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oraclememehacker · 2 years ago

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Game and Date Night

“Come on, come on…!” Futaba and Ren were during an exciting co-op playthrough of Pocky and Rocky on the super famicom. This game had been the bane of their existence ever since she had found it for relatively cheap. She had heard good things about it, and every time they played, they would get far it before the game really started to kick their ass. This time, however, they were on the top of their game. Enemies were going down like they were nothing, and soon they were at the 5th stage, the forbidden castle.

There were lots of cages strewn about, lots of enemies and barrels to destroy. At this point they were both down to their last lives but had full health and such. Neither of them was really saying much to each other, other than watching out for enemies and to avoid obstacles. Their full attention was on the game that was in front of them. And they were determined to beat it. Unfortunately, right before the boss, they died, and it was game over. What a frustrating way to end things, since Futaba had looked up that the next thing was the final boss.

A frustrated groan escaped Futaba as she laid down the controller and turned to Ren, who shared her frustrations by letting out a sigh, and was clearly gripping the controller a little more tightly than he perhaps should have been. “Don’t worry Ren, we’ll get it next time. At this rate I think we’ve seen most of the game. We would’ve won too if we hadn’t gotten sloppy during the 4th stage boss.” There wasn’t much that could be done now, and they were too deflated to want to retry.

She reached over to him and gave him a kiss on the cheek to cheer him up. “Wehehehe, I think we did pretty well tonight don’t you say?” She grabbed one of her half full energy drinks and downed the rest of it. “Yeah, we did Futaba. Still just upset that we didn’t beat it tonight. Damn, I thought for sure we had it.” As he looked around, he realized they should probably clean up a bit. There were energy drink cans, soda cans and various bags of chips and stuff assorted around them. “…We should probably clean up a bit.”

That was when she realized just how messy they were. “Oh. Yeah, we probably should.” Futaba admitted with a sheepish chuckle as she watched Ren make his way downstairs to grab a trash bag. Then the two would get to work cleaning things up, putting everything in the bag to take out to the garbage later. As they were, Futaba couldn’t help but notice a slight upset look on Ren’s face. It was just a momentary thing that she would’ve missed normally, but Ren meant a lot to her. She loved him, so she was paying attention more to how he was feeling.

“Hey um, Ren? Is everything alright?” Futaba asked, putting the last of the trash into bags. He meant a lot to her after all and seeing him upset didn’t make her feel good at all. Maybe she was overthinking it but still. “Huh? U-Uh, of course I’m fine Futaba. Why do you ask.” He seemed confused, as everything was fine, at least, he thought so anyways. “I just saw that look on your face. It was like you turned from a smiley face emoticon to a frowny face one. Wanted to make sure you’re alright, is all!”

Oh. Normally he didn’t allow that to be seen, but Futaba was asking about it now, and he knew she wasn’t just going to Alet it be. “Just some thoughts, is all. It’s not a big deal really.” Hopefully that would be good enough for her. Unfortunately, it wasn’t. “You don’t have to lie to me Ren. We’re in a relationship. Just because I have trouble picking up on social cues doesn’t mean you can lie to my face like that! Please, you can tell me if something’s upsetting you.”

He sweat dropped hard at that. But she was right, he didn’t have any good reason to lie to her. It was just a reflexive thing from the days of his parents always bugging him, and then when he would tell them what was going on, just telling him to suck it up, or that he was overreacting, or that he was being a drama queen. Plus, with him being seen as a delinquent and a troublemaker, he really learned to keep his head low and to lie to avoid any issues.

“Okay okay, sorry Futaba. I’m not intentionally trying to hide things I swear. I just didn’t think it was a big deal, that was all.” There was an intense aura coming off Futaba still that just made him close his eyes. “It’s just, and it’s not really something I’ve told anyone but, I’m still dealing with the aftereffects of that interrogation.” Hearing that made the intensity fade away quickly, having a more concerned look. “What sort of effects are we talking about? Like a permanent status effect?”

That elicited a small chuckle from Ren. “Something like that. I’ve been dealing with migraines since then. I’m thankful to not deal with any today but they’ve been prevalent. Plus, there’s this spot in my chest that’s always been hurting. I think it’s from where they kicked me. There’s a large chunk of my memory that’s lost from then as well. Just a lot to deal with is all.” Immediately he was hugged softly, avoiding the spot the best she could.

“I’m so sorry Ren…we all knew that it was going to be risky. We just never expected them to drug you.” Hearing what he was dealing with deeply upset her, making her feel responsible for what he had gone through she was instrumental in saving him with the app activator. He returned the hug, giving her a few head pats of appreciation. “I didn’t expect it either, to be fair, heh. But don’t blame yourself. You saved me after all. If you hadn’t made that app activator, I’d be…I don’t want to think about it.”

Plus, there was a few visions that he was having where he saw himself laying on the table in a pool of blood. It must have been from his cognitive self. That was terrifying to say the least, but he wasn’t ready to confront that sort of thing just yet. So, for the time being he would keep that in his back pocket and just continue to give Futaba some head pats as she was sniffling into him, clearly still upset, and blaming herself for him being so hurt constantly.

