#I might also make more individual character playlists who knows

[deeply-unserious-fellow]

Hazbin Playlists pt 2, Electric Boogaloo

Pt 1 here :)

Once again this is in the order I made them lol

Also yes I know I already shared the Guitarspear playlists, Im sharing them again for sorting purposes :)

[agent-cupcake]

Flashbang

Chapter 1 - Puppet Loosely Strung

Spotify Playlist / All Chapters / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 /Chapter 7/ Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 pt.1 / Chapter 9 pt.2 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12

Pairing: One Piece Live Action Buggy x f! Reader

Synopsis: Running away to join the circus doesn’t go exactly as you hoped it would.

Warnings: Mentions of past abuse, murder, generally dark content

Word Count: 13.9k

Disclaimer: I don’t read the manga or watch the anime. This is based solely on OPLA Buggy because Jeff Ward.

Some quick notes before we start: This is what I've been working on this since October. Originally it was going to be one really big one-shot posted at the same time, but it's big enough that I can justify posting it as a series. I'll add warnings as I go, but this is not a happy story and there will be explicit content later on. The reader character might not be somebody you see yourself in, I had a very specific image of what character I had in mind while writing. To me, reader fic is more of a sort of play acting rather than "oh that's literally me" but I know that's not everybody's cup of tea. A lot of this is cope fic and it shows. When times get rough the porn gets rougher, right?

I had help writing this from an individual who is very dear to me. Flashbang wouldn't exist without her, especially since she was the one who gave me the clown brain rot. And then there has been the hours of brainstorming and spitballing and watching Jeff Ward shows/movies as she continued to feed my addiction. Thank you, my love, and also damn you because this wasn't what I needed.

New chapter every Sunday. Enjoy~

.

“Let me put myself in your shoes

As a puppet loosely strung

Around you, they were so confused

That a faulty man could have so much fun”

.

All it took was a little doubt. Through logic or confusion or wishful thinking, you could be convinced that the insignificant person who had parasitically driven you around for the past however many years was a stranger, and now they were gone. Everything that had ever happened fell into incomprehensible dust, and every thought you ever had belonged to somebody else. A cycle of a million memories you didn’t recognize spun through this foggy place, none of them real, none of them familiar. 

Logic, confusion, wishful thinking, or unconsciousness. An endless dream of nothing at all. But as soon as you became aware, it was awareness that those thoughts happened in the past tense, crushed inward by the unrelenting force of existence, and you were shoved back into a body. You—not the real you, the stranger you, the one made of heat and fury and pain, the one you couldn’t recognize—were gasping and thrashing in ignorant confusion, coughing out the sickening taste of blood in your throat. 

Everything, all of it, hurt. And that was all that existed. 

Until it wasn’t. 

Your panicked thrashing made you realize that you were upright, your body straining painfully against the various chains keeping you pinned against the wall in an X. The position put nearly all of your weight on your shoulders and left your head to sag heavily to the side, making the terrible, dizzying headache that much worse. Having suffered more than your fair share of them, you knew that this headache was from more than an uncomfortable position or your old injury. A hot throbbing pain radiated out from the back of your head, shooting little sparks down your spine. It hurt bad enough that nausea formed a tight, heavy ball in your stomach. Gritting your teeth, you forced your eye open, fighting the urge to cringe away from the light as it rolled this way and that. Colors and lights were nothing more than a nauseating smear, but at least you could see. 

Little by little, you became aware of yourself. From far away, you had a vague recollection of leaving, of nerves, excitement, and then of danger. But… no, why weren’t you at home? Doom settled in its rightful place as you realized exactly how little you remembered or knew, slotting into the spot of coherence and reason. Despite the pain, you fought against the shackles holding you in the uncomfortable position, irrationally desperate to be free of them. 

“There she is! Finally,” somebody said from your left. His voice hit like a hammer to the back of your aching head. You strained to look at the speaker, he sounded close, but you couldn’t turn your head far enough to make up for your limited vision. 

Luckily, he didn’t stay out of sight for long. The man’s boots were loud and deliberate as he slowly moved out of your literal blind spot. To your ill-adjusting eye, he was not much more than a blur of white and red and blue, his big smile smudged as you rapidly blinked to focus. A little shock of meaningless recognition in your brain saw the makeup and red nose and said ��clown’, but the sheer ridiculousness of that made you even more sure that this wasn’t real. 

“Not a fun way to wake up, is it?” he asked. “Keep breathing, let it drain back and cough it out. Trust me, it’s over quicker that way.”

The question you tried to form was, “Who are you?” but all you could manage was a heavy groan followed by a fit of painful coughs, wheezing raggedly in between. Each desperate convulsion rattled the chains and caused the wood to creak, but did nothing to free your bound limbs. The man seemed bored by it, annoyed he had to wait for you to get ahold of yourself. 

Since he hadn’t immediately helped you down, you could only assume that he was the one who shackled you in the first place. Strung you up against a wooden board of some kind in a room you didn’t know. Cramped and windowless, it reeked of paint and sweat and sawdust and sweet salty rot—a unique smell that didn’t help your nausea. Clutter stacked up against the walls. Dense, humid air pressed against you like a heavy coat, paradoxically chilling. Probably because of the fever burning beneath your skin, slicking you up with sweat, soaking into your clothes and the bandana you kept wrapped around your head over the left eye.

Breathe. You focused on your breathing. Panic wouldn’t help you. 

“You done?” he asked. Without any other choices, you turned your head to shamefully wipe your face off on your sleeve before nodding. “Great. Well, now that you’re awake… Welcome!” He threw out his arms with the flamboyant manner of a showman with the greeting, but they wilted right after, his big smile dropping a bit. “Or, at least, that’s what I would say if you hadn’t let yourself in and stolen the opportunity from me.” 

That was bad. Very, very bad. You jerked in an awkward, uncoordinated burst, physically reacting to the danger he presented. 

“No, no, don’t leave on my account,” he said, waving his hands and getting closer as if to stop you. “Oh wait, you can’t! Hah! Yeah, ‘cause of the chains.” He smiled affably, like it was a harmless joke, standing close enough for his gloved fingers to skim along the chain wrapped around your neck. “I guess you’re not going anywhere, huh?” 

You didn’t respond, barely daring to breathe when he was so close. Smiles and melodrama aside, his blue eyes were oddly dead, fixed on you without the slightest bit of humor. And then it finally came back to you, the vital thing that you should have known, that you would have known if you weren’t strung up and suffering such a crippling headache. The makeup, the nose, the hat—

“You’re,” you began to say, but your voice was hoarse and weak, you could barely get it out when he was looking at you so closely, so intently. You cleared your throat, wincing at the metallic taste. “You’re the-that pirate captain Buggy, like on the-the poster?” Right! The clown guy, the red-nosed pirate. You were looking for him. So this was… good, wasn’t it? 

He gave you a flat look, clearly not sharing your weak enthusiasm. “Yes. I am that pirate captain. Buggy, the Genius Jester? The most feared pirate captain in all the East Blue?” He turned with a dramatic flick of his coat, messing with something that had to flash silver before you realized it was a knife. “The man destined to find the One Piece and become King of the Pirates. Yes. I am that pirate captain. And,” he paused, checking to make sure you were paying attention, “a very busy, very important man. I’ve got, oh, ten minutes or so for you to decide how this is gonna go. So let’s get straight to it.” He turned back, pointing the knife at you. “Who are you, and what are you after?”

The accusatory tone of his voice took you aback. “Nothing… I’m not anybody,” you stammered out. “And this… this isn’t what it looks like, I swear.”

Buggy, to your surprise, relented after a second of considering your appeal, nodding understandingly. 

There was no transition from his look of sympathy to raising the knife and aiming it at you. By the time you realized he meant to throw it, you barely had a chance to yelp. The blade took a loud, thumping bite into the wood beside you. On your left side, of course. Where you couldn’t see it. You could feel it, though. The air displacement ruffled the fine hairs around your ear. If you had flinched in that direction, it probably would be in your skull. With your dizzy head aching and confused, you had no regulation to your fear or discomfort, your breathing dangerously unsteady and tears pricking the corner of your eyes. 

“Let me try a different question,” Buggy said before you could collect yourself, pulling out another knife. “Who else knows about this place?”  

“Nobody! I swear, nobody else. I was just…” You didn’t know what to say. It was all you could do to breathe the thick, heavy air and fight down the tide of nausea.  

“Just what?” Buggy asked, leaning in with raised eyebrows to show that he was listening intently. You opened and closed your mouth, unable to come up with the right words. Thoughts churned through the thick sludge in your head, getting stuck or lost or confused. 

“I’m so sorry,” you said, the stumbling apology coming out more naturally than anything else, an attempt to buy time while you organized your thoughts. “Please doh-don’t…. I’m so ss-sorry.” 

Buggy sighed, standing up straight and raising his hand to aim. 

“Nonono, please d-” You yelped louder this time, flinching away as the knife streaked through the air and stuck not even an inch away from your right cheek. You exhaled a pathetic little sob, whatever you were bound to shaking with your body. 

“Listen, honey buns,” Buggy said. “Drop the act. Stop the whining. I caught you, red handed, sneaking into my lair.” He pulled something out of his pocket. Not another knife, but a piece of paper which he unfolded, holding it up for you to see. His wanted poster, creased into sixths from the way you folded it to keep it close, to keep it hidden. “I found this in your bag. You know who I am, and you know where you are. You have to, so let’s do away with all the theatrics, okay?” 

You swallowed hard, nodding quickly in the hope that it would appease him. 

“Right now, this is a conversation,” Buggy said, gesturing between the two of you. “A light interrogation, really. But if you keep being uncooperative and wasting my time, it’s gonna go from being interrogate-y to being torture-y real quick. You don’t want that, right?” Although he was unmistakably threatening you, Buggy’s tone was more natural than before. There was a bluntness to it, an honesty. Men like him didn’t idly use words like torture. 

You sniffed, trying very hard to calm yourself down. This was a misunderstanding, so you just had to convince him. Simple as that. He would understand. You would make him understand.

“Right,” you agreed. 

“Fantastic. So,” he loudly clapped his hands together, “who else knows about this place?”

“Nobody, I promise… I’m really sorry I broke in,” you told him, speaking slowly so your words didn’t catch. “I just wanted to meet with you.” 

Buggy’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, the hair hanging out from the sides of his hat swaying as his head tilted curiously. “You’re a fan?” he clarified. “That explains why you’re so pathetic. Well I hate to break it to you, but there’s a reason I only hold meet and greets after shows.” 

“No, that’s not why! I-I want to join your crew,” you said. “I came to ask you to let me join your crew.” 

He blinked twice, staring at you with obvious disbelief. “Excuse me, what?” 

“I want to be a pirate,” you told him, louder. “Please. Please let me join your crew.”

Buggy’s expression didn’t change, but you could see the rippling shift of incredulity, befuddlement, skepticism, and then amusement in his eyes. That emotion burst outward into a loud laugh, making you flinch. “That’s the best you can do?” he asked. “Ask to join my crew?” He looked at you again, laughing even harder. “I don’t know what’s funnier—that anybody would send you to spy on me, or that you’d think I would consider hiring you.” 

“I mean it!” you argued, humiliation and desperation seeping into the thousand other discomforts of your position. This wasn’t at all how you wanted this to go.

“Sweetheart,” Buggy said condescendingly, “even assuming I believe you, this is a pirate crew, not an afterschool club.”

“I know. I know what pirates do, I know what you do,” you told him. “I’ll do anything, whatever you want. Please, please, just give me a chance.”

He nodded, turning to pace as he thought about it. 

“Okay, let’s say that I buy this… this act of yours,” Buggy said. “Do you have any experience? Maintaining ships, reading maps, loading cannons. You know, basic stuff.”

There was a line you had prepared to answer this question, one that would paint you in the most charitable light. You remembered that, but you couldn’t remember the line. All you could give was the truth. “A little.”

He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Thought so. What about specialties? Unique skills? Any sort of talent that I can use in my show—anything at all. I mean other than,” he gestured vaguely in your direction, “that. We don’t need another one eyed midget. They’re surprisingly common.” 

“I’m not a midget,” you told him, nerves fading to incredulity. 

Buggy stepped back to size you up before seemingly conceding the point with a shrug. “And the eye?” He covered his left eye to illustrate. “Is that for a bit or something?” 

Your stomach twisted with a familiar lurch. Disgust. Shame. Phantom light in the dark. “It’s not.” 

“How’d you lose it?” 

“I didn’t… lose it.” 

“It’s still in there?” he asked excitedly, stepping forward and reaching to remove the bandana. “I have got to see this.” 

“No, please—please don’t,” you begged, trying to wriggle away from his hand. Pinned to the board with your hands bound above your head, there was nowhere to go. “Please don’t, please-” 

“Come on,” Buggy said, indifferent to your pleas as he pulled the sweat soaked fabric off of your left eye. “How bad could it be—AH!” He yelled in horror, jumping away as if you’d bitten him. 

The bandana hit the floor, leaving your ruined eye and its jagged scar exposed. You couldn’t hide. All you could do was flinch back, turning your head away. “I’m sorry,” you said, ready to continue apologizing before you realized that his shock had immediately dissolved into raucous laughter. “Why are you… why are you laughing?” you asked, pulling desperately against the chains. 

“I got you good,” Buggy said, his laughter subsiding. “The way you reacted, I thought that you’d be completely deformed. A real sideshow. But this…” He grabbed your chin, forcing it to the side so he could get a better look. “I couldn’t charge for this.”

“Please stop,” you begged, shaking off his grip and staring hard at his shoulder. 

“Ohhh. You’re really embarrassed about it.”

You didn’t say anything, focusing mostly on fighting the tears. 

“Okay, alright, yeah,” Buggy said, stepping back. “I think I’m starting to get why you would risk life and limb to beg me for a job. You grew up as a cute girl in a shithole town like this. A big fish in a little pond, as they say. Then, suddenly, BAM, you’re deformed, and, sure, they all say that it was tragic, but the truth is that they can’t stand to look at you. Even the people who loved you, the people you trusted, think you’re a freak. They abandoned you. So, without any other options, you come to me, pleading for me to give you a place amidst your fellow freaks. That about it?”

You didn’t say anything—what could you say to that?— which Buggy seemed to take as confirmation, nodding thoughtfully. 

“Well, go big or go home, right? As far as a starlet’s breakout role, you couldn’t go any bigger. Thing is, I’m not really looking for new acts. Not to mention your abysmal audition.” He sucked in a breath through his teeth, looking you up and down again. 

You could feel your chance slipping away. Just like that. Go big or go home, that’s what he said. 

“Please, Captain Buggy,” you begged, staring him in the eye despite how disquieting it was, despite how your skin crawled from exposing your left eye to somebody. Addressing him properly, at the very least, got his attention. “I promise that you won’t regret it. I’ll learn, I want to learn how to be a pirate, how to perform, all of it, everything. And if I can’t, I’ll do laundry and clean and cook, I have lots of experience with that. I don’t care what you ask me to do, if you let me join your crew, I’ll happily serve you for the rest of my life.”

Buggy didn’t respond right away. You thought—hoped—that it meant he understood how serious you were, but his expression gave you nothing. There wasn’t much light in the room in the first place, but somehow he found enough to shine unnervingly in his pale blue eyes. Somebody with a bright red clown nose shouldn’t have been able to look so intimidating, but the way he studied you burned with an uncomfortable intensity. It had been a while since anybody looked at you so frankly, so openly, without disgust or pity. 

“Why?” he finally asked. 

“Why…?” you repeated, confused.

“I get that you want to leave this place, and I even buy into your whole wanting to be a pirate thing, but, you know, aside from the obvious,” he gestured to himself, “why should I believe that you really want to serve me? You’re young and cute…ish, don’t you want freedom and empowerment and all those other things girls go on and on about?” 

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Why would I?” 

