but they also bring more beri.

A girl speaks next. “If you have the money for twenty servings of meat, go right ahead, Luffy.”

Your grip tightens around the broom handle until your knuckles crack.

The crumbs on the floor completely forgotten, you turn around, slowly, carefully, and fire fills your vision once again.

It stares back at you, eyes wide, lips parted. Her fingers twitch at her sides.

Fate, surely.

“Hello!” says the boy on her right, the one in an odd straw hat. “We’re here to eat.”

You take in a breath.

“Hi,” you rasp, heart squeezing in your chest, making itself known for the first time in a year. “You can take a seat anywhere.”

The girl nods, the movement deliberate and cautious. Three of the people with her furrow their brows at you, but the straw hat simply jaunts to a table in the center and sits down, prompting them to break their gazes and follow behind him.

You finish sweeping to collect yourself, then head over with a notepad and a pen.

“What can I get for you guys?”

They each give you their drink of choice. The straw hat then rattles off a number of dishes, seeming to have completely forgotten the girl’s earlier warning, and you note them down the best you can.

“Okay.” You repeat the order, receiving satisfied grunts upon reciting it correctly. “Anything else?”

The blond-haired man shoots you a crooked smirk. “Just your wonderful presence, miss,” he tells you with a wink.

You stand awkwardly.

“… Thank you,” you reply after some time, not sure how else to respond. “My shift ends soon, though.”

The green-haired man and the guy in the bandana do little to hide their snorts. The blond-haired man clears his throat, murmuring a soft ‘oh, how unfortunate’ with a disappointed smile, and says that they’ll make do with the wonderful drinks and meals that are sure to come.

Well, that’s that.

You begin to head to the kitchen when the girl’s voice rings out behind you, halting you in your steps.

“When’s the end of your shift?”

You don’t dare to look over your shoulder. “In thirty minutes.”

“Do you mind waiting around for a little while afterward?” she asks, and it’s a question, not an order.

“I don’t mind,” you say. It’s the answer you would’ve given either way.

—

The girl’s name is Nami. Wave. You wonder if she knows the violence with which she’d crashed into the tiny island of your life.

She sits across from you at the table in the corner, just far enough away from her comrades to not be eavesdropped on, though you suspect they’ll try their best. She cocks her head to the side and her eyes narrow at you.

“The eyepatch is new,” she finally says.

“It came with my resignation.”

“You left your crew?”

“Yeah.”

You avert your gaze. A frown graces Nami’s face.

“What brought you here?” The suspicion in her tone is almost imperceptible, but it’s there.

“This is my hometown. I came back about two months ago to save up for the time being.”

“Save up for what?”

“I don’t know. Another adventure, I guess.” You chew the inside of your cheek. “Can I ask you a question now?”

“Depends on what it is.”

“Why did you talk to me at the bar?”

“Because you seemed like a soft touch,” Nami replies.

Ouch. That stings your pride a bit. The fact that she had known that from the very beginning makes you wonder what else she knows.

“Why did you steal from me in Wolftown?”

“Because I knew you were a pirate.” She leans forward in her chair, arms crossed over the table. “Why did you let me go?”

You swallow.

“I … wanted to prove you wrong,” you tell her. Tracing a long scratch on the table, you don’t tell her that you’ve thought about her words every morning while at sea, the disgust that fell so easily from her tongue, or that they fell from your own as you clutched your eye socket and spat at your captain’s feet. “But you ended up being right in the end.”

“… Oh,” Nami says.

She shifts in her seat. Her attention turns briefly to the group of men still sitting at their table – they are watching, not even trying to be subtle – and she worries her lower lip, contemplative, before turning back to you.

“Not all pirates … are the same,” she admits softly. “I was wrong.”

Your eyebrows pinch together. You sit quietly while she speaks with a strange conviction.

“There are good ones. Not a lot, but some. Maybe you were one of them.”

You glance at her friends. Understanding dawns upon you, and it’s envy and gladness all at the same time.

“I don’t think I was,” you finally say. “But I’m happy you found some.”

She huffs out a laugh. It’s clear and present and genuine. “They found me. I didn’t have a choice.”

You grin, cheeks warming under the sun of her smile and hands folded on the edge of the table as the two of you chuckle together.

“Nami.” Her name burns your lips and washes over them once the amusement dies down. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Surprise flickers across Nami’s face.

She blinks once, not speaking for a moment, and you realize that you’ve made a mistake for the umpteenth time. However, just when you’re about to backtrack and leave the tavern never to return, the girl reaches out across the table towards you.

(Three years from now, you will stand on the deck of the Thousand Sunny, and Nami will tell you that she thought about you everyday after the incident in the alleyway. And you will laugh, and kiss her, and say that you’ve thought about her every day since the night she robbed your old pirate ship. The pains of the past will only be a faint scar.)

(But for now, you sit across from each other and smile.)

“Sure,” she murmurs. “I’d like that.”

[activatebutterflyshield]

I was compelled last night and I’m quite honestly scared of whatever 11:59 PM me intended for those middle sections. At least I still know my colors when sleep deprived, and I’m sure someone else on here can fill the blank spots out better than I can on a full eight hours of shut-eye.