“Just remember Futaba, I went along with the plan. We all did. We knew the risk.” He lifted her head up by moving his hand down to her chin, making her look at him. He then would lean down and softly kiss her lips, enjoying the softness of them as he held the kiss for a bit. He loved this adorkable nerd so much. She made his life worth living despite everything that he went through, and he wanted to make sure she knew of that.

There was bit of delay on Futaba’s end as she had been taken by surprise by this, but she returned the kiss in kind and the two were in a nice little embrace as they kissed for a bit, before he pulled his lips away. “So don’t blame yourself anymore, alright?” Futaba was incapable of saying anything and merely just nodded. He then wiped the tears that were in the corners of her eyes and gave her a few more headpats.

Then he realized: they had never taken the trash out. “Oh yeah, before we cuddle, I’ll take the trash out.” Pulling himself away from her, he took the trash down and quickly disposed of it in the dumpster in the alley way before heading back to his room. Futaba was in a much better mood now that she had been persuaded not to take his problems as her fault. He merely motioned for her to follow him to the bed and she would happily do so, after taking her glasses and headphones off.

The two would lay down on his milk carton bed and wrap their arms around each other, Futaba situated where she could nuzzle into his chest. Ren could feel his heartbeat just a little bit faster, because whenever they cuddled and enjoyed time with each other in this manner, it made a swelling of emotions come up to the back of his throat. He could only imagine how she must have felt in this situation, since she was a massive cuddler.

Futaba just found herself being comfortable and love stricken. To her, Ren was the most important person in her life. He was her key item, and she wasn’t going to lose him no matter what. That’s how she felt, and she nuzzled into his chest some more, thoroughly enjoying herself. “Mmm…you’re soft tonight, Ren. And smell good as well, surprisingly. Oh right, you went to the hot springs before this, you told me that.”

He thought maybe the intense gaming session would make him stink a little bit, but that didn’t seem to be the case. She patted her head some more, whilst rubbing her back, fingers swirling around in a soft circle to make her feel more relaxed. His chest softly rose and fell with each breath, and there was a healthy silence, the only sounds being from the two of them talking to each other, and the outdoor noises making their way in through the small opening in the window.

She would move her hands up and down the curvature of his spine, making sure he was nice and relaxed as well. The two were happy and in love, and there wasn’t much more that needed to be said. “Um…Ren? Thanks for everything…I-I love you…more than anything. You’re my key item. I never want to lose you.” As corny as it was, he really appreciated hearing that. “I love you too Futaba. Don’t worry, I’m not planning on going anywhere…well, until my probation is over.”

Oh right, that was the fly in the ointment. She didn’t want him to go, but his parents were probably going to want him back once that was over with, which was coming closer and closer every day. “Don’t worry though Futaba. I’ll be back as soon as I can. I’m going to see if I can’t strike a deal with my parents to stay here, because frankly I don’t really have anything to go home to. My parents don’t really care about me, and cared even less when I was charged with a crime.”

Hopefully that was the case, because him not being here was going to devastate her. “I hope so…I don’t want you gone. Not yet.” Futaba kept rubbing his back, sounding a little upset and frustrated at that. “I’ll fight with all my might. Just like fighting a major boss in an rpg.” Now he was talking her language. For now, the two would just continue to cuddle up against each other, but he would find that Futaba ended up falling asleep. Woops. Well, she wasn’t going anywhere tonight.

And neither was he. It was a great Game and Date night, and he managed to get some stuff off his chest that had been bothering him since the Interrogation room incident. Though, he still had more stuff to deal with. That was going to be a whole can of worms, something that he was probably going to need a therapist for. He gave her a few more headpats before just falling asleep alongside her. Sojiro was going to have a lot of questions in the morning, and same with Morgana. Oh well…

#Hacking and Memes (Futaba Sakura Musing)#The Oracle Navi (Futaba Sakura IC)#Short Stories (Drabbles)#A Hacker Strikes at any Time (Persona 5/Strikers)#A Hermit and a Fool (Rentaba)#long post #blood tw #death tw #I love the ship #haters gonna hate :3

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starsofang · 9 months ago

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CALL OF THE SEA / PART THREE

pirate poly!141 x f!reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, mentions of violence, blood, injury, 141 are still mean pirates, very brief mentions of death masterlist

When a group of unhinged pirates invade your small village, you're whisked away from your peaceful home and thrown on to a voyage out at sea. Forced to obtain a new role as their medic, you have no choice but to accept your fate as you join their forces and aid them in their treacherous travels.

The words of Captain Price weighed heavily on your mind. With little distractions to guide you away from them, they were all you were left with. They replayed on a consistent loop, like a broken record player. It was taunting, the way your own mind betrayed you after pleading with it not to think of the cold dose of reality the Captain had given you. It denied your requests for soothing calm and gifted you with roaring waves of chaos.

The Captain had been right. Every last word was coated in nothing but bitter truth, and you hated it.

Your village was nothing but unkind to you, and you knew it. You tried to defend them, tried to reason with why they could have been so cruel to you, but with only yourself and the sounds of the sea to fill the abyss in your head, your defense was bound to crumble.

It wasn’t your fault you were different, at least compared to the traditionalists you grew with. Being born in a secluded hamlet separated from the bustling mainland meant the people were just as isolated. Hermits, they were. They sought simplicity through actions shown by the book. Marriage, children, with women to remain in their place at home. It was a dream to some, and a nightmare to you.