A moment of quiet that wasn’t quite silence but twice as heavy passed before a slow smile began to spread over Buggy’s face, and then—of all the bizarre, uncomfortable responses he could have—he laughed. “Oh, you’re broken, aren’t you?” he asked, clearly overjoyed by the revelation. “Well, I’m sold. I’ll have to start you on probation just in case you’re secretly up to no good. But, after that, you can audition for real. I’m sure I can find something you’ll be useful for.” 

His reaction gave you whiplash. The word ‘broken’ was obviously bad, but everything else was good. You had succeeded. Only, you didn’t know why. You were still trying to decide if being called cute-ish was a compliment or not. 

“Hey, just one more thing, okay?” Buggy asked, tapping your cheek. Standing mere inches away, he smiled a rictus grin. It wrinkled his eyes, but they were without life or pity or mercy. “If you’re lying to me about anything, I’ll carve some symmetry into your cute little face. You’ll thank me for it too. You won’t want to see what the guys will do to you after I toss you out there.”

“I’m not lying,” you said softly, shrinking back. “I promise.” 

“Great!” Buggy said, his demeanor immediately cheering up. “Let’s get you down.” He walked behind the board you were strung up on, and you let out a shaky exhale. “Brace yourself,” he called. You had no idea what that meant, or how you were supposed to brace yourself when there was nothing for you to brace yourself on. “Three… two…” 

He undid the lock, and the chains keeping you bound to the board went slack. You dropped hard, your limbs as heavy as lead. Luckily, your head was too light to feel anything when you hit the ground with a dull thump and the loud cacophony of rattling chains, spinning and blank and utterly empty. There was a suspended moment of floating, lighter than air itself. And then you were blinking rapidly and nauseous, pain shooting up your arms and knees. 

Buggy dropped a key in front of you, metal bouncing on the old concrete. 

“Unfortunately we didn’t bring any real props with us, so I had to improvise,” he said. With numb fingers, you grabbed the key and worked it into the locked cuff around your wrist. “You lucked out, if this were the real Wheel of Death, you’d be blowing chunks!” He paused, looking down at you. “Can you hurry this up?”

“Sorry,” you said. Your shaking hands kept missing the keyholes, but you finally got the last lock on your ankle open. The cuffs hadn’t broken skin, but your wrists and ankles were rubbed raw, ugly bruises already developing. You’d had worse.

“Alright, upsy daisy,” Buggy said, crouching down to take the key away and grab the only chain you hadn’t gotten out of—the one around your neck. 

It acted as a noose, giving you no other choice but to lurch upward with an unappealing choking sound, your head spinning all over again, the weightless itch tingling all the way down to the base of your spine. You stumbled forward, unintentionally falling against him. 

“Holy shit,” Buggy exclaimed, helping you stand up straight with a hand on your shoulder. “I didn’t know girls came in fun size. Legally, at least. Are you sure you’re not just like… the maxiest midget?” 

“‘m dizzy,” you muttered, swaying despite his support. 

“That’s not really… Ah, whatever. Hey, at least if you fall, you don’t have that far to go.”

“I’m… I’m okay,” you finally said, which was mostly true. Breathing slow, steady breaths helped, and then you shook your head a little. The bump on the back of it throbbed painfully, and you’d have bruises on your knees the size of apples, but you would survive. You were still trying to get control over your body. It was heavy and unwieldy, although part of that must have been the exhaustion. 

“If you need to vomit, make sure to aim away from me,” he said. That was about all the warning you got before he decided it was time to go, dragging you along behind him like a dog on a leash. 

You realized you were leaving your bandana behind, your left eye uncovered, and reared back, trying to stop him. “Wait, I have to grab my-” 

“No time,” he said, talking over you and tugging again at the chain. 

There was nothing you could do but stumble over your own feet to keep up with him as he led you through the cluttered and dark storage area. You felt a tiny bit of relief that you were still in the familiar decaying buildings northside. The old warehouses were dark, dank, and dingy. Easily defended and difficult to navigate, perfect for criminals to hide out in. You knew them very well, and that helped orient you.  

"As I’m sure you noticed, I’m running a bit of a skeleton crew here. The rest aren’t coming ‘til the grand finale,” Buggy said, leading you into the main warehouse space by the chain around your neck like it was completely normal. The awful smell of rot and decay was only compounded by a sickly sweet, chalky scent you didn’t recognize. Gray sunshine flooded in through the broken windows around the high ceilings, piercingly bright. “And after that, we’re gonna blow this town.”

You didn’t respond, growing even more skittish. The two of you drew the attention of the people scattered around. Some were lounging, others were training. All of them turned to look at you, watching with the dark, focused stare of hungry dogs. Colorfully dressed, very dangerous dogs. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, I have an introduction to make!” Buggy called in a loud enough voice to fill the large space. “Crew, new girl. New girl, crew. Make sure to give her a nice, warm welcome." None of them spoke or reacted, watching you with varying degrees of hostility. Buggy pulled you forward a few steps so he could whisper to you. “See that guy?” he asked, pointing to a bald man with square features and an especially dark glare. “That’s Ivo. He was the one who caught you. To be completely honest, I think he’s still a little angry that he didn't get to keep you. If I were you, I’d try to stay on his good side.”

“How?” you asked, your uneasy stomach sinking further, but Buggy was already preoccupied with something else. 

“Oh, hey-” he called, flagging down a woman who was leaning against one of the steel supports. You stumbled behind him, holding the chain around your neck to ease the pressure. “Crina, I have got a very important job for you.” 

The woman slowly looked from Buggy to you, giving you a weighty once-over with dark, kohl-lined eyes. Her clothes were different from the rest, draped with beads and loose and layered in shades of purple. Beneath the mystique, however, you felt the same hardness you recognized in all the pirate’s faces. “You want me to look after the little rat,” she said with an accent you didn’t recognize.

"God, it’s like you can read minds or something,” Buggy said, laughing. “Anyway, yes. Make sure she doesn’t get up to anything naughty while I’m gone. In fact, don’t let her out of your sight.” 

“With all due respect,” Crina said, “why not just kill her?” 

“Because I don’t want her dead,” Buggy snapped, suddenly irritated. If Crina was surprised or off put by the abrupt change of his mood, she didn’t show it. 

“Of course, captain.”  

“I thought I saw some cages over there,” Buggy said, gesturing vaguely and forcing the chain into Crina’s hand. “Stick her in one of those. In the back, away from any prying eyes.”  

“A cage?” you asked.

“As fun as it is to see you all chained up,” Buggy said. “I worry that it might send the wrong message. Out of sight, out of mind—I don’t need you distracting my crew. They’re planning a very big surprise party. If you behave, I might be able to find some time for you later. Sound good?” 

You nodded, almost surprised by how good that sounded. He ruffled your hair before turning away, barking orders to some of the men. 

“Let’s go,” Crina said, pulling your attention back to her. “We have our orders.”

The cage Crina put you in, one out of several bolted to the floor in the corner out of the way from the main space, had just enough room for you to sit slouched, or lay curled on your side, meant for big dogs or small humans. There was a market for both, and you knew that this warehouse had likely housed both. 

The old, dilapidated buildings had been out of use for a long time, as long as you could remember. Barley Village had been originally built to be close to the mineral deposits, but as those dried up and industry trended towards the water, southward expansion left all of the old buildings empty and rotting. There was always talk about tearing them down, but it was only ever talk. One time you were told that some people wanted to keep the buildings available to people who wished for some privacy. But when you asked your dad if that was true, he got angry, telling you that was a lie, that he would never let that happen. He said it would just be too expensive to take them down, and that there was really no point in it.

But he also told you to never, ever spend time northside. Of all of the rules he gave you, that was the only one you ever truly disobeyed. You had no idea how many times you had gotten in trouble for playing here, climbing up rusted stairs and crossing the support beams up by the ceiling, using rocks to knock out the jagged edges of broken glass from the windows so you could go onto the rooftops. Your health problems made it difficult, and sometimes impossible, but you were patient. Plus, that had been before the accident, when your coordination was still good.

Back then, you didn’t worry about the many dangers that lurked here, and you certainly didn’t believe you could be hurt. You were too entranced by the world you created for yourself. The only thing you worried about was the beatings you earned when you got caught. Dad used to tell you that if you kept disobeying him by going northside, you’d wind up locked in one of these cages—or worse. It took you a while to think of the word, because it wasn’t funny, but it also was. Ironic. It was ironic.

You couldn’t even imagine what kind of reaction he would have to what you had done now, what punishment you would earn. It would be bad. You knew it would be very bad. 

Better not to think about it. Falling unconscious after being hit on the head was the most you had slept for the previous two days. It was the level of exhaustion that you could be staring down the business end of a sword with indifferent, sleepy eyes. Being locked up was bad, very bad, but you were content to lay listlessly on your side.

At some point, you must have fallen asleep because you weren’t entirely conscious when somebody kicked the front of your cage. “Hey, wake up.” Your physical response was to startle, jolting you awake enough to flinch away from the violence. But it was only Crina who crouched in front of the cage. “I have food for you. And medicine for the headache. I’m going let you out, and I suggest you don’t try to run. If the guys get a hold of you, I won’t stop them.”

“I won’t run,” you told her, your voice hoarse, your eyes fixed on what she had brought. A bowl of something that looked like stew and a bottle. More than food, you wanted water. Crina undid the lock and you shuffled out of the cage. Your head spun just as badly as it had when you dropped onto the floor earlier, your vision crawling with darkness and stomach heaving unhappily. She was right about the headache. It wasn’t a pain you ever got used to, no matter how many days you spent laid out from one. After an uneasy moment, you sat on the floor, grabbing the water and eagerly uncapping it. 

“Hand,” Crina said, holding out a glass bottle. You allowed her to shake two capsules into your palm, tossing them into your mouth before taking in a blessedly wet mouthful of water. It soothed your tongue and throat like a salve, although you knew your stomach wouldn’t be quite so happy to receive anything. The stew’s scent alone made your stomach clench and churn with equal parts hunger and nausea. Slow. You had to take it slow. 

“Thank you,” you told her, picking up the bowl. She’d brought a wrapped sailor’s biscuit to eat it with. Not very appetizing, but you hadn’t eaten much more than you slept. It could have been saw dust and you would have been grateful. 

“I have your bag,” she said to fill the silence as you ate, pushing the limp canvas towards you. “They took anything that looked valuable, but your clothes are all there. They need to be washed. I’ll lend you something to wear in the meantime.”

Since your mouth was full, you nodded your thanks.

“While you eat, I’m going to talk. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” Crina said. “You don’t strike me as the talkative type.”

She didn’t say that in an accusatory tone, but it still caused your heart to skip with anxiety. The fear had to be irrational, it wasn’t as if you had lied to Captain Buggy, so what did you have to worry about? Besides, only the guilty feared scrutiny, that was a favored line of your dad’s. 

“There’s a man in town asking if anyone has seen a girl. Petite. Missing an eye. Mentally unwell. He’s concerned that she might have gotten lost somewhere,” Crina told you. “From what I gather, her father is a pillar of the community. They’re all very worried.” 

You averted your gaze, anxiously pulling your hair to cover your left eye. Of course Randall would be looking for you, although you had hoped you would have more time before he noticed your absence. It didn’t matter that you left in such a way to raise as little suspicion as possible, or that you were an adult, or that you didn’t want to be found. Your dad asked him to be your keeper while he was gone, and Randall did as your father said. Everybody did. 

“Finish your food,” Crina prompted. “It’s worse when it’s cold.” 

Right. You started eating again, your movements mechanical. She said nothing, and you had nothing to say. 

“Everybody has their reasons for turning to piracy, and they’re not always pleasant,” Crina suddenly said. “Unless it interferes with my own business, I don’t care about who you were and why you ran away. It was a stupid choice, I think you know that. I won’t try and convince you to leave. Buggy seems to like you, so you wouldn’t be able to go anyway. But you need to understand that there will be consequences. The life you had before, no matter how terrible, did not prepare you for the life you’ve thrown yourself into.”

You stared hard at the bowl, thinking about that. It was true, you had to accept that you had blindly stumbled into a world you knew nothing about. But what choice did you have? The things that led you to this point were arranged like the rusty, creaky rungs of a ladder scaling the side of a building. Climbing up had always been the easy part, it was the inevitable descent that gave you trouble. You had to go slow, one rung at a time, blindly feeling with your toes, holding on with sweaty fingers, not looking up and not looking down because once you were on the ladder, you could only keep going. The first rung was spotting the Buggy Pirates, which you only did because you were sulking around the docks after seeing your father off on his trip. You only recognized the crew because your dad kept track of pirate captains with significant bounties. You only had the courage to sneak away from your house because dad was too far away to stop you. You only had the ability to scope out Buggy’s temporary hideout because of how much time you spent northside when you were younger. Those things all connected and followed so naturally and you didn’t know if fate existed, but you knew for a fact that you wouldn’t have wound up here on your own volition. It wasn’t a choice you made, it was the only way to get down from the roof that you had been stranded on for so long.

“I’ll give you some advice,” Crina continued, her tone lighter, “and I suggest you listen. You’re young and pretty, and you wouldn’t be the first to try and use that to get an advantage. It might work for a while, but men will get bored and your looks will fade. Before long you’ll be spat out into a cheap whorehouse with a couple of children you can’t afford and a hell of a rash.” 

The whiplash from your thoughts to the conclusion she had drawn made your stomach twist with disgust. “No,” you said. Was that what she thought of you? Even if the idea was utterly ridiculous, shame rolled uncomfortable through you. “I would never—I could never ever do that.” 

“Don’t be naive,” Crina said, rolling her eyes. “The boys you’re used to are disgusted by that scar, but the kind of men you’ll meet from now on won’t be. If your low self-esteem dictates who you let between your legs, you’ll find yourself in the gutter. I’m not saying that you shouldn’t sleep with men to get an advantage if that’s an option, only that you must be smart about it.” 

You pulled your hair forward again, shaking your head clear of what she was saying. She didn’t understand. It wasn’t the assumption that men would be repulsed by your scar—which they would be, you knew that—but that you didn’t have it in you to invite or manipulate male attention. In so many ways you were already ruined, but to stoop down to letting other men touch you would be too far, it would destroy you.

“Assuming you live past tomorrow night,” Crina continued, “get a knife and figure out how to use it. The men aren’t going to accept you as a member of the crew until you prove yourself. So if anybody gets too close, you prove yourself with blood.” 

“Do you think they’ll try to hurt me?” 

“I think you look like an easy target,” she said. “And I know you have no concept of self preservation or defense.”

“Yes, I do,” you said, frowning. You had made it this far, after all. That was more than anybody would have thought of you. 

“You don’t,” she said plainly. “The tablets I gave you are for treating pain, but imagine if they weren’t. You didn’t so much as ask me to clarify what they were.” 

You opened your mouth to argue, and closed it, shame squeezing your throat. You hadn’t even thought about that.

“It might not matter anyway,” she said, “depending on Buggy’s reasons for keeping you.”

“What do you mean?” 

Crina gave you a long, pitying look and you could tell there was something she wanted to say, something she was holding back. Eventually she shrugged. “That is between the two of you.”

You wanted to push for more, confused by the cryptic answer, but you didn’t. You could tell by the hard look on her face that she wouldn’t tell you anyway. 

“One more thing. The most important thing,” Crina told you, leaning close so she could whisper. “Never, ever mention the captain’s nose. In fact, never mention noses at all.” 

“His nose?” you repeated softly. “Is it… is it real?” 

“What did I just say?” she asked sharply. “He killed a few of the last new recruits for saying something that sounded like nose while he was in a bad mood.”

“He… killed them?” you asked. 

“Buggy is a very temperamental man,” she said, leaning back. “Try not to get on his bad side.”

“It sounds like you don’t like him.” 

“I do, actually. God knows why. Are you finished?” 

“Yes, thank you.” 

“Come on then,” Crina told you, getting to her feet and dusting herself off. “There’s running water on the other side. I’ll keep watch so you can clean up.”   

Although birds called and the breeze carried all sorts of noises from Barley Village, none of it really reached the northside. A solemn graveyard hush settled heavy between the wreckage of ruined buildings, drafty even in broad daylight. No ghosts hid in the shadows, no historical tragedy marred its name, but there remained the haunted imprint of people who were no longer around. 