You wanted more. There was a vast world out there for you to mark your claim on, yet your own people disregarded your desires. They turned on you, taunting you as the village outcast, one that many continued to torment well into adulthood. You were one against many, and you only had yourself in the long run.

You worked hard for what you had. Despite the consistent abuse your people had given you, you sought out adventure like a moth to a flame. It called out to you. Learning of medicines and practices to become more of the miniscule woman everybody saw you as was your safe haven. You wanted to explore the world and take your practices to a place where you’d be accepted as one’s own.

Then those pirates had taken that away from you. Not only had they stolen your dreams, but they had stolen your home, people, and passion. Everything was lost at the drop of a hat.

Being a medic for a scroungy group of thieving pirates was not in your cards. Before, you hadn’t even known pirates were existent. They were a simple folk tale, something to share on quiet nights when the village had grown bored. Never did you think you would come across one, let alone four who had taken it upon themselves to make you their problem.

You feared that you would never achieve your dreams of being a proper medic. Of never escaping to the mainland where you could begin a tranquil life consisting of you and your studies. Now, it seemed that you would never experience peace or independence. Your dreams were embezzled, lost in the foamy waves that lapped against the side of the ship.

The grieving of your loss didn’t stop, even during Soap and Gaz’s visits. They kept it minimal, presumably under the Captain’s orders, or because they simply didn’t like you enough to further interaction. Not that you wanted them to, anyway, though it would’ve made the aching loneliness a bit more bearable.

They noticed, of course. The way your eyes began to sink in, casting a grim shadow across your face, or the way you no longer bared your teeth at them when they approached. Pirates like them didn’t care for people like you. You were a pawn in whatever game they were playing, and you didn’t know the rules.

The sound of heavy footsteps on the deck above you rattled you awake. The cot was fairly useless in providing you comfort, but you had succumbed to your eventual exhaustion over the course of your capture that you had grown used to it.

Unlike normal days, where their steps were more quiet and calculated, this time sounded like a frenzy. Uncoordinated, merging together in loud pitter patter. It was unsettling, lighting an icy chill in your bones. Even in the seclusion of the brig, the air felt thick with tension, as if the pirate’s suspense had crept through the crack under the door and spread throughout the ship.

The floorboards creaked menacingly from above. Your ears pricked at every stomp, every slam of the soles of their thick boots against the old wood. It was as if death was stalking you from the shadows, creeping in, jeering at you. You were in the dark, unaware.

You wondered if other pirates had invaded the ship. Perhaps this was your end. You’d be found by enemies and treated much more unkindly in the hands of men who only saw you as a mere woman and not the potential to be a medic.

Though your pirates were just as cruel, they hadn’t harmed you. They hurt your people, but salvaged you to make use of your knowledge. They weren’t as terrible as what may have lurked the waters. Maybe it was simply the fear talking, but if what you thought was true, then you prayed to whatever god was listening that you remain in the safe hands that had yet to pose a threat to you.

Your prayers were answered by the harsh sound of the door opening. It wrenched open, slamming up against the wall with a crack. Dim light poured through, down to your cell, illuminating a faint glow enough for you to see.

Atop the stairs, a large figure lurked, blocking out the light. It cocooned around him, casting an eerie shadow and successfully masking away his face.

Fear shot through your veins, burning like a raging fire, lighting you up from the inside. It threatened to combust, inching you towards a scorching agony. It clouded your mind, fogging over the logic and replacing it with racing thoughts of choking terror. You thought of death, torture, being swept away from this brig, only to be placed in a more torturous one with strangers out to harm you. To be used for pleasure and entertainment by a group of savage pirates unbeknownst to you.

“Get up,” a voice barked at you. It was rough and throaty, exuding pure authority. It was also familiar.

The sound of metal clanking on metal filled your eyes and once you had pieced together your mind enough, you realized it was the key unlocking your cell. The door opened, the figure stepping into your cell and closer to you, where you lay on the cot. It loomed over you, shielding you away from escape.

“Get up,” he ordered again. A hand reached out to you, cold, rough fingers wrapping around your bicep and lugging you off of the cot and on to your feet. There was no time for arguments. You recognized Ghost’s stony mask, and you knew fighting him would prove fruitless.

“What’s going on?” you asked, legs straining to keep up with his pace as he tugged you up the rickety stairs.

“Captain’s hurt,” Ghost gruffed, only the narrow of his eyes peeking through the eye holes of the skull mask, giving you a glimpse of his disgruntlement. “Need a medic. That’s you, birdie.”

Your heart sank to your stomach for numerous reasons.

For one, the smallest part of you worried for the Captain. No matter his actions thus far, he was hurt and required medical attention, enough of it that Ghost had prompted you out of your cell after residing there for the past month.

Then there was the fact that they were asking you for help. Sure, you technically were a medic. One in practice, but you knew the basics of medicines. However, the problem arose that you didn’t know much beyond that. If the Captain truly was injured to an extent beyond your skill, you feared they’d throw you over the ship and into the murky waters once they deemed you useless.

The misty air hit you the moment you stepped out of the brig and on to the upper deck. It was chilly despite it being summer, with the ocean breeze curling into your dingy hair and across your cheeks. The feeling was nothing short of relieving, to breathe in fresh air that filled your lungs, clearing them of the musty tang of brig air.

It was still midnight, but the moon was bright enough to have your eyes squinting, adjusting. Even the feel of it on your skin was like sweet kisses after a period of solitude.

That wasn’t what was important, though. Ghost had your arm in a chokehold, and he was urgently dragging you across the deck and towards the front of the ship. None of the other men were found, but you’d quickly find them when Ghost yanked open a door leading to the Captain’s quarters.

Inside, Captain Price was propped up lazily against the side of a large table, covered in maps and quills. A small pot of ink had been tipped over and spilled, tainting the papers with splotchy black. Drips of his blood had swirled into the mix, and the sight of it made you sick.

Price’s hand was smothering a gnarly gash on his side, fingers seeping over with crimson blood. Soap stood beside him with Gaz, the two of them seemingly anticipating your arrival. The moment they locked eyes with you, they stood up straight, expressions impatient.

“Took ye long enough, Ghost,” Soap boasted snarkily. Ghost huffed from beside you, pushing you by your arm and sending you towards Price.

“Fix him up,” Ghost commanded, stern. You blinked at him before switching to look at the Captain.

Price was a bit paled, skin clammy with sweat despite the chill in the air. He seemed more annoyed than pained, face pulled taut with a frown deepened beneath his beard. His eyes bore into yours threateningly.

“I don’t—“ you stared, stumbling over your words. “I don’t know how to stitch, I told you, I’m not a professional—“

“Surely you’ve had practice once or twice, haven’t you?” Price reckoned, cocking his head at you.

“Only on injured animals,” you defended. “I don’t know how to stitch on people.”

Price clicked his tongue, a hint of agitation gesred behind it. “Can’t be much different. Allow me to be your experiment, dove. You want to be a professional? Figure it out.”

You stared at him, bewildered. You knew there was no room for argument, nor was there any time. He was bleeding into the palm of his hand, wound sliced open from what you assumed was a sharp blade. You didn’t have the chance to think about how he possibly could’ve been injured in that way.

“Well? Go on, dove, it ain’t goin’ to heal itself,” Soap urged in annoyance, giving a light shove to your shoulder. Not enough to move you from your position, but enough to snap you into order.

“I need my supplies,” you explained. “Surely, you kept them.”

“Tch. Not stupid, dove,” Price snipped. With his free hand, he clumsily fumbled for one of the drawers of the table he leaned upon. Yanking it open, it was sent to the floor with a crash, sending its contents scattering.

The action was savvy and if you weren’t in a frenzied rush, you would’ve had the mind to be irritated. However, you remembered your place, as well as the people you were being forced to serve. It wouldn’t be wise to bark back at them for throwing around your work so carelessly.

You were quick to drop to the floor and begin retrieving what was necessary. Supplies were scarce, seeing as you weren’t fortunate enough to grow up on the mainland where demand was much more accessible.

Making a mental note to ask for them to collect more items for you, that is if this was really going to be your life, you clattered the items on the table Price rested on, making quick work of tugging stitching thread through the tiny needle.

The job would be sloppy, especially with the way your hands shook. You knew good and well that if anything were to happen to these pirate’s Captain, you’d be first one off the ship, sent to God knows where.

All eyes were on you. It was unnerving.

Soap remained next to Gaz, both watching you like a hawk. Their eyes studied every movement of your fingers as they worked through the threads, preparing to stitch up Price as requested.

Ghost stood near the door leading to the deck, arms crossed and eyes piercing into you like a warning threat. And really, you knew that’s what it was.

Price was awfully calm for a man who’d been stabbed, and you briefly wondered if this was something pirates were used to. Harming others was one thing. Gaining injury themselves was another.

Lucky for you, the Captain wasn’t wearing any fabrics. He must’ve taken his shirt off when he returned to his quarters, which made things easier for you.

“Remove your hand,” you said, before adding on, “please.”

Price huffed out what could’ve been mistaken as a laugh, though you highly doubted it. He carefully pulled his hand away from his wound, slippery with blood. The sight was quite gruesome, though you were sure it was just the blood making it so.

Taking a deep breath, you positioned yourself in front of the Captain. You dug deep in your memory of the times you’d operated on helpless animals you’d found in the outskirts of your village.

Animals were easier. They were more pliant and obedient. Some were squirmy, though being much smaller than you gave you advantage over them.

Price, though, was significantly bigger. And human. He was far from any animal you aided.

With his arm out of the way, you had a showcase of numerous scars scattering his torso. They were white, indicating they were much older, but some were still risen with pink tissue that revealed being more recent.

You had your hands full. Truly.

“I’m going to begin now,” you told Price.

“Don’t need to narrate the whole operation to me, medic. Just do it.”

Price’s tone was sarcastic and a tad bit mean. If he was aiming to offend you, he was doing a poor job. You’d taken ridicule all your life.

Brushing it off, you used nimble hands to make the first insertion of the needle, threading through the first stitch. Price showed no discomfort, though the eyes of the others didn’t help your unease. You felt like a lab rat and they were the ones operating on you.

The stitching became easier the more it went on. He needed quite a few, though the practice was appreciated. Your hands became more steady and your heart was no longer in your throat.

The room was at a standstill up until the very moment you tightened the stitches, tying them off and pulling yourself away from Price. Your work was far from perfect, but it was doable.