Before setting you on your task of the day, Crina had given you a dress of hers to wear while your own clothes dried in the sun. You swam in it, but a sash at the waist made the fit look somewhat intentional and the long sleeves hid the ugly bruises cuffing your wrists. That, combined with having slept the previous night and most of the day, left you feeling oddly refreshed. Sure, all of the sleep had been in a cage and the only ‘bath’ you had was a couple of minutes alone with a spout that spat freezing water and a washcloth, but it was better than yesterday. Better than the day before that too, save for the bruises and big goose egg bump on the back of your head.  

Despite the headache, you were glad to be given something to do. The task wasn’t difficult. Busywork that kept you out of the way. Checking to ensure that everything which would be loaded on the ship was documented, organized, and ready for transport. It wasn’t entirely unlike what you had done in the past and, you imagined, would be doing in the future. It was, however, the opposite way around. The goods were obviously looted, you were creating a list to know exactly what and how much of it had been stolen. 

Vinegar, oil, wax.

You used the end of the pen to scratch beneath your bandana, which Crina had kindly retrieved for you. Sometimes the scar got itchy, like it had when it was healing. 

Twine, needles, thread. 

There was a particular smell to supply crates like these. Something to do with the place they were stored, or where they were made. Even now, years since you had been on a ship, it was overwhelmingly familiar. It made your stomach ache and chest clench, although you weren’t sure which quality of the scent was so unsettling. 

You scratched the scar again.

Vinegar, oil- 

Wait, you had already done that. Annoyed, you crossed out those words and crouched down to get into the next crate. Rope. It was coiled in tight loops like a huge snake, coarse beneath your fingers. Anything that was strong enough to endure the fury of the sea had to be coarse. Good rope was vital on a ship, you knew that even with your limited experience. Touching it reminded you of the time your dad tried to show you how to tie knots, and then subsequently had to treat your rope burn.

What would he think when he returned? Retired Marine or not, he was deeply involved with northside business and law. Missing supplies, missing daughter. Sometimes you felt an acidic sort of pleasure when imagining his reaction to your absence, but usually it was just dread.

Or worse. Prickling paranoia. You could run, for a time. But that was all it was. Running. He used to be a Marine, it wouldn’t be difficult for him to find you. When you were younger, the thought gave you comfort. 

But you didn’t want to think about that. Not at all. Not ever again. You stared very hard at the rope, desperate to put those thoughts out of your mind. 

You stared and stared and stared and-

Somebody grabbed you around the bicep, dragging you to your feet and forcing you back to reality. Yelping in fear, you were nearly knocked back down from the bloodrush dizziness of standing up too fast, saved only by the crates. 

“Good god, girl,” the unfamiliar man said, taking a step back, clearly put off by your reaction. “Are you deaf or something? I hollered at you three or four times. Were you sleeping?” 

Putting a hand to your racing heart, you looked from him to the still open crate and the notepad you had abandoned mid-task. You had no idea how long you had been sitting there. Long enough for your foot to go numb, prickling with pins and needles now that you were standing up. 

“I’m sorry,” you told him.

“The captain wants to see you. It’s urgent,” he said. When you didn’t immediately respond, still orienting yourself, he sighed impatiently and grabbed your elbow, physically dragging you away. You stumbled to keep up, trying very hard to avoid falling. “If Buggy asks why you took so long, you better tell him it was your fault.”

“I will,” you said to appease him, attempting to shake off his hand before realizing that it was pointless. “Please slow down.” 

“Not my fault you’ve got stumpy legs,” he said. “Keep up.” 

The unfairness of that stung, but you didn’t have much choice. You had a feeling that he’d keep on pulling you along even if it meant dragging you across the ground. 

“Where are we going?” you asked, embarrassingly out of breath. 

“There,” he said, nodding to one of the waterfront buildings. At least it was close. You never strayed so close to the water, the buildings were too squat to make for fun exploration and too exposed to give cover. 

The pirate released you when you got to the door, leaving you winded and scared. You adjusted your bandana and tried to catch your breath. “Don’t forget to tell him it was your fault it took so long, not mine,” he said, opening the door.

“I won’t,” you promised, the words papery thin on your dry tongue.  

You were in trouble. You had no idea what you might have done, but there had to be something. Why would you be summoned like this otherwise? A very bad feeling pressed against your sternum, but you forced yourself to walk forward. The door shut behind you. Inside, the air was dark and cool and wet, sending a little shiver down your spine. 

Buggy stood in the middle of the room, the only place where the sun found its way between the mangled teeth of glass and steel that used to be windows, his own little spotlight amidst the ruins. There were three other men on the edges of the light, their backs to you. One of them was bound. You did not like this. 

“There she is!” Buggy exclaimed, inviting you forward with his arms spread wide. “Come on, don’t be shy. Especially not after keeping us waiting so long. Your friend over here could hardly handle the suspense. 

Rocks and broken glass crunched beneath your feet as you approached them. Once you got close enough, finally, you could see the faces of the other men. One was the square-featured, angry man Buggy called Ivo. Another, a man you didn’t know. And the third, the one bound with a busted lip and developing black eye—

Randall called your name, trying to escape and rush to your side. Ivo grabbed him, pressing the blade of his knife against his throat.

“See, I told you, they’re working together,” Ivo said, glaring at you. “She tipped him off. No doubt this place will be swarming with the law before long.”

You stood completely still, staring at Randall with the steadily rising tide of panic sloshing in your stomach. After everything you had done to misdirect him, the note you left to beg he didn’t follow, the trouble you had put yourself through to keep from being seen, he was still here. 

“Are you okay?” Randall asked, looking you up and down frantically, concerned in a way he never had looked before. “Did they hurt you?” 

“I told you, she’s fine,” Buggy said with a grin. “I mean, yeah, Ivo over there did give her a little knock on the ole noggin—a love tap, really—but the eye was already like that when we found her.” 

“I wasn’t asking you,” Randall said, glaring at Buggy. 

“Shut up,” Ivo said, pressing the knife close enough to Randall’s throat that it broke skin. 

“No, no, let him go,” Buggy ordered casually, waving his hand. “He’s not gonna do anything stupid.” He threw an arm around your shoulder. “Not when I’ve got her.” 

Ivo reluctantly complied, releasing Randall. He watched you intently, and you knew what he was thinking. How could he save you?  

“Ivo over there thinks that the two of you are working together,” Buggy told you, smiling. His arm was heavy around your shoulders, oppressively so. “He thinks that we should kill you both.” 

“I’m not—I wouldn’t,” you told him. 

“And see, I wanna believe you. I really do. But he’s not talking, and,” Buggy ran his finger over your right cheek, reminding you of his threat from yesterday, “I’m starting to worry you’ve been lying to me.”

“I’m not,” you said, ice cold dread dripping into your veins a drop at a time. You fought your discomfort and forced yourself to meet his eyes, hoping he could see your sincerity. “I promise I’m not.” 

“Then how did he find this place?” 

“I don’t… I don’t know…”

“She used to hide here when we were kids,” Randall answered. “I thought she ran away, not that you freaks had kidnapped her. If I had known I’d find pirates here, I would have come armed.”

“Is that true?” Buggy asked you, pulling you even closer. Close enough to be embarrassing, to give the wrong impression, especially when he was stroking your cheek with a sort of affection that didn’t mesh with the danger in his blue eyes.

“I told you it is. Let her go, clown!” Randall shouted. His voice was loud enough to echo, and harsh enough to make you wince. That sort of rage wasn’t one you expected from him, but it was familiar all the same. 

“Oh, wow,” Buggy said with a laugh, looking up at him. “Is that jealousy I hear? She didn’t tell me she was leaving behind a boyfriend.” 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you said softly, your insides twisting at the thought. 

“Really?” Buggy asked. He shrugged, and looked at Randall. “If you’re not doing this because you want to have sex with her, why are you here?” 

“I am a dear friend—both to her and her dad,” Randall answered. “He asked me to look after her because she… She’s not in a sound state of mind. And she’s the only family he has left. Without her, he’ll have nothing.” He grit his teeth. “Take me, kill me if you’re that thirsty for blood, but let her go. Please.”

“You’re a real knight in shining armor. Well, I hate to burst your bubble, but she came here all on her own,” Buggy said, releasing you to approach him instead. “She begged to join my crew, got down on her knees and told me that she would be happy to serve me for the rest of her life. It was the most adorable thing.”

“No,” Randall said, his face twisting with disgust. “You’re lying. She wouldn’t do that.”

“Ask her yourself,” Buggy invited, stepping aside and sweeping out his arm. All eyes landed on you like a spotlight. Blood rushed in your ears, and you felt dizzy with it, ready to pass out on the spot. When you looked at Buggy, he smiled and nodded encouragingly. 

“It’s true,” you said.

“No. That is impossible,” Randall said. “This is insane. You are mad, you cannot make decisions like this for yourself.” You stared at his feet, your hands balled into fists. You were not crazy. You were not. That had to be true. “Whatever hysterics brought you here, give it up. These are pirates.”

“I’m a pirate too,” you declared, your hands forming fists at your sides. You weren’t crazy, or mad. You were thinking very clearly, more than you had in a while. 

“No, you are your father’s daughter,” Randall insisted, loud enough to make you flinch. “Can you imagine the agony he would feel hearing you say that?”

Your breathing was too fast, rapid enough to make your head spin. You kept shaking your head, tears flying off of your cheek, but you couldn’t recall when you had begun to cry. “I don’t care.” 

“Don’t care…? This bastard has already gotten into your head,” Randall said. “He has poisoned your broken mind with his lies and manipulations, please don’t let this go any further.”

You shook your head again, but there was nothing you could think of to say. You didn’t want to talk anymore, you just wanted this to be over. 

“Believe me, as much as I would love to claim otherwise, I had nothing to do with this,” Buggy said, raising his hands innocently. “You’ve got no one to blame but yourself. Think about what would drive a girl like this into the arms of a pirate. A broken heart, maybe? Was that your doing, lover boy? Did you break her heart? Make her feel like she wasn’t good enough?” 

“Keep your big goddamned nose out of our business, clown,” Randall said. 

The other pirates audibly gasped, and you could feel the sudden zap of tension in the air. Buggy’s taunting smile froze in place, his posture icing over like a statue. And then, a second later, he was rushing at Randall, burying his fist in the other man’s stomach. Randall crumpled onto his knees with a heavy grunt and you waited for something else, something worse. Crina said that Buggy had killed over jokes about his nose, and, right then, you believed it.

Nothing happened. You watched, frozen, as Buggy breathed in deeply, his shoulders rising and falling with it, and then he raised a hand.  

“New girl,” he called, snapping to beckon you closer. You obliged, rushing to his side. He didn’t look angry, not like you feared he would. Instead, he smiled. It was a mean smile, a frightening one. But a smile all the same. “Are you ready for your big moment?”   

“What?” 

“Your audition! I thought of the perfect act for you. Kill him.” 

You looked down at Randall, he was clearly still in pain, his eyes watering as he looked up at you. “I can’t,” you whispered, shaking your head again.  

“You can and will. Assuming you want to remain on my crew. Otherwise I’ll kill him and you’ll have to explain to daddy why prince charming was here in the first place.” He held out his hand towards Ivo. “Knife.” When he got it, Buggy flipped the knife handle first, holding it to you with a flourish. “You’re up, babydoll.”

“She won’t do it, clown,” Randall said through grit teeth. 

“Of course she will,” Buggy said. “For me.” 

As if moving through the dusky haze of a dream, you took the knife, wrapping your sweaty hand around the grip. The way Buggy smiled in response made your heart flutter, something to cling to amidst the horror and disgust. It didn’t feel real anymore. How could it be real? 

“I don’t know what to do.” Were those your words? Your voice?

Buggy laughed. “Of course you don’t,” he said, circling behind Randall. “C’mere, I’ll help you.” 

Randall was shouting and pleading, but Buggy had grabbed a fistfull of his hair to keep him from escaping. 

“You’ve gotta hold him still,” Buggy told you. “Like this, see?”  

“-don’t do this, please. You can’t… I love you!” 

You got a fistful of Randall’s hair, making him cry out in pain. There was no pleasure in the sound, only a roiling sense of disgust. It would be better when he was dead, and then he wouldn’t be in pain. 

“God you’re short,” Buggy said as he adjusted you into place, right between him and Randall. “You’ll be better off going for their ankles.” He wrapped his hand around yours, getting a good grip on the knife and holding it still. 

“-when he gets bored of fucking you. That’s all pirates do, rape and murder. You’ll never be one of them, you’ll just-”

“Start on one side and move to the other, easy as that,” Buggy said comfortingly, resting his chin against the side of your head. 

“-he doesn’t kill you, your dad will. Do you really think you’ll ever be able to hide from him?” 

Moving slowly, through a dream, you put the knife on the left side of Randall’s neck. It was no different from what a butcher did, really. 

Breath in. Pull. You instinctively locked up at the sound of Randall’s screams and the resistance of his flesh, but Buggy forced your hand, pulling the blade deep into his neck and then fast to the side. The knife got caught part way through, stuck in something hard. You tried to saw through it and Randall made an inhuman noise of agony. Buggy had to help you unstick it, to follow through until the knife slashed that horrifying scream short and then there was just a sort of gurgling sound and you didn’t know if it was because he was still alive or if it was an automatic process. 

There was so much blood, and it was hot, burning you. For some reason, you hadn’t anticipated the messy scarlet spray. From the deep slice came more blood. More, and more still. Randall’s heavy, limp body dropped onto the floor into a puddle of it, although you weren’t sure when you let go of his hair. Buggy released your hand, but you didn’t drop the knife, holding it in a death grip as blood streamed like red veins down your hand and wrist, down the blade and all the way to its tip before dripping to the dirty floor. The tang of iron filled your lungs. You shook all over, all the way down inside, your bones and organs shivering. It was your heart. It pounded frantically, like butterfly wings. And your breathing. Wheezing, gasping, gurgling like Randall’s had before he fell.

Your mouth opened to exhale, but there was nothing there. No air, no words. Nothing. Your cold gaze turned to look at Buggy, confused as to what you were supposed to do next. He had led you this far, but now you were lost. He smiled, and laughed, and took the knife away from you, tossing it to the side where it clanged and slid away. 

And then he folded you into his arms, your head pressed against his chest. His heartbeat was firm and steady, and he was so warm. He smelled of gunpowder and salty sea air and greasepaint and the natural warm scent of his skin. You clung to that, breathing in deep to excise the scent of blood. 

“Congratulations, babydoll,” Buggy told you. “Looks like you just got the part.” 

The first firecracker went off not long after the sun had gone down, kicking off the surprise party with an especially loud zip and then a bang and a bursting sizzle. “It’s a surprise party,” Buggy told you, his face illuminated by the flash of red. “As in, the people who live here are going to be so surprised by the party I’m throwing for my crew. Get it?” 

A chain of firecrackers followed the first, a show that the pirates set off amidst a barrage of explosions, lighting up the sky with brilliant colors and smoke, making the earth tremble beneath your feet. They acted as distraction and lure, drawing people further into the town and inviting the ship that had been lurking nearby to enter the harbor. 

And after that came the chaos. 

Many things happened that you were aware of, if only passively. Leaving the northside and then Barley Village, waiting at the dock, and then boarding the ship as men and women in colorful attire flooded the yard, overtaking the few armed guards. You were told to sit on the deck and wait, so you did. Aware of it all—noxious sulfur and smoke filling the air, thunderous claps of explosives, popping gunshots, screaming voices, roaring fires—but uninvolved. There was a sense of great quiet. Not outside where things were loud and violent and scary, but inside. You were very quiet on the inside. Far away from everything and everyone else. 

Blood flaked off of your skin, caking beneath the nails when you scratched your arm. It would have been nice to wash it off, but you didn’t know where you would go for that, and you didn’t want to get up.

“Yoo-hoo, is anybody in there?” 

A gloved hand waved in front of your face. 