“Finished, are you?” Price hummed. You nodded in confirmation. “Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You bit your tongue to hold back mockery until the taste of metallic flooded your tastebuds.

“I’ve only worked on animals. It appears you are no different than one,” you bit back calmly, shiftingyour attention to organizing the supplies Price had so carelessly tossed to the floor.

Soap let out an obnoxious snort, while Price only cocked his head in faint amusement.

“You might want to watch your tongue there, dove. Ghost has taken out many,” Price informed.

That was enough to send shivers down your spine because you knew he was being truthful.

A quick glance to Ghost showed no indication of lies, so you quickly averted your eyes, opting to avoid him. You didn’t want to imagine the horrors Ghost had caused from his hands alone. He was a force not to be reckoned with, and you’d happily stay far, far away.

“I still need to apply an herbal balm and wrap it.” You changed the topic in hopes of forgetting your slip of tongue. You rather liked keeping it in your mouth.

“Very well,” Price sighed. With a gesture of his head, he signaled the other three men out of his quarters, leaving you alone in the room with him.

It was eerily quiet between the two of you while you worked a calming balm into the tender skin around his wound, careful not to touch the fresh stitches. The herbs were a mixed paste you had created back in your village from the supplies Mary had gifted you, and they proved futile now in a sensitive time.

You wished she were here to take you away from this nightmare fueled ship. Though, you couldn’t deny it any longer — you knew she was dead, just like the rest of the village. There was nothing you could do about it.

This was your life. This was your journey. Your opinion on the matter wasn’t valid.

“Quite the snippy one, aren’t you?” The Captain’s voice broke the tense silence, though it did nothing to calm you. “I heard from a little bird that some fortnights ago, you threw your porridge on to Gaz.”

Your shoulders pulled taut in a mix of embarrassment and shame. It was as if you were a child being scolded.

“I did,” you admitted quietly.

“And you do not feel bad?” Price questioned.

“No.”

“Hm.” A smile tilted on his face, lazy just as the other ones, as if he had no energy to display the true nature of a smile. “I will hand it to you, dove, he can be quite a brat sometimes. Perhaps he deserved it.”

You glanced up from his injury to look into his eyes. Your eyebrows tugged together in confusion.

You were fully expecting outrage, or perhaps the Captain to reprimand you for taking your anger out on his crew. Instead, he seemed almost like a jokester.

That couldn’t be. He was cruel and heartless, just as the others were. It didn’t matter how much Soap jested with you, or Gaz no longer glared at you. They were still pirates.

“I am all finished up here,” you explained, clearing your throat and taking a step back. “May I return to my cell?”

The cell was the last place you wanted to be in, but it was the only haven you’d found on the ship. You certainly didn’t want to stick around the other pirates for longer than necessary.

“Nonsense,” Price mused. “You have proven to have enough skill as a medic. You’re useful and resourceful. You won’t be able to work well in that dingy cell.”

You felt a pit of nervousness fill the void in your stomach. It did somersaults, making your mouth water with the need to be sick.

This was what you wanted, right? To be accepted into the crew so that you may plot your escape down the road when the time proved right. So why did it feel strange to be praised by the very man who had slaughtered your village?

“I will be staying in the upper decks, then?” you assumed, and he chuckled.

“We don’t quite have a cot set up yet, dove. We weren’t exactly expectin’ you to last, yet here you are.” He sounded almost prideful saying that, and you weren’t sure whether to feel comforted. “You’ll join me in my quarters for now. It only makes sense while I’m healin’ up, hm?”

That pit in your stomach turned into a canyon. To share a bed with the Captain of a malicious pirate crew, watching over him as his nurse? Perhaps this was your way out, or the start of your downfall.

Either way, you either ended up dead, imprisoned, or homeless on the mainland. Homeless, but free. You’d be an idiot not to play into the game.

You could do nothing but bow your head in silent agreement, unable to decide your fate once again. You were at the hands of the Captain and his crew, and those hands may be bloodied and mean if you said otherwise. hands may be bloodied and painful if you said otherwise.

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gamerbot-22 · 3 months ago

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HI. I SAW YR REQUESTS ARE OPEN AND I DESPERATELY NEED CHUBBY READER X KNIVES.

I always thought Kni would be fascinated with a chubby human. they are soft and squishy and kind even when he’s mean to them and thats not something he associates with humans often so ywah.!

if you cant tell I love this guy.

YEAAAAA FUCK YEAH I LIKE WHERE YOUR HEAD’S AT—[checks ur bio]—QUEEN. Oh man, I love doing requests so much, y’all come to me with the fuckin’ sickest ideas. Also thank you for handing me a Nai GIF on a silver plater that’s v helpful of you ✨

Millions Knives/Nai x Sweet Chubby Reader

TW/CWs: Nai is Nai (both /pos and /neg), romance is implied but tbh this could all be read as platonic, written with TriStamp Nai in mind but feel free to slot your favorite version in here if you so choose, the words fat and chubby are used neutrally and interchangeably to describe the reader, Nai has feelings he refuses to unpack, barely proofread but I appreciate spellchecks.

A/N: I was a little stuck on how I wanted to do this but God, once I found that groove it was insane. Like… the physical softness mixing with the emotional softness of the reader? That’s some fun stuff to explore to me, so I really hope you like it!