You let out a hoarse scream, nearly tipping backwards from how violently you startled. It didn’t take long for you to realize how overblown the reaction was, Buggy’s laughter made the point quite clearly. 

“What was that?” he asked, almost laughing too hard to get the words out. He stood above you without his coat and hat, although he kept the striped headscarf, and a bottle tucked under his arm. 

“You scared me,” you told him, a hand on your racing heart.

“That noise you just made though,” he said, still laughing. “It sounded like one of those scream-y fireworks.”

“I didn’t know you were there.”

“Your fault, not mine. I was trying to talk to you, but you just sat there. I thought it was your eye that didn’t work, not your ears.”

“I guess I… zoned out a little.” 

“No shit. Ah, that was good,” Buggy said as his laughter subsided. “I had no idea human beings could even make sounds like that.” Letting out a big breath to settle himself, he sat down next to you. Very close, far closer than you would have, almost touching. “Kinda makes me wonder what other kinds of sounds you can make.” 

“I know, it’s annoying,” you said, staring hard at the deck. “I’m sorry.” 

Buggy laughed at that too, shaking his head. “You really have no clue, do you?” he asked. “Is it weird that I’m into it?” 

“Into what?” you asked. “I’m sorry, I… don’t understand.” 

“I know you don’t, and that’s okay,” he said with a mocking sort of indulgence, patting your head. “Anyway, I had a little business in town and snagged this from some rich guy’s house.” He held up a bottle by the neck and swished its contents a little for effect. “We’re going to celebrate.” 

“Wouldn’t you rather be out there?” you asked, the first coherent question that came to your mind as it scrambled to make sense of what he had just said. 

“Between you and me, this,” Buggy said with a confidential hush, gesturing to your burning town, “isn’t my thing. It’s a reward for my freaks, gives ‘em an outlet to express themselves artistically. I prefer a more… performative platform. True art deserves a spotlight and an audience.” He waved that away, smiling. “But this isn’t about me, it’s about you.” 

“Me?”

“You really impressed me earlier. I mean, yeah, your technique needs polish, and you’ve got no stage presence to speak of, but you displayed raw talent. I really think you have a shot at success, sweetheart. Stick with me, and I’ll make something out of you yet.” 

“Thank you,” you said softly, shying away from thinking about earlier. The praise though, that was heady. That made you feel warm. 

Buggy popped the cork off the bottle, taking a drink straight from it and smacking his lips appreciatively. “You like sweet things, right?” 

“I-” 

“You’ll love this then. Here, try it.” 

You eyed the bottle he was proffering to you warily. Alcohol was something you were familiar with, but you could count on your fingers the number of times you had actually tasted it. “I don’t know…” you said, trying to think of ways to reject drinking without seeming ungrateful.   

“You’re a pirate now, so you’ve gotta learn to drink like one,” Buggy told you, pushing it into your hand. “What’s the worst that could happen?” 

You sniffed the open lip, surprised by the sweetness. It didn’t smell as strongly of alcohol as you feared. Not like what your father drank. Maybe it would be okay. Trying to avoid embarrassing yourself, you tipped the bottle back just like he had. That was a mistake. It didn’t smell like alcohol, but you could taste it—feel it, even. Panicked by your body’s natural response to expel it, you swallowed as much as you could, coughing out the rest. Red liquid drooled down your chin, staining the dress that was already ruined with dried blood. Buggy laughed. A little at first, and then a lot. 

Flushing, you wiped your mouth.

“Oh, don’t be like that. That was hilarious,” Buggy told you. You looked away, even more embarrassed. “Your face was priceless. You threw that back with the confidence of a real fire-hazard, saggy skinned, dead eyed alcoholic. You were so serious about it too, and then… Good lord.”

“I didn’t know!” you said, trying and failing not to sound shrill. 

“It’s okay, you’ve got me to help you now. Try it again, but don’t be so greedy. Baby sips.” 

“No, thank you,” you said, holding the bottle back to him. 

“Drink. That’s an order,” he said, pushing it back to you. 

That gave you pause. “Do you mean that?” you asked. 

He nodded, urging you on. 

Your shoulders drooped in defeat. Trepidatiously, you took a small sip. At least you didn’t hack it back up this time. While the taste was sweet, the burn was not. It rose up like smoke into your head, you could feel it.  

“What if I get drunk?” you asked. 

“Oh, you’re going to get drunk, captain’s orders,” Buggy said with a grin. “I can’t stand watching you sit around moping about killing that guy. Besides, you’re a pirate now.”

The little ball of anxiety deep in your gut doubled. This was wrong, you knew it was. Or maybe you were wrong, and Buggy was right. You didn’t know. 

“I don’t want to embarrass myself,” you muttered.

“As long as you don’t jump into the water or shit yourself, you’ll be fine…” You looked at him, horrified. “Joking! C’mon, I’ve taken good care of you so far, haven’t I? You’ll be fine.”

The way he laughed made you want to believe him. He was your captain now. You nodded seriously and, steeling yourself, took another drink. And another. 

“See? It’s good, right?” Buggy asked, holding out his hand for the bottle. 

You licked your lips, cleaning up the lingering sweetness. “It is. Thank you,” you said, unable to keep yourself from admiring the way his throat worked as he swallowed, the view unfortunately obscured by his cravat. 

The perverse thought took you by surprise. Was it the alcohol? Already, your head was spinning, your thoughts a little more disorganized. It wasn’t like the quiet, empty feeling of before. It was warm and distant, it made your shoulders relax, the anxiety and uncertainty of before fading. This was a good idea, you already felt so much better. When he passed the bottle back, you didn’t have to be prompted to imbibe, chasing that feeling.   

“I don’t mean to pry, but when that guy back there mentioned your dad, it really seemed to get to you,” Buggy said. “What, did daddy not love you? Or maybe he loved you a little too much.”

You didn’t want to talk about that. You didn’t want to think about it. You took another big drink. 

On the horizon, the town was utterly ablaze. As the night grew darker, the flames rose higher. Which building was burning so brightly? It belched thick, black smoke into the night sky. Who was in it? Anybody you knew?

“Don’t wanna talk about it, hm? That’s fine,” Buggy said, stealing the bottle back. “With any luck, my freaks’ll kill him tonight, eh? Then you’ll really be free.” 

“He’s gone right now,” you said, your words soft and slurring together. “Out of town.” What would he think of the smoldering ashes? Would he believe you had perished in the flame? Somehow, you doubted that. He would know what you had done. There was no chance of freedom, not for you. 

“That’s even better,” Buggy said.  

Your eyebrows furrowed as you turned to him, both in confusion and disbelief. “How?” 

“Because, babydoll,” Buggy told you, shaking your shoulder to make sure you were paying attention. “It’s good to have somebody to hate—somebody to prove wrong. He tried to convince you that you’re crazy, he tried to keep you from ever being yourself. That pain and anger made you weak. But you’re not weak anymore. Tonight, I showed you how to be strong. It’s not enough to tell those assholes that they’re wrong, you have to prove it to them. That’s what tonight was about, right? You proved to your dad, to everybody, that you’re stronger than they thought. And, hey, you proved it to me, too. I wasn’t sure about you at first, but I changed my mind.” He threw an arm around you, pulling you close. “I like you, kiddo. A lot.” 

“I like you too,” you said, relaxing into the little side hug, very aware of every place his bare arm met your bare shoulders and neck. The alcohol had stoked a nice blaze in your stomach and chest, making your head spin in a way you didn’t mind that much. Smoothing the colors, softening the air, making you want to lean into his touch, made you crave more of it. 

Buggy pulled away, leaving the bottle in your hands. You felt a little cold without him.  

“You know,” he said, smiling at you. The far off flames glinted mischievously in his eyes. The flaring reds and oranges highlighted his cheekbones too, defined the sharpness of his jaw. You were caught off guard by how viscerally you reacted to the thought that he was handsome, your filterless mind caught in an endless loop of focusing on the fact. “Burning down this shithole is nothing compared to what I will do. The towns I’ll raze to the ground, the treasure I’ll steal, the shows I’ll put on. Now that I’ve got a crew, I’m gonna put on a show like nobody’s ever seen. The biggest, flashiest, greatest show ever. Everybody will be screaming my name, recognize my face. I’ll shine so bright that they’ll have no choice but to love me. ” 

Buggy’s intensity made you smile, you couldn’t help it. Alcohol had created a cloudy burst of affection within you, or maybe it was just the floodgates of tension finally collapsing, letting out something that would have otherwise been smothered. Either way, it was as intoxicating as the drink itself. 

“Are you laughing at me?” Buggy asked, his tone filled with steel. You looked to see his dark expression, his narrowed eyes. 

“I’m not,” you said, confused by his rapid shift in demeanor. “I’m… I’m happy. I’ll do anything to help you.” 

He relaxed. “Well, you’d better start working on your act.” 

That made you laugh, a dizzy, bubbly sound. “I can’t do an act. I wouldn’t know what to do.” 

“There has to be something. Let me think… Can you sing?”

“I used to, a little. But not for a really long time.” 

“Come on, let me hear it.”

You were drunk, you knew that for a fact because in no state of sobriety would you offer to sing in front of another person. But, right then, bubbling with alcohol and protected by the darkness of the smoky night sky, you felt invincible. 

“Oh, what do you do with a drunken sailor? What do you do with a drunken sailor? What do you do with a drunken sailor, early in the morning? Slash his…um… something, something, captain’s daughter. Toss him in… to… the dirty water…” Whatever coherence you held onto unraveled into a fit of drunken laughter at the awful rhyme. “I’m sorry, I think… I think I forgot some of the words.”  

“Seems like you forgot the tune too,” Buggy said, wincing dramatically. All that did was make you laugh harder. “Hold on a second, let me wipe the blood out of my ears.” 

You swatted his shoulder, although your attempted indignance probably wasn’t very convincing when you were still smiling. “Don’t be mean!”

“That’s a bold way to treat your captain,” he told you, but he was smiling too. 

“Please don’t be mean to me, Captain Buggy,” you said, speaking slowly to emphasize how serious you were. 

“Beg me again.” 

You blinked. “What?” 

“Nothing,” he said, waving it off in a way that made you think he was making fun of you. “Anyway, I’m being nice right now, especially after that performance. The critics would eat you alive for that one. So, singing is out. Clearly. What else have you got?”

“Oh! I know a, um, a rhyme. A joke.” 

He looked at you skeptically. “Really?” 

“What is that s’posed to mean?” you asked.

“You don’t strike me as somebody with… How should I put this… A sense of humor?” 

You frowned. 

“Alright, alright, quit pouting and tell me,” Buggy said impatiently, waving you to continue. 

You cleared your throat very theatrically, sitting up as straight as you could manage. 

“There was a young lass who thought

Very little but thought it a lot.

Then at long last she knew

What she wanted to do,

But before she could start, she forgot.”

Deflating, you laughed, surprised at how clearly you had delivered the words. Especially considering how long it had been since you heard them. 

Buggy didn’t look nearly as impressed. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard a clean limerick before,” he said. “And now I know why. I mean, what’s the point of limerick without the ick.”

You blew a raspberry at him. “Fine, you do one.”

“Okay, but you have to prepare yourself,” Buggy said. You nodded encouragingly.

“There was a young plumber named Lee

Who was plumbing his girl by the sea.

She said, ‘Stop your plumbing,

There's somebody coming’

Said the plumber, still plumbing, ‘It's me.’"

Belatedly, you gasped, your hands covering your mouth. That shock dissolved into giggles. “That’s, oh, that’s… that’s dirty.”

“Aw, was it too much for your delicate sensibilities? Now that you’re a pirate, you’re gonna hear a lot worse than that. A looooooooot worse. I hope your unspoiled ears can handle it.”  

“I can!” you insisted, taking a big drink to steel yourself before setting the bottle aside. If you were going to be a pirate, you had to stop getting so flustered. “More. Please.” 

“Okay, okay…” Buggy cleared his throat. “A hooker roaming the East Blue, 

Once filled her vagina with glue, 

She said, with a grin, ‘Well, they paid to get in, 

And they’ll damn sure pay to get out, too.’”

You laughed loudly, as much at the joke as the taboo nature of it. You laughed, and then giggled in a bubbly, drunken way that you knew was too loud and embarrassing. “That is icky,” you told him. “Jeez, that’s…” Your faux seriousness dissolved into a fit of giggles again and you leaned against him for stability. “What would you even do?” 

“Yeah, I don’t know. It sounds like a sticky situation,” he said, nudging you with his elbow. That, of course, sent you into another fit of giggles. 

“I’m sorry, I’m…” you said. “I think I’m drunk.” You looked behind yourself at the town, the glittery haze of joy buzzing in your head fading at the sight. It was horrific, wasn’t it? And here you were, laughing like a fool. You couldn’t really comprehend the magnitude of it all, even if you could acknowledge that it was terrible. “Is it okay?” you asked, looking back at him imploringly. “Everything that happened tonight… I thought I would feel very different after, but I don’t. It almost feels like it’s not even real. You ever get that? When things happen but they feel so impossible that you get confused?”

“If you can think that clearly,” Buggy said, “then you’re not drunk enough. Bottoms up, babydoll.” You smiled at his use of the pet name and the fluttery feeling it gave you. What else could you do but oblige, tipping the bottle back like before. Only, unlike before, you kept it all down. There wasn’t any real burn, just more sweetness, more warmth. 

And then there was nothing left. 

“Woah,” you said, lowering the empty bottle and wiping your mouth. “‘s all gone.”

“And how do you feel?” he asked. 

You opened your mouth to respond, but all that came out was a dizzy sort of laugh. “I dunno…” you said, closing your eye, trying to collect your thoughts. “I’m…” Already things were getting even more fuzzy and foggy. Fabric stuck to your flushed skin, the salty air drying across your chest and cheeks. “I feel… very…”

Making an upset noise in the back of your throat, you pushed your hair back, catching the bandana and pulling it off so you could feel the breeze on your whole face. That helped. Drawing in a deep breath, you looked at him, trying to focus. Only, the second you saw him, all you could do was smile. His eyes were greedy about the light, sparkling with it. Even with the nose, Buggy was handsome. That was not something you could tell him though, not at all ever. Unfortunately you had forgotten what you were saying in the first place. 

“Very… what?” Buggy asked. “‘Cause if you keep trying to be a buzzkill, I’ll give you something to laugh about.”

Were you a buzzkill? You couldn’t remember what you had said or done to earn that title. It was hard enough to comprehend what was happening in the moment. “Like what?” you asked.

“Like… this!” Buggy said, using the sash around your waist to pull you closer so he could tickle your sides. You jumped and squealed, the bottle rolling out of your hands as you tried to fight him off. 

“No no no, don’t,” you cried, trying to escape. You were being too loud, moving too much, acting like an idiot, but you didn’t have enough control to stop. 

“Why not?” he asked. “You’re laughing, aren’t you?” 

It was true, you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing, letting it out in panicked little bursts. Time had a bizarre elasticity to it, everything hitting you at once and fading just as fast. Laughing, sobbing, begging him to stop. It was easy to catch and hold onto one of his hands, but that left the other one free. And if you tried to catch that one instead, you had to release the first. There must have been a better way to do it, but you felt as if, bit by bit, particle by particle, the world was separating, the hot and humid air splitting, your limbs becoming loose, your capacity for rational thought dissipating like mist. 

Lacking any sort of control and with a completely undeserved sense of invulnerability, you tackled him. Buggy let it happen, still laughing. At least he had stopped. 

“God, it’s like being attacked by a drunk, one-eyed toddler,” he said. “What are you gonna do, whine me into submission?” 

“Don’t be mean,” you said seriously, your words ruined by something wavering between a laugh and a sob, or maybe it was just the drunken slur. 

“You attacked me. If anything, I'm the victim here.” 

“No! You started it!” 

“Hold on, are you… crying?” Buggy asked incredulously. “Aw, you poor thing. I mean, you were laughing so much, how could I have known you didn’t like it?” 

“I don’t!” you insisted. 

“To be clear,” he said. “You don’t like this?” He attacked your sides, not tickling so much as just teasing, but to the same effect. You yelped and sat up squirm away, swatting at his hands. 

Rather than laugh like before, Buggy groaned, his hips bucking up against you. A loud, harsh gasp left your mouth, your entire body going rigid from the liquid heat of friction, your thighs squeezing around him. At some point, your skirt had ridden up, your panties being the only barrier left. You didn’t think you had ever been as acutely aware of how achingly empty, electrically tingly, as you were right then. 

Bad. Very bad.

“Oh, there’s another fun noise,” Buggy said, laughing as he propped himself upright with his arms. “I can’t believe that got you.” 

“No,” you said quickly, dizzy from the intensity of your reaction and how close the two of you were. You could smell him, the sweat, the musk, the salt, the greasepaint, the gunpowder. You could see the glitter in his makeup, the fire catching in his eyes. “It jus’... surprised me.” 

“Is that why you’re shaking?” Buggy asked, rubbing your exposed thigh, the fabric of his glove catching the sensitive skin. 

“I’m… um…” Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to organize the drunken slush of your brain. Being so close to him, feeling his body against yours, sent deviously tantalizing tingling sparks through you. And guilt. It was wrong, he wasn’t doing anything to invite those feelings, you were just being weird and drunk and embarrassing and you couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to kiss him. You’d have to tilt your head a lot, although the stubble would be more hazardous than his nose. The last time you kissed someone, you were both young enough that you didn’t have to navigate facial hair. And then there was the matter of the makeup. You tried to imagine what you might look like after, the slash of red and imprint of white. Maybe they’d mix into pink. You tried to force yourself to focus on something else, but you couldn’t meet his eyes either. Nervous and confused and filled with a million different feelings you had no name for, you squirmed again, thoughtlessly adding to the anxious feedback loop of heat and need and intoxicated emptiness. 

“You know, sweetheart, this reminds me,” Buggy said, “there’s still the matter of your physical. It’s standard procedure for new crew. We could get that over and done with while you’re… lubricated.”

“What’re you… talking about?”  

“I’ve gotta make sure you’re fit, healthy… Clean of anything you could pass on to the forty or so people you’re gonna be stuck with in an enclosed space for weeks at a time.”

“How d’you do that?” 

“You’ve been to a doctor, right? It’s kinda like that. I know it can feel a little invasive, so it might be better to do it while you’re drunk.”

“What…” you started to ask, but then Buggy shifted, his hips pushing up against you. The fresh wash of warmth it sent into your core scattered your mind, and you lost the already tenuous thread of thought. Your eyelashes fluttered, although you weren’t sure when you had closed your eye. “Umm…”

“Well, first,” he said, answering the question you hadn’t asked, “you’d have to take off your clothes. Then relax while I have a little look-see. It’s important that you stay as still as possible. I’ll have a hard time finishing if you can’t stop squirming around the whole time.” 

“Do you really have to?” you asked, your brow furrowing. It sounded embarrassing. But maybe if it was him, you didn’t mind? Your dad did all of your past medical check-ups so it wasn’t inherently wrong. But the thought of Buggy seeing you without clothes wasn’t exactly nice, you could only imagine his disgust. That was bad. 

“Depends on if you’re serious about being a pirate or not,” Buggy said.   

“I am serious!” you exclaimed. Your hands went to the sash around your waist to pull the bow free. If you did it quickly, you wouldn’t be as embarrassed. 

“Woah, wait. Holy shit,” Buggy said, “are you seriously—” He cracked up laughing, making you freeze. “I didn’t think you’d actually fall for that.”

“You’re… laughing,” you said, your fingers falling with the slow sink of humiliation. 

“You really were going to strip for me, out in the open and everything.” Buggy laughed harder, rocking forward. “I didn’t expect you to be so eager. Hey, if you really wanna get naked, I’m not going to stop you.” 

“I don’t, I just… I thought…” you said, pulling away from him and trying to get onto your feet to get away, embarrassment lighting the worst sort of fire within you.  

“Woah, calm down, it was just a joke,” Buggy said, his laughter fading. “You’re absolutely plastered, if you stand up, you’re gonna fall right back down.” You didn’t stop, resolute to get onto your feet and put some distance between you and him. “I won’t catch you.” 

“’m fine,” you told him. 

You finally got your footing and braced against your knee to lurch upright. For a second, you were standing up and weightless. And then you were nothing.

[tabababyyy]

Sources for LBP's Development

good morning everyone reminder that LBP's concept art is online and you can look at it for FREE here are tons of sources i've collected for anyone as autistic as me who want to try replicating the style. The underline portions are links btw :3 LBP1 CONCEPT ART: This includes mainly conceptual images for the making of sackboy, but also includes some costumes along with environmental pieces for levels appearing in the first game.

LBP2 CONCEPT ART: Similar to LBP1, however includes tons of collage pieces and way more environmental ideas. Includes costumes and concepts for many beloved characters!! Probably my favorite out of the 3 due to the extensive experimentation.

LBP3 CONCEPT ART: I dont know why its so hard to find sources for this one? I've only been able to get reddit links and this was the most concise one. I will try to look for more. I did also find these interest concept works for LBP3, but each image has an individual link so what's the point of giving that when i can just put it right here!

I have ALSO found developer logs on youtube showcasing early LBP gameplay along with concepts. Playlist dedicated to Developement of LBP, usually showcasing milestones or tech demos.

Documentary on LBP's original team and sort of the creation of media molecule and LBP itself. 6/12/24 I FOUND MORE STUFF FOR LBP3!!! These are some alpha builds of the game that include playable levels.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RGEak9jGkCs

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fMcTNnVHZQo

This channel is honestly a great resource if you're super into LBP3 and just curious on what levels could've looked like/how they were made. https://www.youtube.com/@zedLBP also found some unused music for LBP3 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IDrxsMOiPNs&t=1111s i would love to find some articles but i lowkey might make a google doc to organize LBP3's content since so much is in video format or on youtube.

Errrm that is all i have for now, take care :)

[veronika-tserber]

Natal SUN/PLUTO Aspects The Quest for Authenticity🕯️

Let me set the vibe, first.

It's a brand-new playlist, and I do accept recommendations!

The Sun in astrology is the archetypal King figure. It represents our consciousness, the pure awareness that I AM. Every planet has its own WILL, and the Sun’s will is to BE — to shine and express itself into the world. This is our personality and ego, but also our Life Force, a.k.a Spirit. When we look at the Sun and its aspects/house placement, we see what gives us a sense of fulfillment and purpose in life.

On the other hand, Pluto is the Lord of the Underworld, the Sorcerer hidden away from the light. It’s a generational planet that helps us heal and evolve spiritually by putting us in critical situations. Similarly to Uranus and Neptune, Pluto is an Outcast , a Divergent— the opposite of the widely accepted and adored King. I personally imagine him as a Quasimodo-looking character, but make no mistake. Pluto is immensely powerful.

When these two unite, it’s uncomfortable for both. Pluto feels exposed, and it desperately wants to hide away from the light, whereas the Sun feels like it’s been covered with a thick cloak of darkness. 

The Aspect is Most Potent if:

it’s within 5 degrees (those are the orbs that I’m using)

it’s APPLYING instead of SEPARATING 

it's a conjunction, square, opposition, quincunx, or quintile (harmonious aspects are usually less intense, especially the Trine)

SUN/PLUTO NOTES

📌 This is a highly karmic aspect - especially karma from their father or paternal side of the family. They are essentially breaking the taboos and secrets their ancestors couldn't didn't dare to speak about and confront. These people are the ILLUMINATORS who shift their family's paradigm around heavier, darker topics. They don't have to dig for any familial secrets, though. If they do their personal shadow work, they will break the chains of karma for all past and future generations.

📌They might become socially powerful and be known for their power/sexuality/mystery/criminal activity or occult/healing abilities. They could also become self-obsessed, or obsessed with their goals and desire to be known.

📌The Sun represents a woman's ideal husband, which is why in a woman's chart, this aspect can be really dangerous. She might be unconsciously attracted to (and even marry) abusive, controlling, really DARK individuals. They will mirror, and take to an extreme, her own unintegrated Shadow and/or unresolved daddy issues.

📌You might know these people for a long time, and not actually know them. Some of them have IMPENETRABLE defenses. When they do let someone in, they are terrified of being truly seen - with their good, bad, and ugly sides. This vulnerability is the cave they fear to enter, but it holds the treasure they seek. Deep down, they DO want to be seen and accepted as they are. But they most likely won't get that love from another person until they learn to love themselves unconditionally, first. They have to stop trying to run away and hide from themselves (or their father).

📌 Their father, and specifically his relationship to his Shadow, and the darker aspects of life, played a big role in the formation of their personality, and how they view themselves.

There are three scenarios here - 1) he was either a PUNISHER of the shadows (could've literally worked as a policeman, for example); he was an EXPLORER (psychologist, investigator) or he was a HEALER - occultist, energy worker, etc.

These are three levels of consciousness. If he punished the shadows - his and the world's - the more shame and guilt he could've projected onto his child(ren). These people might feel as if he's always monitoring their steps, and they can't hide anything from him - especially their mistakes or anything "taboo". If they were heavily judged or punished, they will grow up feeling guilty and ashamed of a very big part of what makes them human.

This affects how they view themselves - they can either see themselves as a Divine Child, with both the Yin and Yang, light and dark within or as a Beast, some sort of a Devil responsible for all the evil in the world.

They should know that whatever it was, it had nothing to do with them and EVERYTHING to do with their father's own degree of self-acceptance and wholeness.

Nonetheless, their relationship with him is/was intense, and there might've been a lot of power struggles involved.

📌These people are MAGNETIC in a way people can't explain. Even if they aren't traditionally "beautiful" or "attractive", they just draw others in. Powerful presence and aura.  

📌 It might take them some time to realize the power hidden in their shadows. They are destined to become Alchemists, but how easily or quickly this will happen depends on their free will and desire to separate themselves from their father's projections/expectations.

The task here is to become SELF-AWARE. They can use a myriad of tools - therapy, meditation, yoga, energy healing, somatic work, OR ART to channel their Shadow and integrate it into their consciousness.

📌 During their lives, they are often called to the gates of the Underworld. They learn how to enter it fearlessly, and how to listen to the voice within. This process of illumination (Sun) will help them transform their subconscious mind (Pluto), and when they emerge from this metaphorical Underworld, their work and expression in the world will have a different quality, richness, and potency to it. This is how they step into their power and leadership - by making peace with the demons of the past.

📌 Introverted or extroverted? Both. It mostly depends on the specific aspect, but also on other placements. We know that Mars is Pluto's lower octave. So, in their early life, some of them might be quite extroverted, focused on worldly ambitions, and even be less selective about the people they let in their close circle. As they age though, their focus turns inwards. They can progressively become more introverted, self-reflective, and their goals/values can dramatically shift. As their vibration goes up, they go from being the Warrior to being The Wizard. 

📌 If they don’t work to reclaim their power and express themselves truthfully and unapologetically in the world, they can become jealous and bitter. They can lurk behind the scenes of life, and try to sabotage those who do what they want to do, or they might try to destroy themselves. Depression is possible, as well as suicide attempts and risky behavior.

Pluto wants them to kill something about themselves, which is most likely their cowardice/pride/vanity/past conditioning. But not their physical selves. It's never about the physical, although it can feel this way. These people will either feed the Collective Shadow or help heal it. When they do the latter, they become potent forces of transformation for other people, as well.

📌 Life wants them to be humbler. They can carry a lot of pride and might try to appear as perfect and "spotless" as possible. They might be afraid of their reputation being destroyed or bruised in some way.

📌They are on a Quest for Love. When they learn how to forgive themselves and others, their HEARTS will open, and the light of the Sun will shine through. They can become truly unconditionally loving, and they have to start with themselves, first.

📌 Pluto is connected to our Divine Feminine energy (although it's not a feminine planet) a.k.a Kundalini. So, these people need to learn how to SURRENDER to the Divine. This is a major lesson, so for a good portion of their life, they might feel tempted to gain power through CONTROL and domination, but this will only worsen their karma.

As they will understand, the only real power is the power of Truth and Unconditional Love.

- Foxbörn

The Ask Box is open for specific questions, folks! 😊

ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ 1

ᴄʜᴀʀᴛ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢꜱ

ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴜʏ ᴍᴇ ᴀ ᴄᴏꜰꜰᴇᴇ?

[th3b4dk1dzz]

Is anyone else curious about how much story is left to tell in JD story modes. Because if JD25 is the end of what I'm dubbing as 'The Night Swan Saga' then I worry that it will have too much story crammed into a 7 song playlist to provide a solid conclusion.

That probably doesn't make much sense, so let me elaborate.

Based on where DWTS left off, we can assume the next story mode will pick up where the last one left with Jack rescuing the other protagonists from Night Swan's control, but the potential issues come from how that works pacing wise.

Now, I believe the best way to go about it is to have this happen one by one in their own solo maps to pace the story out.

The issue here comes in the climax of the playlist (the Majesty and Swan Lake equivalent routine). If this is the last story mode with these characters, then this routine would be the finale for the entire trilogy, and trying to tie everything up neatly across 1 to 2 songs, it might be hard to stick the landing.

Yes, they could defeat Night Swan and have a fun dance party, but I feel like that's not enough of a conclusion if we never see these characters again.

For example, we know from one of his Avatar quotes and from lyrical implementation in Canned Heat that Wanderlust doesn't want to be The Chosen One.

Would there be enough opportunity to wrap up this story thread along with the mystery of who Jack's dad is, Mihaly's arc about their relationship with perfection and Sara, and her relationship between both worlds all into one satisfying ending without overcrowding the individual dance routines and making them unplayable outside of the Story Mode playlist (like how Can't Stop The Feeling has a super long cut scene you need to get thrown before you can start dancing)

You'll notice there's one main character I haven't mentioned yet, that's because I haven't been able to nail down what her story is specifically. Brezziana.

Now, don't get me wrong, I love Brezziana and how Elena portrays her. But it feels like her story arc hasn't been brought to the forefront at some point. I believe it's something to do with her need to put others before herself, but that would make her the only main character to not have a direct connection to Night Swan

Jack is related and was raised by her.

Mihaly used to idolise her

Wanderlust is the son of the person who she fell in love with and brought her to the danceverses in the first place.

Sara didn't even need to be connected as a player insert character people could project onto but she's linked to Night Swan by being from Earth.

So we could probably assume Brezziana also has a connection. One that will need time to be expanded on and not just tacked on at the end if there is one.

Another issue is making the final battle feel complete. JD24 ended on a cliffhanger, but JD23's Majesty and If You Wanna Party felt like a complete story at the time. We now know there was more to it than that, but that's the problem. If the story wraps here, will it feel like the end? Or will we think it's like JD23, and there's more to it than that?

So, does any of this make any sense, or am I just rambling?

[slightly-warmer-hibiscus-tea]

CW: OC talk + Rambling / Blood / Gore / Censored Nudity (character sheet) / Mentions of Drugging

(idk why these warnings are so intense, but I swear it's all just silly OC talk T^T)

I’m kinda sorta working on more (comprehensible) TS OC stuff in between studying right now… I wanna hurry and talk about them but without info dumping (if given the opportunity I will without hesitation 😔…) because in terms of the best stories I have conjured up for OCs in general Naudedel and Noble are surprisingly good and I’m very excited to share how deranged they are together…

Right now it’s just about making Naudy readable and working on extra fun stuff… like monsters!

I’m trying to work out his “monster” form…. The concept is there, but the execution is just not ticking the right boxes for me right now… also, the line art at the end is old and probably will go unused, but thought it was something to add here because like hehe look at my deranged son :)

When it comes to the writing I'm going to split it into two chapters. The first half will be a summary+ of his upbringing, and the second on how he fucked up his arm and why. Just enough info to get a read on what his deal is pretty much. I just need to edit the first chapter and rewrite some parts then it's ready to annoy the world!

I'm trying to think of a good design for his original mother... I'm thinking dark hair and milf (¬‿¬)･ﾟ✧ ... honestly I need to start drawing out the designs for all the other TS OCs I've accumulated over the year (?) here's a fun list-

Hickery (bloodhound OC... dilf oc...I've already been made fun of for his name, but it stuck to me so I'm keeping it!)