Likes and Reblogs are always appreciated, Requests are open, and it’s all under the cut!

The dividers in this post were made by @/adornedwithlight ☆

SO let’s get into it, yeah? I’ve seen crews on the SEEDS ship in both versions of the anime and everyone there is fit as hell so like??? Honestly with his hermit lifestyle, I’d say there’s a non-zero chance of you being one of if not the first fat person he’s ever met personally.

I don’t think it changes much of his perception of you at first—humans are humans, regardless of shape—but there is something interesting about how you just... take it? When he talks shit about humanity? Like he calls humanity a parasite, a disease, and instead of shrinking or averting your gaze from him for the rest of the day you ask him if he’s hungry. Him. Hungry. What??

He’s not shy about his confusion. After a couple notable instances of this he straight up just asks why you’re so unbothered by it when every other human he has to deal with has some kind of sore spot about it. Maybe humans didn’t treat you well either, so you agree with him. He understands. Maybe you want to see what happens with a Plant in charge. He thinks you’re insane, and tells you so, but doesn’t otherwise hurt you (not while you’re still useful and… interesting.) Maybe you just think he still deserves to be listened to despite it all. Isn’t it a basic need to be listened to? That reminds him of some people he’d rather not think about. He probably ignores you for a while after that.

But you can’t even let him ignore you! You still come to him, unlike anything he’d ever seen with your soft hands and body, offering warm words and attention despite his clear (surface-level) distaste for whatever it is you have to say.

You know lonely when you see it, and you’re persistent. An unstoppable force meets an immovable object until one day, when he’s feeling especially raw he just breaks. He doesn’t shatter completely, but there’s cracks in his facade when he lets you wrap your arms around his shoulders and give him a squeeze, assuring him that he doesn’t have to return the embrace if he doesn’t want to. And he doesn’t, for the record, he just wants to… sit in it. Your body keeps heat better than his ever could—it’s the one drawback of being a Plant at times—and you’re soft, both around his neck and in his ears as you just stand there, breathing. He can feel your heartbeat and you’re not even a little frightened, even after seeing first hand the kind of terror he puts in the hearts of your fellow humans.

He can’t remember the last time someone hugged him. Probably not since her. It makes him bitter, but at the same time he dares not push you away. Not yet, at least. You’re a human, and to him you’re either insane or stupid to think he’ll spare you at the end of this, but… you’re still useful for now. He’ll keep you and your soft body within arm’s reach, letting you wrap around him so he could feel the warmth of another body. You can stay until he’s certain he can be rid of you.

Whenever that might be.

#Rosie Writes #raccoonzaggoon #Trigun #Trigun Fluff #Trigun Headcanons #Millions Knives #Nai #Millions Knives x Reader #Nai x Reader #Gender Neutral Reader #Chubby Reader

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hmshermitcraft · 6 months ago

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(tw for mention of abuse, loss of wings and consensually fighting)

gripearl as a ship is so fun because of how long they've known each other. they known exactly how much is too much, how to tease without being hurting, how to play rough without pressing on old injury or muscles that fight tooth and nail to not be used. they what to not do when panicking, how to keep a good mood going, when to let a sad mood just be.

they have so many in-jokes that are so far removed from any logic that it's like watching to different aliens talk to each other. nicknames that give anyone near them an instant 10 hearts to their minds.

grian's love is a careful thing, her name said in affection, giving her cookies even when she said she doesn't any because he knows that means she wants his, slowly dragging his fingers over the scars where her wings used to be.

pearl's is louder, a dramatic declaration of love (with a big finish with roses of course, only the best for her boy) jumping on to his back for attention, boxing with anyone that bad mouths him. (one time she even shave their initials on Jellie's fur. scar is all for showings of love, but his cat?! he had pearl shave the other side as well. symmetry and all that.)

what's so odd is their... dates? pda? foreplay? the hermits catch them fist fighting a lot, like a proper battle. they were worried that it was some kind of abuse thing that would have to worked on, but the moment one would raise an open hand, it stopped and they fell into the grass of health potions and kisses.

they are also often found biting. though that might be an instinct thing. or maybe they're even bigger freaks than previously thought

The thing they learned early on when Pearl lost her wings is that... Flying is not just a freedom thing, but a use for excess energy. Pearl doesn't have that outlet anymore, which is why they spar a lot. They explained this to the hermits and they understood a lot more, and even offered to step in if Grian isn't available some time. It warms Grian's heart that they want to help him take care of his girlfriend.

#gripearl #grian tag #pearl tag #hermitshipping #ask #mod wizard #anonymous

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mcytshipsandmore · 3 months ago

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okay but you gotta admit joel isn’t the only on fucking that car

WHO ELSE IS “FUCKING” THAT CAR. HELLO??? WHAT. -⭐️

#mcyt #answered asks #mcytblr #mcyt shipping #shipping #mcytumblr #life series #hermitcraft #hermitblr #hermit shipping #tw suggestive #suggestive

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nonsensicalramblings79 · 2 years ago

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The Rime of the Ancient Mariner and parallels in OFMD

2.7k word meta

If you haven’t read my other post about why I’m talking about albatrosses in the first place, read the first part of this and come back! All of this will make the most sense if you read all of the parts I’ve written – I’ve split them up for ease of reading, because holy shit this is long.