Maya (another bloodhound OC)

Cove (Hound's ex-husband)

Cetcher's gf + informant, who still needs a good name...

and that one guy! (doesn't have a name yet... but is important in Hound's part of the story... she bashed some of his guys in the back of head with a hammer... it was a whole thing... Leander got involved... gang war stuff, don't worry about it...)

There are technically more OCs, like that Hightown lady Noble befriended during their first few weeks in town. However, I'm not sure if I'm including her in the final plot meeting. But yeah, anyway I'm rambling so on to Noble news!

For Noble, everything is plotted out in advance surprisingly…character playlist and all... just need to find the words to explain their story other than “parasite with a weird God complex feels guilty” I do have some old memes and art of them though!

Noble curse stuff...

Childhood cult stuff...

Current reality...

Poor person masquerade dress censored for tumblr...

Noble folks!

I actually wrote out a whole little thing for the black dress in a what-if scenario of...

"Oh! ,,,What if there is a masquerade in Hightown and Noble sneaks in to get some information on a certain individual who might know a thing or two about curses, but turns out the whole event if devious and their all eating babies or some fucked up shit,,,, and what if while sneaking around they see Leander and are like 'what's he doing here?' and they lock eyes but he ignores them as he ducks into a closed off area with some important looking people,,, once he comes out he walks past them and they lock eyes again as he leaves,,, Noble chases after him and once they catch up they get to see his cold and detached side right before he hides them from the other guest,,, after they talk for a bit, or more like Leander talking over them and their worries as he slowly wipes their memories while they protest that it's not fair only to wake up the next day back in their room,,, thankfully their curse is good for more then just silly bouts of insanity so they have a hunch on what happened, everyone around them who knew where they went the night before were obviously worried and the general consensus is that they might have been drugged and should go check in with Kuras just in case (wow this is getting long...) but on their way to the clinic they run into Leander and of course discusses their current problem with him ,,, words are exchanged,,, a kabedon may occur,,, as he whispers in their ear,,, all fun till he erases their memories again, or at least tires before receiving a little gift that makes him look at this whole curse thing from a different angle." DEEP BREATH! ...Anyways... yeah.

But it was taking so long to write out that I ended up losing motivation so yeah... like everything else we will pray the motivation comes back so I can finish that... plus who knows, I might make an x reader version of it if I can. (don't hold your breath... I'm extremely slow)

Anyway, I'm gonna to shut up now because I've yapped enough. I'mma make some hibiscus tea (ironic) and head to bed... Night night, if you made it this far, thank you for listening to my craziness <3

[silverdune]

panoramic ink | j.ww

"it was not just his art, however, it was also him as a person."

minors dni. ageless blogs dni. blank blogs dni. you'll be blocked.

genre: slice of life

character(s): jeon wonwoo

tags: tattoo artist!wonwoo, character study, wonwoo owns his own parlour, references to self-doubt and self-esteem

summary: wonwoo is the acclaimed owner of panoramic ink; he never quite knows how to feel about the attention, though he takes much pride in his work;

a/n: (long sigh third time's the charm!) basically i imagined wonwoo with a tattoo pen in his hand and got an urge to write tattoo artist!wonwoo.. forgive me i might be insane. (this has taken three tries to upload pls work 😭)

There is a certain majesty to the way Wonwoo casts off each work of art.

Whenever he is done with a client, he allows himself just a few seconds to sit back and admire what he has done in the hour, half-hour, half-day on some occasions, before giving them a swift nod of the head and thanking them for their patience. Often it is the clients themselves bending over backwards to thank Wonwoo for the beautiful creation now adorning their skin, but one could say he is a humble man.

Maybe too humble.

His portfolio has seen the attention of the most acclaimed artists. Although he is not one for spotlights, he modestly appreciates the compliments and kind gestures his customers have given him, be it thank you cards, an odd gift here and there he insisted should not have been bought for him, or even the one or two dinner invitations he ultimately declined due to busy work schedules. In reality, he had become incredibly overwhelmed with the response his work had received.

It is not just his art, however, it is also him as a person.

Wonwoo has a reserved personality, though many of his close friends would say that beneath it all is someone with the wackiest sense of humour anyone had come across. When not engrossed in his work, he could crack a joke out of nowhere that would send everyone reeling, but to most, even the more loyal customers, he is a stoic individual with a meticulous mindset and a fixed pensive expression. That is the way he prefers to present himself, and nobody questions him or makes him feel less because of it. In fact, sometimes, the quiet is welcomed, and it is that kind of atmosphere Wonwoo always promises in his shop.

The music is low, and it is always the same playlist. Consistency is key in Wonwoo's mind - that playlist is just as much for him as it is intended to be a calming presence for the client. If anything different were to be played, it would throw him off course. He knows it like the back of his hand, and it helps maintain the right ebb and flow of such an environment.

He always welcomes the customers with an amicable smile and a quick back and forth over how their week has been before he gets down to work. Formalities are important, and light conversation is nice, but small talk is a concentration killer for Wonwoo. The second his eyes are on the design and the pen is in his hand, he is taking the marathon to the end without a single word spoken. The commitment is admirable to anyone who sits in his chair, and they would never complain if it meant he could focus.

But Wonwoo believes himself too detached. There are times, more often than not, that he would like to be able to engage in the odd chat during a session.

During the long days, when the clients would be taking a break from a sleeve, he would use that as an opportunity to talk to them more. A surprise but a pleasant one nonetheless. It makes him wonder if he ever painted himself as an unapproachable person, one that not even a regular would want to talk to. But with each moment that the thought passes through his head, it is effectively quashed by his naturally easy going nature, and the odd times he does smile through the trance-like state that zaps all emotion from his face.

Panoramic Ink is his pride and joy. Between the sound of the bell above the door whenever it opens and closes, the patrons whose eyes constantly light up at the sight of their completed tattoo, and the friends who surround him and support in any way, shape or form they can, Wonwoo could not dream of being anywhere else.

And though he would not ever admit it, the majesty of his masterful work puts him at the centre.

The beating heart of Panoramic Ink.

× tristeetconfus (ave). do not repost. ×

[leifygreeens]

What song/genre of music do you think of when you imagine the bachelor/ettes? If there was a specific artist or band for Sam, who do you think they'd be?

Oooh—I actually have thought about this! I have a playlist just for when I'm writing blurbs about the stardew valley characters, and no I don't care if any of these are predictable because I think they're accurate lmfao.

Sam

2014 Five Seconds of Summer, Shawn Mendes, and Why Don't We. His general vibe is young, reckless love. If there's a specific song in mind, I think of him as a mix between 5sos' End Up Here, She Looks So Perfect, If I Can't Have You by Shawn, and Why Don't We's Fallin' (Adrenaline)

Seb

I think he's a mix between 5sos' Voodoo Doll, Troye Sivan's Strawberries and Cigarettes, Taylor Swift's Style, and the last 90-ish seconds of Sleep Token's The Summoning. Also Conan Gray's Overdrive. He's still young and reckless, but he's a little more subdued and all over the place.

Alex

One Directions' Steal My Girl, Shawn Mendes' Wonder, and Harry Styles' Watermelon Sugar. Even though they're pretty heavy with gendered language, I have no issue imagining Alex with varying farmers while listening to these songs.

Elliott

His love definitely swerves more toward obsession and worship, so anything by Hozier, no question about it. But also Can't Take My Eyes Off You by Frank Valli is heavy Elliott energy.

Shane

Everybody Wants You by Johnny Orlando, Someone To You by BANNERS, DogBird by Madds Buckley, and Lauv's I Like Me Better. Like Seb, Shane's pretty all over the place as well. Also he makes me cry ahaha. hm.

Harvey

Harvey gave me a little bit of trouble when I first started writing. I had to think about him quite a bit to land on a genre/song for him. Anyway, Ophelia by The Lumineers, Ready Now by dodie, and The Way You Look Tonight by Michael Bublé are all Harvey coded. END ME

Maru

In My Mind by Lyn Lapid, Bubble Gum by Clairo, and Space Girl by Frances Forever. I imagine her as a pretty inexperienced and romantically repressed character (I wonder why Demetrius) so all of these songs have a certain level of melancholy about them, which is very Maru for me.

Penny

She by dodie, Conan Gray's Heather, and Lonely by Noah Cyrus. Repressed, just like Maru, but for different reasons. Never had the opportunity to really live her life, you know? Lots of insecurities and feelings of inadequacy my poor babie nO but I usually only listen to those when I'm feeling a little down. You can trust that I don't always write angst for her, and when I don't, it's loooots of early Taylor Swift.

Abigail

Very punchy, "powerful woman" type songs. Namely UPSAHL's People I Don't Like, Beautiful is Boring by BONES UK, and American Horror Show by SNOW WIFE. She has opinions and she's going to let you know what she thinks—but make no mistake, she is a loyal and good person to her core. She's just got an attitude sometimes.

Haley

Sabrina Carpenter. That's it. lmao no i'm kidding Diamonds Are Forever, Nonsense, Looking At Me, and Girlfriend by Bea Miller. I love me a mean, confident lesbian, but she does soften up the more you get to know her, and I always listen to Isabel LaRosa's I'm Yours when I want to go that route with her. I also think of her when I listen to Dress by Charlotte Sands.

Leah

Cosmic Love by Florence + The Machines, Light My Love by Greta Van Fleet, and Constellations by The Oh Hellos. She's got a certain whimsy about her, but she's still a very grounded individual. She and Elliott have a similar vibe to each other, but where he's the smell of salty sea spray and plum juice dripping from your fingers, she's frayed picnic blankets and the smell of grass after it rains.

Emily

Now this might be controversial, but Señorita by Shawn Mendes and Camila Cabello is always gonna make me think of her. I'm Born To Run by American Authors, Enchanted by Taylor Swift (her version, obviously), are also both some of the easiest songs for me to think about her. She definitely believes in soulmates and fate, and probably makes jewelry or sews while thinking about you.

[kmlaney]

WIP questionnaire

tagged by @coffeewritesfiction and I am so sorry to take this long on a reply. Thanks for the tag!

Tagging @fallenscintilla (if you want! No pressure!) and @waywardwizzard and anyone who wants to!

1. What is the first part of your WIP that you created?

The very first line was: “D’ya think I care how it tastes?” I posted an edited version here. There's a snip of the original here.

For the record, it started as a character background for a TTRPG. In fact, it wasn’t even going to be the character I was going to play. Harrowed (undead/revenant) gunfighter? *eyeroll* Too cliché. I even made a homebrew archetype to play: a “spiritualist” in the late 1800’s sense. But that first line kept bugging me so I figured, okay. Fine. I’ll write this one scene and then work on my spiritualist. 

Yeah. No. I never played the spiritualist.

2. If your story was a TV show, what would the theme song/intro be?

I did all the fan stuff for Phil and Skyfallen, like playlists, faceclaims, all of that. I never did that before. I selected music for the theoretical TV show: main theme, a rotating list of outro/credits roll music, pieces for certain kinds of scenes. So if Skyfallen were a TV series, this would be the theme:

3. What are your favorite characters that you made? Why?

That’s like asking which of my pets was my favorite. I love them all. I guess I loved Phil enough to make them the viewpoint character. They’re a more-mature version of the kind of character I wrote when I was a kid, now with serious problems I can explore as an adult. I like Phil’s father, whom I was determined to fridge in the beginning because fridging is usually a female character. Ha Ha! Then I went and gave him a character arc that could only end in his death so he’s not fridged after all. 

I like Travelling Sam for being a conniving, money-grubbing jerk, but he’s fun to write. I like Eva as Carnival Mom; Maury for being a flamboyant, fun-to-be-around person hiding a serious drinking problem that everyone knows about. I like Doc Butcher for his name, for actually being trained as a vet but caring about everyone, and trying to do his best when he’s in over his head because he can’t do nothing. 

I like Maker Lewis for his change of heart, though he was already on the fence and just needed a shove. And I like Miss Warren for being a nosy reporter whom Phil doesn’t want to like but ends up liking anyway. She also lets me play at muckraking reporter. Choosing words to specifically slant a piece is a load of fun.

4. What other pieces of media do you think your fan base would share?

Skyfallen has its roots in Westerns, so people who like cinematic westerns are a potential fanbase. I include horror, steampunk, and gothic elements, so if your venn diagram of interests includes those things then it might be for you. 

Things I like that influenced or feel like this story: Silverado, The Magnificent Seven, RIPD 2 Rise of the Damned (movies. I hate to admit that last one but it was fun). Deadlands (TTRPG game. I created Phil for this setting). The Dark Tower novels--primarily Wizard and Glass but any of the parts dealing with Roland’s world. 

There is zero romance. Phil’s ace, there is no main love interest, and anyone who gets together does so very off-screen. 

5. What has been your biggest struggle with your WIP?

When writing the draft, the individual scenes flew out of my brain. I could hardly write them fast enough. In deep editing, though, it’s the big-picture stuff I find challenging. Which themes do I want to emphasize and which are less important? Do I really need all this buildup or should I start later? I need to show certain things so the later ones make sense, but that makes it even longer. It’s already very long; shouldn’t I be cutting things down? Argh. It's frustrating.

6. Are there any animals in your story? Talk about them!

There are animals. Most are utilitarian: Horses, dogs, cats, chickens, cows. There are monsters also (for certain values of “monster”) all along the continuum from “non-sapient animal” through to “self-aware human intelligence.” 

The way they figure into the story is more interesting. In life, Phil liked animals in general and had a special fondness for horses and mules. After dying and coming back reanimated, animals can’t stand to be around them. Phil doesn’t figure it out right away, and it hurts when they do.

7. How do your characters get around? (Ex. Trains, horses, cars, dragons, etc.)

For the area the characters are in for the bulk of the story, most people walk, ride horses, or ride in wagons, carts, or coaches pulled by horses or teams of horses. There are a couple of trains but they are rare. In other areas, trains are common, as are ferries and lake boats. Airships exist; they are novelties and considered simultaneously luxurious and dangerous. In larger cities, along with the horse-drawn vehicles, people have bicycles, rickshaws, pedal-powered rickshaws, and palanquins. Automatons in a variety of configurations may be subbed in for horses or people in any of those conveyances. 

8. What part of your WIP are you working on right now?

I’ve identified some specific foreshadowing that needs to happen. So I need to add that in. There are a few names that aren’t consistent; they’re flagged so I can fix them. I need to put in a few encounters so later ones make sense. It’s not exactly foreshadowing so much as worldbuilding. So editing stuff.

9. What aspects (tropes, maybe) of your WIP do you think will draw people in?

I have a hard time identifying tropes in my work, probably because I’m in the trees, so to speak, and can’t see the forest. Or groves, to push the metaphor. Having said that, here’s an attempt:

Portal/isekai

Found family

Unlikely group of heroes

Humans can be evil; monsters can be sympathetic

Religion, Magic, and cults 

Monsters dwelling among humans

Enemies to not-friends (don’t push your luck)

Things get worse

Everyone has secrets

Lost memories, memory tampering

Weird West

Steampunk and Gothic Horror

Gunslinger/trick shot

Noble Demon/antihero

Good is not nice

I did come up with one of those taglines that you might see on the bottom of the cover of a book: 

“Every Skyfallen has something they want to forget. And everyone in the Mistlands is Skyfallen.”

10. What are your hopes for your WIP?

Originally I was hoping for traditional publishing. I might still try to go that way. I’m also looking into self-pub, and websites that host serial stories. I think this story fits better into a serial format than a traditional book format. I need to make it more coherent (hence editing phase)

[nokaru]

Friend! Do you have any songs that remind you of Umihebi and/or Torou, together or individually??

Oh my darling you have no idea...sorry this took so long I got tired ahhh

I made this playlist ages ago, it's still in my drafts here too - never got around to actually posting it BUT it's here! I dub thee UmiTorou playlist: toxic gfs commiting crimes

I'll go about this the same way I would with other playlist posts so here are selected few with some commentary and lyrics ^^ putting it under read more

girl in red - You Stupid Bitch

Don't bite your lip or grit your teeth Just count to ten and try to breathe You stupid bitch, can't you see The perfect one for you is me?

need i say more? this is so UmiTorou. I see this song from Torou's pov, trying to chat up Umihebi after there was something between them already. (bonus points for girl in red and the beat)

Beabadoobee - The Perfect Pair

You ought to know that I think we're one and the same I don't think we could help it No, I don't think we could help it We don't talk much Guess 'cause nothing has changed And I'm not sure I like it And I'm so tired of fighting

perfect pair they sure are, also Beadadoobee's voice is giving UmiTorou if they were lo-fi. Something about being obviously bad for each other but also so so perfect for this one person only.

AURORA - Cure For Me

I run from the liars, the fuel on the fire I know I created myself I know I can't fight the sad days and bad nights But I never asked for your help

You got hurt No, we don't belong together So you took the love from my arms Into the arms of yours But I don't need a cure for me I don't need it

This one reminds me more of Umihebi and Torou individually (but also as a couple) - esp the "I created myself" line. I love evil women and implications they are the way they are because of nobody than themselves. No man involved for backstory, I am who I am because I chose this kinda deal.

The Brobecks - Visitation of the Ghost

You think that I don't know your game A pretty, pretty, pretty little face Despite every book and every little kiss you took She'll take your place

Umihebi to Torou, while they still danced around each other like they are not obsessed with each other sigh.

CRAWLERS - Come Over (again)

Take her name out of your mouth You don't deserve to mourn You just love the attention Or do you get bored? You like the power you have Hope you get caught in the law Do you think that you're happy? Just wait 'til you're sure

This is actually one of my Umihebi character songs cause it fits perfectly with my OCs and their relatioship with Umi + Umi origins. Basically Umihebi getting kicked around for her arrogant behaviour part 1

Mitski - A Pearl

You're growing tired of me You love me so hard and I still can't sleep You're growing tired of me And all the things I don't talk about Sorry, I don't want your touch It's not that I don't want you Sorry, I can't take your touch It's just that I fell in love with a war Nobody told me it ended And it left a pearl in my head And I roll it around every night Just to watch it glow Every night, baby, that's where I go

UmiTorou rocky relatioship 0.2, they are both complicated people (one more than the other) and they just CAN'T talk about it. Over their dead bodies.

The Dresden Dolls - My Alcoholic Friends

I'm trying hard Not to be ashamed Not to know the name Of who is waking up beside me Or the date, the season or the city But at least the ceiling's very pretty Should I choose a noble occupation? If I did I'd only show up late and sick And they would stare at me with hatred Plus my only natural talent's wasted on my alcoholic friends

Torou song right there!! Yes, maybe a bit cheesy but just listen to it...its so Torou and Obi coded. While Obi might have chosen the noble occupation, Torou (mind you not inherently evil) can't see herself as anything else than what she is now. She won't let go of her current life, just the thought of losing the freedom of it makes her sick.

Epic the Musical - My Goodbye

You are reckless Sentimental at best That's not a teaching of mine You've grown soft Your dead friends can attest Put your emotions aside You're a warrior Meant to lead the rest I don't know where I went wrong But I warned you And you failed the test

Umihebi getting kicked around by my OC for development part 2 (after getting arrested !!gone physical!! :0)

Chappell Roan - Pink Pony Club

I'm having wicked dreams of leaving Tennessee Hear Santa Monica, I swear it's calling me Won't make my mama proud, it's gonna cause a scene She sees her baby girl, I know she's gonna scream God, what have you done?

this became crazy Umihebi centric so this one is purely Torou song. I mean Chappell was made for her come on now...why Pink Pony Club? It's the vibes + my wife iilfal's fanfic about Torou's backstory (tho only vaguely). Also the line "I'm gonna keep on dancing" is so Torou and her lay-back personality. She would be the bomb in any club.

[alls-fair-in-pride-and-prejudice]

My Gale obsession has progressed to playlist creation - something no individual character has achieved before - list of songs and their justifications for being included below the cut

Wizard of Waterdeep - the song was literally written about him it's going in

The Moon Will Sing - a song about being overshadowed by the one you love, always living for them rather than having your own life, apt for Gale's relationship with Mystra

Icarus - "Look who's digging their own grave/that is what they all say", "Icarus is flying too close to the sun/ and Icarus's life it has only just begun" a young Gale who is voraciously devouring every tome he can get his hands on, creating new spells, constantly pushing his limits again and again

Constellations - a song about the tower of Babel (an act of reaching for the heavens) only to fail and lose connection and communication, trying to grasp at meaning in the meaningless

Abigail's Song (Silence is all you know) - "When you're alone silence is all you know/ Let in the noise and let it grow" "When you're alone, silence is all you see/ when you're alone silence is all you'll be" representative of Gale's isolation in the aftermath of the orb, and clawing his way back to living again

Bitter Water - "I am not a fool entire/ no I know what's coming/ you'll bury me beneath the tree I climbed when I was a child/ I know I shouldn't love you/ I know I shouldn't love you but I do" the singer reflects on an abusive relationship, how it would lead to killing them but they still cannot fully let it go.

Venus - I love using astronomy imagery for Gale, especially given the way I've flavored my Tav romancing him. This is where he's opening up to new love, feeling like someone sees him, the man, rather than the great wizard.

Achilles Come Down - "You crave the applause/ yet hate the attention/ then miss it your act is a ruse" this song is the battle of his own desire to fulfill his goddess's wish of martyring himself and Tav's (and perhaps his own self preservation) saying that there is more to life and it is better to live

Cosmic Love - "The stars the moon/ they have all been blown out/ you left me in the dark" many potential meanings! Gale being abandoned by his goddess? Tav mourning that he left them for martyrdom?

As the World Caves In - "And here it is, our final night alive/ and as the earth burns to the ground/ oh girl it's you that I lie with" he conjures the stars because it might be his last night alive and he wants to spend it with Tav I have so many feelings

Wash My Dreams Away - the music that plays when he takes Tav to the astral plane!

Witchcraft - the comparison of falling in love to enchanting magic was too perfect to not include

Weaving Magic and Making Potions - there are no lyrics to this song, but it's all magical sounding and it's weaving magic yes I put this in as a pun

Mouth of the River - "I wanna live like that/ live the life of the faithful one/ wanna bow to floor/ with everyone else/ wanna be someone [...] oh it's the curse of the man/ I was living life living life/ living just to please" the contrast between wanting to be faithful, have a purpose, but also wanting to be the best, wanting to be loved for what you can do

Measure of a Man - "the measure of a man/ stands or falls with what he leaves behind/ gather on the sand / let your voices carry to the sky / let the gods look down on this and wonder" this is just the vibes. Tell me you can't imagine this playing as Gale sacrifices himself at the final battle with the Absolute. The gods look down and wonder why he refused to do this for his goddess, but chose to do this for those he leaves behind - his friends.

Fair - this whole song embodies the vibes of a romance with Gale. "it's not fair you make me laugh when I'm really cross with you" or the juxtoposition of this eternal devotion with the mundanity of love. Gale's romance is about loving him for the man he is, not the magic he wields - there is life changing devotion in the romance yes, but they are also just two mortals who love each other.

The Tower - "Got a neck so strong for the crown upon your head/ Don't think anyone will leave it when you're dead / There's a throng of men mightier than you / And they're waiting and they're watching 'til they fill your shoes" This suits his ending as god of ambition like, he's literally inspiring others to follow in his footsteps as someone who ascended to godhood! His power is in the crown of Karsus which a bunch of people wanted to get their hands on! His own followers are gonna be the type to try to usurp him just you wait

Slow Burn - "I don't have to die for you to love me" a love that comes after one fraught with expectations and pain, realizing that you don't have to martyr yourself to be loved by this person, you can just be with each other. This is his good ending, a slow burn and a gentle life.

I Want to Live - some may say this is Astarion's song, some may say it's Tav's, I think it belongs to all the companions. They're brought together by that need to live. They want, they have to survive this, and survive this they do.

[cannibalistic-cucumber]

Okay so

For various reasons, Sonic Adventure (SA1) is among my dead favorite games. The two relevant to this rant are the characters and the gorgeous soundtrack (in fact, I might go on a tangent about individual songs at the end of this).

My favorite character in the game is E-102 “Gamma” (btw if you derail this post about Omega, you die), a robot built by Eggman, who runs on animal power, as Eggman’s robots usually do. However, Gamma contains a very special animal - it’s a surprise tool the will help us later. Five minutes into being born (and after training, ofc), he is forced to shoot his brother, E-101 “Beta”. Following this, he board’s Eggman’s ship (the Egg Carrier) and is tasked with catching the tailed frog. Upon collecting the frog, he is transported to the past, where he experiences childlike wonder at the chao. Back on the Egg Carrier, the rest of his siblings are cast out because of their failure to get the frog. After that, Gamma is sent to execute a prisoner. On the way, he makes a wrong turn and ends up in the machining room, where he experiences eldritch horror at the sight of his brother being disassembled and reassembled. In the prison, he finds Amy Rose, who has a blue bird flying around with her looking for its parents. She convinces him not to kill her a la Mindy Animaniacs, and protects Sonic out on the deck of the ship, further confusing Gamma. He leaves the crashing ship, now convinced to “rescue” his disowned brothers. After successfully disposing of them, he is ambushed on the Egg Carrier by Beta Mk II, who feigns death in order to shoot Gamma in the back, and they both die as a result. Lo and behold, Gamma and Beta contained the parents of the bird. Reunited, they fly off into the sunset.

TLDR: Gamma is Eggman robot who experiences eldritch horror and compassion and forsakes his master as a result. He “rescues” his siblings before dying himself, and the animal inside him reunites with its family.

Now, a little more background before we get to the main point. SEGA Sound Team popped off for this game. Each character has a theme song that plays during their respective recaps and end credits (each one has an entire storyline with slight variations on who does what (it’s all happening at once)). Side note: I’m like 70% sure SA1 is the origin of Knuckles jazz. It should also be noted that I have a youtube playlist of songs on queue for downloading, and when I run out of ideas I scroll through the recommended additions section.

E-102’s theme is in my top three favorite songs from SA1. You’ll never guess what it’s called! Theme of E-102γ. And that’s my first talking point. I was reading the comments on one of the music videos, and one of them made a connection that his theme doesn’t get a proper name because he’s just another cog in the machine. Even Big the Cat has a greater role in the main story than him. And yet, doomed by the narrative as he is, he gets his own story. As another comment pointed out, each story has its own (literary) theme: Sonic is Adventure, Tails is Independence, Knuckles is Recollection (I’m kinda iffy on that one), Amy is Protection, Big is Friendship, and Gamma? Gamma is heart and soul. Compassion. Morality, something that shouldn’t be possible, and definitely isn’t comprehensible for a robot, especially one of Eggman’s creation.

As a side tangent here, I’ve been putting rescued in quotes when it comes to Gamma and his brothers, but I realized something between the time I started writing this and now. The animals that drop from the E-series robots are birds. They’re all his brothers, inside and out. I had always assumed that Gamma had meant rescue only in the liberation sense. I never realized that he meant it both ways. I just… I’m need a moment.

As a side side tangent, I think this is one of the biggest differences between E-100 ZERO and the rest. To my knowledge, he didn’t have any animals, much less another bird, and that was what led him to the brutish oafishness that we see displayed by him.

Back to the main points, I think that all of this is reflected in the song. It starts out with all of the synth, vague vocals, electro, etc. that would be expected from the theme of a robot, and then you’ve got… PIANO. Oh my god the piano. Piano Man has its harmonica, and this song has its piano. In the midst of the circuits, the wires, the computers, there’s life, a heartbeat, a soul. And with the soul comes that twinge of sadness. Sure he freed the animals, but to do so, he had to kill his brothers with his own two (?)(does the gun count?) hands. Due to this and the cumulation of everything else, hearing the song (or the variation of it) during his final cutscene hits and hits hard.

THE REPRISE OF THE MAIN THEME PIANO AS HE DIES IN OBSCURITY. THE OTHER BIRDS ARE LIKELY THE ONLY ONES THAT END UP KNOWING ABOUT HIS DEATH

It’s okay I’m okay I’m so normal about this

Now that the main rant is over, it’s time for me to hoot about the other songs

Be Cool, Be Wild, Be Groovy …for Ice Cap

I get that it’s a snowboarding section, but still. THEY BOTHERED TO USE GUITAR IN A SNOW LEVEL. NAME ONE OTHER INSTANCE OF THAT THAT ISN’T LITTLE BIG PLANET’S THE WILDERNESS’S SITAR.

Limestone Cave …for Ice Cap

Ambience plain and simple. Good for falling asleep to

Snowy Mountain …for Ice Cap

Another ambience piece, this time with another guitar (no this doesn’t count for the challenge I posed above). Love the mix of electric and acoustic

Welcome To Station Square

“The train headed for the Mystic Ruins will be departing soon.” Came for the guitar, stayed for the trumpet.

Red Barrage Area …for Hot Shelter

SAX (shout outs to the rest of Hot Shelter’s music btw)

Militant Missionary … Boss Egg Walker & Egg Viper

Hopelessness, despair, DRAMA. Things may not have gone to plan, but Eggman is surely still the one in control.

And finally, shoutouts to Bad Taste Aquarium, Pleasure Castle, and Dilapidated Way for going full throttle right out the gate.

@green-mountain-goose @greetings-inferiors @cue-jay @kimu-dem

[dearweirdme]

Hi. Could you share a beautiful tought you have of TaeKook. Maybe how they make you feel, why do you support them. Thank you 🫰

Hi anon!

This is actually a bit of a difficult question for me. Because the answer is layered. First of all, I love them as artists. I love BTS as a whole (seriously, I have a personalized BTS playlist I play everyday on the drive to and from work), and I love Tae and Jk’s voices and performances as solo artists as well. I love Layover, I loved his performances, and I loved the promo footage we got. I’m so glad we got to see this side of Tae. We haven’t heard Jk’s album yet, but I’m super excited about it, because I love to see him perform as well. Due to this question I’m trying to choose whose voice I love most, but I’m unable to. I love Tae’s deep warm voice, but I also love Jk’s voice and the way he makes me feel emotions when he sings. I don’t actually have to choose, so I won’t 😁.

Aside from loving them as artists, I also love their individual characters. Tae might be my bias, but I have so much love for Jk as well. I really enjoy Jk’s humor, and the way he expresses his emotions. Jk isn’t afraid to feel and that’s something I really admire. He might be a private person, but he invests a lot in sharing himself with army. I think, though he might not always express it best, Jk loves hard. I love to see his pouty face, I love to see him affectionate with his members, I love to see him master stuff, I love how he’s grown into such a beautiful person. And Tae.. i kinda identify with Tae. Tae is often described as weird, and he acknowledges that himself as well. He has a different way of thinking. My handle isn’t ‘dearweirdme’ for nothing (has been that way even before I was in fandom), because I have often felt the same. Though I have gone through a journey of accepting and understanding my weirdness for a very long time, getting to know Tae has helped me in ways. His confidence (or at least the way he shows confidence) has made me lay other people’s opinions beside me more. Aside from identifying with Tae on a certain level, I also find him so sweet and caring and I love how he can be absolutely (i want to say ‘lethal’ 😂) bold and sharp at times.

Tae and Jk as a couple.. geezz it breaks my heart at times when I think of all the hardships they have had to go through. Ofcourse being a partnof BTS already meant they had to have hard times, but falling in love with each other certainly set them for issues the other members didn’t experience. What I love is how they have always kept that strong connection. I had an anon say this recently also, but I’ll repeat.. there hasn’t been a period in time where Tae and Jk didn’t show how close and comfortable they actually are and have been. People talk about possible breakups (and sure there have been visible hard times) but I wouldn’t know where to place a durable breakup anywhere. They are so sweet together, so soft.. so caring, so knowing. I think these men know each other inside out. The way Tae touches Jk, the way Jk looks at Tae with stars in his eyes. They actually visibly go soft by looking at each other.