TWs: animal death, blood, eating animals, starvation, emotional abuse, physical abuse, gunshot injuries, suicidal ideation, canon-typical mental health problems

MAJOR OFMD SPOILERS THROUGH S2E03

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Let me start out by saying that yes, this is anachronistic – this poem wasn’t written until 1798. I also don’t care: Oluwande is wearing crocs, Stede’s “corpse” is crushed by a piano whose maker won’t exist until 1863, Blackbeard’s got his whole leather-daddy getup, Zheng Yi Sao won’t be born until 1775 – OFMD plays fast and loose with historical accuracy, and I am never going to dismiss an OFMD theory because the timeline doesn’t match up :P

Now that that’s out of the way, a little bit of background information. Long summary incoming.

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner is a poem written by English poet Samuel Coleridge. The story is told through the words of the mariner, who has recently survived some horrifying ordeals, soon to be told to a poor unsuspecting stranger who just wants to attend a wedding. As the story goes, the mariner set out with his crew of 200-some-odd men, and everything’s going just peachy until some storms pick up and drive them toward the South Pole. Stranded and lost, the crew fear for their lives, until an albatross appears. At the same time that the albatross appears, the storms clear, the helmsman is able to make their way through the ice of the South Pole, and a southern wind picks up, pushing them back north. The albatross follows the ship, but the mariner believes that it is somehow responsible for the mists and fog that now surround the ship, so he shoots the bird with his crossbow. At that point, the fog and mists actually do clear up (by coincidence or otherwise) – and the crew praise the captain for taking down the bird.

But it’s a fickle crowd – soon the wind stops blowing, and the ship is becalmed; the crew blame the Mariner for killing the bird that had been their good luck. They sit in the middle of the ocean for days or weeks, dying of thirst. They cannot even speak, they’re so thirsty – but they make sure that the Mariner knows that he is to blame for this by tying the albatross’s body around his neck and forcing him to wear it like a grotesque necklace. Eventually, everyone on the ship except the Mariner dies (there’s a bit here about Death and Life-in-Death rolling dice to see who lives and who dies – the important part is that none of the crew survives).

Finally, the Mariner is left alone on his ship of corpses, which strangely do not smell or rot. He wishes he could die, but he doesn’t. During this time, he begins to appreciate what there is left to appreciate – the life around him in the ocean, in the air, “all things both great and small” – and the curse is lifted from him. The albatross detaches from around his neck and sinks into the ocean.

From this point on, the story goes about as you’d expect – the curse being lifted, the wind picks up again, setting the Mariner speeding back home (though, perhaps unexpectedly, his crew gets to come back as zombies for a short while to man the ship until it reaches land again, at which point they die again. RIP). As the ship is coming upon the Mariner’s homeland, it sinks like a rock to the bottom of the ocean – a hermit happens to see the Mariner floating out there and comes to pick him up, thinking he’s dead. When the Mariner opens his eyes, the hermit believes him to be the Devil himself (I mention this only because I think the wording of “Demon? I’m the fuckin’ Devil” lines up perfectly with this).

As penance for shooting the albatross (as if all of this so far wasn’t enough), the Mariner spends the rest of his days wandering the earth, telling his story and making random wedding-goers sad.

HOO BOY, that was a lot. (A whopper, one might say.) Thanks for sticking with me so far.

Now, some of the parallels between this poem and the events of OFMD are more neat and tidy than others are. The biggest parallel, obviously, is the link between the albatross and the “impossible birds” that Ed references in S2E01 – the entire reason I started reading this poem to begin with. The links between the show and the poem are not ones that I think the characters in the show (Ed) are consciously making. I think these allusions more reflect the themes and symbols that the writers and directors want us as the audience to pick up on. Therefore, the “impossible birds” conversation in canon is not talking about albatrosses in the sense that they are commonly referenced in literature, as the proverbial weight around one’s neck that represents guilt – but we can still talk about that symbolism outside of canon.

And talk about it I will.

For those of us who have watched the show, it probably goes without saying that Ed’s got a fair amount of guilt, shame, psychological trauma, etc. that he carries around with him. So if we’re going to invoke the albatross metaphor following S2E3, what specifically can we say is Ed’s “albatross?” There are a few candidates that immediately come to mind. It could be his guilt surrounding a) his father’s murder; b) Lucius’s attempted murder; c) the abusive, toxic relationship that he carried on with Izzy; or maybe even d) himself.

That last one is a little esoteric, so let me explain. Ed hates himself – aside from all the self-destructive tendencies as evidence, he admits it out loud in his dream with Hornigold in S2E03. I wonder if the albatross that is hanging around Blackbeard’s neck is Edward – the real Edward, the one that is more than just his fame, his terrifying persona, his violence-as-a-form-of-love tendencies – the Edward that Stede fell in love with. I wonder whether Ed’s guilt surrounds more than just how he’s hurt others, but how he feels he has killed a truer, better version of himself, and that he can never regain it. In line with The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, killing this “albatross” of a better Edward didn’t just kill him – it killed everyone around him as well. And now, after he has borne the blame of others for having gotten them into this situation, he is forced to wear…himself. The guilt that weighs him down is the knowledge that there is a version of him that was loved, that Stede loved, and in his eyes, he has killed that version of himself.