Now my personal reasons for being an ally (yes, I’m straight). I’ve always been an ally, yet not always an active/vocal one. I have queer friends and acquaintances, I wouldn’t be opposed to dating someone who isn’t male, but I’ve only ever been attracted to males before. I started to get more vocal/active in supporting the queer community when my kid was born. All the heteronormativity just didn’t sit right with me. People were so quick to talk about ‘boys being boys’ stuff and I just want him to be happy with whatever he chooses. My kid a bit of a ‘softer’ boy, playing with mylittle ponies as much as he did with cars for instance. So that’s when I decided to actively show him that he has options. I make sure to read him inclusive books, I always tell him ‘boyfriend or girlfriend’ when we talk about being in love, I explain that there’s all sorts of families and all sorts of relationships (age appropriate) and I do this publicly.. which means I often correct statements made by others that are not inclusive (which is not always appreciated, but my kid’s feelings of safety are just more important). I just think, I want him to know that everything is fine by me. If he turns out to be queer, I’d love for him to not really have to come out, but just tell me ‘mom, i’m going out with a boy tonight.’.

All those things combined are what makes me support Tae and Jk I think. If it comes down to it, I just support love of any kind.

[tailoroffates]

How to beat writer's block

Here are 9 tips to get yourself out of a nasty writer’s block (y'know, other than the obvious ADHD issues that I also struggle with).

Causes

Fear – This usually revolves around publicizing your work, being rejected by publishers, or the general criticism you can receive from your peers. Being nervous or afraid of these things is absolutely normal, but it becomes a serious issue when it prevents you from sharing your work. There are always going to be trolls, just remember when they come out the taunt you that they’re just jealous because you have potential and they’re stuck living under their toll bridges. Leave them there and pay them no mind.

Self-criticism – I’m guilty of this one so I’ll be as fair as I can without being a hypocrite about it. We are our own worst critics. It only gets harder to view ourselves as professional or avoid that nasty old imposter syndrome when we compare our own work to that of other successful authors. Stop that! Keep writing and honing your skills and one day it might be okay to compare in this way, but until then this process is just being unfair to yourself. These authors have been writing for years and practice so consistently that they’ve earned that best-seller title. You’ll get there, just try to stay out of your own head until then.

Perfectionism – This one is a little harder to get out of because we always want to do good and put our best work forward, however, this can often lead to us overthinking the structure of a single sentence and cause so much time to be wasted just trying to make it perfect. Here’s the thing though, nothing is perfect, and here’s why… No matter how well you do your work will be perceived differently by your readers individually. Everyone is different and you can’t please them all, so do your best to make sure you are happy with it and you’ll likely have others who enjoy it as well.

Pressure – This is mainly due to deadlines. Whether they’re set by teachers, publishers, heck even if they’re set by you. This one isn’t so easy to overcome as the closer you get to that deadline the more the anxieties start to set in.

Tips

Now that we’ve covered the causes, here are the 9 ways to creep your brain out of your writer's block.

Re-read – One method that helps me out of my (book-related) writer’s block is to go back a chapter or so and re-read some of my older materials. More times than not, this gets the gears going again and places my thought process back into the mindset I was in when writing it.

Take a break – Sometimes you sit there writing for so long that your brain starts to lag and your blood flow slows down, stopping you from refreshing your thought process. A good way to fix this is to take a small break and do something else. Get up, stretch, get some water, and maybe even go for a walk (I know, I know. The “walk” thought made you cringe, but it can really help). If those things sound too effortful, just switch to a different creative subject like trying a writing prompt or writing a little poem. Either way, sometimes the brain is just looking for some inspiration, and staring at the same page for hours isn’t gonna cut it.

Tunes – Every once in a while I’ll have myself a nasty struggle with trying to set a scene. I find that a cheeky way to help this issue is to make a playlist of songs that put me in the mindset of the scene I’m trying to build. For example, when I’m trying to write something sad or traumatic that happened to a character I’ll play some sorrowful tunes to get the right ambiance. The same goes for fighting scenes. I’ll play many upbeat and catchy songs to try and get a good idea of that half-cocked adrenaline feel so I can write the fighters reacting to one another effectively.

Quiet time – Sometimes too much noise or too many distractions can cut into your writing time, making your mind as blank as the page you’re sitting in front of. If so, maybe try and go somewhere quiet and avoid external distractions so you can write in peace.

Perfectionism – Yes, you read that right. We circled right back into perfectionism, but hear me out. If you’re sitting there on that same sentence because you can’t decide the best way to structure it just make a note of where you are and keep writing past it. You’ll have time to fix that when you re-read or edit your work. Wracking your brain about it now is just slowing your progression.

Outline – One thing I find incredibly helpful is to outline or write an overview of your plot line, subplots, and where you want it to end up. I know, everyone wants to be a pantser, but not everyone can do this effectively without wasting years of their time stuck on the same chapter or even worse yet, leaving so many plot holes that even an acrobat would trip over them. I spent 3 years trying to write my book and when I finally gave in and wrote up an outline I had it done in 24 weeks. Don’t be a me.

Happy habit – Another cheeky tip I used to help myself out was to create a productive habit out of writing. The rule was 1500 words a day, and eventually, it started to get easier and easier for me to get the words out of my brain and onto the page. Your word count does not need to be this high, just set a comfortable goal and get to it!

Read something – No, not your own stuff. Read something else that you find interesting. More times than not this can inspire your gears to start spinning so you can get back to writing your own works.

Play – Alright, so at this point you might have just been working for too long. Stop that! A big old work binge can be great from time to time but just remember, all work and no play made Johnny a dull boy. Don’t be Johnny! Go have some fun and get that tension out so you can be your best you! <3 Hopefully, this helps those of you out there who like me, spend way too much time just wishing the brain would shut up and write things.

[danpuff-ao3]

The Making of Devotion

If you've followed me long enough, you've probably seen me and gotten fed up with me talking about my pride and joy, Contempt. And I promise, it's only half as much as I wanted to talk about it.

Long after Contempt was written, and finally posted, the story continued to haunt me. It wasn't done with me yet.

And so...Devotion.

The story of Contempt and Devotion was inspired by two other Snarry fics, Shame and Denial; inspired in their own ways. Those fics placed in me the need that shaped the story of my soul.

Similarly, the idea to write a companion piece, to explore Severus' POV of the same story came from another Snarry fic, or rather fics I've long loved: Nights of Gethsemane and Invictus, by starcrossed.

Forever I am in awe of what that author did. And left to my own devices, I would wax poetic about that series ad nauseum (and in fact did so before I realized "wow I'm a few hundred words into a Nights of Gethsemane rec instead of Making of post.") The main point is: Nights of Gethsemane is entirely from Harry's POV. Invictus is the same exact story from Severus' POV. I've read both numerous times and am forever in love with seeing all the bits of, not only information one knew that the other didn't, but all the times they misunderstood each other, or had the wrong assumptions, etc. And how well done it was, really losing oneself in a character's head, limited by their own experience and their own knowledge.

So when it comes to my own work, I've known the whole story all along. At first, the core of it, and over time, more of the shapes and colors. I knew when writing Contempt where Severus was coming from. So why not write that? There is so much between Harry and Severus both. So much going on in them individually. And isn't it true that there are two (or even three) sides to every story?

It occurred to me, at some point, how neat it would be to write and submit Devotion for Snarry-a-Thon. My one real issue was...well, I knew it would be able to standalone, but I wanted to be sure I could submit a companion piece. Partly since it might be obvious to anyone who's read Contempt. But also...I'd not made much secret that I'd been working on Devotion. Which I thought might be an issue for an anonymous fest. So, eager and impatient as I was, I reached out to the mod before the official Thon 23 announcement even happened. "I know we're not there yet, but...."

They had no problems with it, thankfully, just a note that it couldn't be connected to the series until after reveals, which I figured. So I stopped using the name Devotion when talking about it publicly and instead referred to it as Super Secret Project. And I dove right on into it! And also couldn't shut up about it. (RIP the poor people who had to listen to me that whole time...) I made a playlist! And a title graphic. I wrote and wrote and wrote and wrote...I pulled out some hair. I sobbed. Etc, etc, very dramatic writerly things.

And while details in Contempt were inspired by HP Flowers (the flowers on Severus' door), the writing of Devotion is what fully prompted me to start HP Fruit Fest. Specifically a scene involving apricot jam. I've always been a bit of a fruit fanatic, but I felt compelled to research symbolism for apricots ("optimism and hope for the future"; thought of as an aphrodisiac in some areas, while ancient Chinese lore saw them representing "cowardice"), which really got me hung up on fruits (again) and pushed me to start the fest! (I do love some good symbolism, what can I say?) (Also: fruit.)

Strangely, I thought Devotion would be a smooth ride. Or smoother than Contempt had been. In fact, it was not. It was merely a new set of challenges.

My brain, silly as it is, fretted about the word count. I had a bad feeling it was going to be shorter than Contempt! Which my brain did not like, for Reasons. (Brain has yet to inform me as to what these Reasons are.) I think maybe I projected it would be longer, then as I was writing I thought "oh no is it going to be shorter??" (Still unclear as to why this matters.) My original thought turned out to be right, as Contempt is 20,400 words and Devotion is 25,843. So...5,443 more words!

Then...lots of overthinking about small details. I wanted more scenes showing Severus' life outside of Harry. But also...poor dude doesn't have much. I put a lot of thought into the layout of Knockturn Alley, and activities Severus might be interested in, etcetera, but a lot of that needed to be cut for the flow. And let me tell you, I've gotten pretty comfortable over the years about cutting extra tidbits, but that whole section about Severus' nights on Knockturn Alley hurt to lose. I had a feeling even as I wrote it that it was a bit much, which a friend later confirmed. Ah well, I'll drag my "list of things to do in the Wizarding world" ideas into another story. (Why have characters do to a Muggle cinema when they can go to a Wizarding play???? Come on!!!!) Just little things like that.

And absinthe!! There's a whole process to that, and it seemed wrong to not mention, but also...I didn't feel like expounding on the proper distillation of absinthe for forever and a day. Yet the one place it felt fitting to sort of show the ritual was later in the story, when I needed more of a nod towards the start. So absinthe was its own headache, basically. (Cramming a lot of details into a small space is no easy feat, let me tell you.) (And I'm so dang particular about word choice and flow!!) (No one ask me the total time I spent on the absinthe detail in this fic alone. Because I don't know other than to say: entirely too much.)

The real agony of this fic was not the writing of it, though. Which...I mean it was, but the real test was after. I very rarely use beta readers. I have bad experience, for one, and I'm a big ole sensitive lady for another.

Because the biggest worry of all was that Contempt is my pride and joy, and I worried about adding more to that universe. What if Devotion was a big failure or disappointment? What if attaching a subpar work to my baby ruined it?? The best hope I had to keep that from happening was to get a beta reader.

But first, I had Ephie (@fleetingdesires.) At the tail end of writing I was losing steam and focus and hope and I was in desperate need of someone to read what I had and tell me it wasn't garbage. So if you like Devotion, please thank Ephie for saving it from the dumpster.

Then...there was aristi, my beta. Aristi has known me for a while. She knows my writing. She knows my soft, fragile heart. She also knows a lot about editing. Which is to say, the process wasn't nearly as awful as I expected, but the whole "waiting to have my heart ripped to shreds" feeling was rough.

Also, it still wasn't nice, exactly, having flaws pointed out. For every typo I wanted to put my head through a wall. Every email about updates in Google Docs, my heart stopped, and I just thought: "this is it, today's the day she tells me to set the whole story on fire." (Me? Issues? Noooo...) There was also my deadline anxiety that came into play. We missed our projected deadline (for reasons), but that was why we gave ourselves breathing room! We did still get it all done before submissions were due. Life gets in the way sometimes, which I totally understand. It didn't stop me from thinking the worst and spiraling a bit as time went on. ("oh no, it's so awful, she doesn't even have the heart to tell me!")

In the end, I had a handful of typos. Most of which I'm pretty sure came from my single edit run wherein I finagled a few scenes and probably created more errors than I fixed. And aristi suggested a bit of expansion in a few places, which wasn't really much. I added less than 100 words, I think.

Best of all, each suggestion was well-cushioned and sweetly presented. And I think more of her comments were just fun commentary or compliments than anything. I hardly had to fix much at all! And better yet, I was feeling pretty good! Comfortable, confident, and cared for! She was so incredibly thoughtful about everything she said, which really touched me! I'm used to people sort of being frustrated with me, and telling me to deal with it, put up with it, etc. Which is fine. I know I can't make my issues everyone else's problem. But it's nice when people stop and try. To feel like it's not a great burden to want gentleness. To be treated like my feelings, and I, matter. I dunno, it was really special to me.

So really, not a bad process! Better than I could have hoped for, really. But my own overthinking and worrying made it hard. An extension of all the overthinking and worrying I did while writing.

I was more lonely writing Devotion than I was with Contempt. My writing group from the year before more or less dispersed. That was an additional hardship I didn't expect. I'm a big sharer. It's important to me to talk and chat and have people to be excited with. (And to cry with, ngl.) It left me a bit stuck and a bad sad. But I found new support in the end, and in the aftermath.

For me, it makes for a good reminder of why I do what I do, why I put myself out there so much. It matters to me in general, but it's crucial when things change. Not all ties are forever, but there are always new ties to be made, if one is willing to go out and make it happen.

[tgm-all4one]

FAQ

Main Challenge Post

Challenge Overview

If you have any questions about any part of the challenge, please feel free to send in an ask or DM. But here are some common questions below the break. It will be updated as more questions come in:

What is the prompt?

"Last summer was one no one could ever forget. Now, a year later, character(s) still feel(s) the effects of that time."

Does it have to be set one year after Top Gun: Maverick?

No. While you can set it then if you would like, your creation can be set literally whenever you want. Anywhere from the Big Bang to the collapse of the universe (or beyond!).

Can I use characters from Top Gun (1986) without mentioning Top Gun: Maverick?

Absolutely! While this challenge is timed around the anniversary of Top Gun: Maverick, the release of that film also reignited a love for the original and helped that part of the fandom grow as well. So if you prefer the OG characters, go right ahead and use them!

What sort of medium is allowed for the challenge?

Literally, anything you can think of! Writing, artworks, GIF sets, edits, moodboards, playlists, Pinterest boards, etc. If you want to decorate a cake with a scene or make a piece of needlepoint, those are allowed too! However you express yourself is a valid way to enter the challenge.

The only exception is that AI resources are NOT allowed. While I know people may have differing opinions when it comes to the use of AI in art or fanart. the point of this challenge is for creators to show their individuality through their art. Not a computer programs ability to compile information. So, any submissions involving AI will not be reblogged.

Are there any minimum or maximum guidelines to follow?

There are NO minimum or maximum limits for words, time, number of GIFs, etc. WIPs are also permitted if you want to submit it now and finish it later.

Can I do more than one submission?

Sure! If you want to write three fics, draw two pieces of art, and make a moodboard, go for it!

What if I am about to post and see someone else has a similar idea already posted?

Then please still post yours! The spirit of the event is to demonstrate how diverse and unique we all are even when we have similar elements. So just because someone else's submission might have the same pairing and trope, I guarantee their creation is not the same as yours. Because no one else will ever be able to recreate the exact story you want to share. Because only you can tell that story your way.

If I'm under 18 can I participate?

Unfortunately, no. Since this challenge allows NSFW content, it is only open to those 18 and older. So in order for your work to be eligible to be reblogged, your blog must have your age indicated on it (18+, 20s, over 21, 35, etc.). Sorry to any minors who were looking to participate. But hopefully, this is successful and we might do it again when you would be old enough to join in!

Is AI generated art of any kind allowed?

No. Since this challenge is focused on our differences as creators that make our art unique, AI generated submissions are not allowed.

If I post on AO3 and share the link on tumblr, can that count as a submission?

Absolutely! Some people prefer to post only on AO3 and that is a totally valid way to participate. Here is the collection you can share your creation with:

https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tgm_all4one