I want to take a moment to acknowledge a post (or several posts) that I saw several months back in relation to season 1. In these posts [Link1, Link2], smarter people than me drew a connection between a metaphorical albatross and the black cravat that Stede gives to Ed – and that Ed continues to wear until he and Stede change into their privateering academy garb. Something both of those posts touch on is how the cravat represents Stede, and I think that is completely true; however, I posit that the cravat represents the fact that Ed is lovable.

Something that’s been pointed out in the past 48 hours since these episodes dropped is that Ed is not wearing the cravat during the first parts of season 2. Only when he essentially decides to kill himself via storm do we see him once again wearing the cravat (the cravat is also noticeably absent from the purgatory dream sequence).

What exactly this means is still shaky to me – in my mind, Ed does canonically see the cravat as a reminder of his “real” self, and he puts it away and tries to hide it while he’s still…well, functioning is far too strong of a word, but at least not actively suicidal like we see at the end of episode 2. I think hearing Izzy supposedly shoot himself is what pushes Ed over the edge into being actively suicidal; perhaps at this point, some part of Ed is still hoping against hope that he can convince himself not to do it, to wait for Stede. Alternatively, it may be that if he dies here, he wants to take the idea of a “better him” with him.

In the sense of the cravat representing the albatross (meaning the cravat presence is not a choice of the characters, but of costume design), the cravat being missing during the batshit-insane-high-on-rhino-horn Kraken era may represent him not actually feeling the guilt of losing himself during this time. He may have actually convinced himself that a lovable version of himself never existed, and he’s living guilt-free. The guilt comes back when he hears Izzy shoot himself – he’s reminded that he caused this by killing a version of himself that Izzy trusted and even loved, in his own fucked-up way. From then on, the cravat is back on – the guilt is back, and it’s strong enough to induce the kamikaze-type rage we see in the storm.

(Important to note here that while I stand by this interpretation, I’m not sure how it fits with the fact that Ed is wearing the cravat just after the Krakening – the moment when he’s looking back on the island that he just abandoned the Revenge crew on in S1E10.)

I’m leaving this one for myself to come back to later on the off-chance I have some sort of epiphany.

Oh wow, you’re still here?? Probably time for a water break. Go on, the rest will be here when you get back. And there’s unfortunately quite a lot more that still needs to move from my brain to this Word doc.

Ready? Ok.

So that’s one possible interpretation of what Ed’s “albatross” is – I won’t spend time on other possibilities because what I’ve laid out here is the interpretation that I most strongly subscribe to. But all that is only really addressing one part of The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. Granted, it’s the most important part, symbolically, but there are some other parallels that I want to address that together convince me that the writers of OFMD are actually, specifically referencing this poem.

Obviously, there’s a parallel in that both the happenings of the poem and OFMD occur on actual, physical ships, captained by the man who ends up “shooting the albatross” and being rightfully blamed for it. Both of these ships suffer because of the dead albatross – physically, both ships are taken through devastating storms, and both ships are falling apart. The ship in the poem stops moving indefinitely because of a becalming (all wind and ocean currents stopped); the Revenge stops moving indefinitely because Ed removes the wheel. Both ships suffer casualties – in the poem, everyone dies, and on the Revenge, those crew members may be physically alive, but they are haunted by it. The poem makes note of the fact that the crew died of thirst – while this doesn’t seem to be a main concern on the Revenge, the show does show us, rather graphically, that they were beginning to starve, having to catch and eat raw seagulls to survive (note that dead birds are also a recurring theme in OFMD, leading me to believe even more that albatross references are intentional).

There’s an interesting pattern in the poem concerning dead people – specifically, how they don’t seem to be entirely dead at first. Firstly, the crew that die of thirst drop dead, one by one, on the deck of the Mariner’s ship. However, the poet notes that the bodies did not decompose or smell. Later, these bodies are resurrected by whatever sea spirit chooses to spare the Mariner’s life, using the bodies to man the ship and sail it back to shore. When they are done with this, they drop dead once more, staying on the ship as it sinks to the bottom of the ocean. When the hermit finds the Mariner floating in the ocean, he thinks him dead, before the Mariner’s eyes shoot open (similar to a certain someone at the end of S2E03).

In season 1, I can’t think of any instances wherein someone was presumed to be dead, but actually wasn’t, aside from Stede’s fuckery. However, this theme has come up at least 3 times in season 2 so far: Lucius being the obvious one, then Izzy, and finally Ed himself (and if I’m understanding correctly, Ed was actually, literally, cold-in-the-ground physically dead, not just “presumed dead.” This might be clarified in a future episode). That seems…intentional.

Side note: how long was Ed supposed to have been dead? Days? Didn’t anyone notice that he wasn’t, like, rotting? Especially when “the smell of rot” has been something that very consistently shows up in the show when it’s relevant (see: Lucius’s finger infection, Ed being able to smell Izzy through the walls of the ship).

One more thing: the last thing that the Mariner sees when leaving the shore, and the first thing he sees when he gets back? A lighthouse. Now, could that just be a coincidence, with lighthouses being a very common image in sea-based stories? Sure. But I’m choosing to believe that this poem was chosen (and yes, I say chosen – as in the writers took inspiration from this poem) specifically because it has so much imagery in common with OFMD.

These are admittedly tenuous links between the poem and the show, but they are links, so I’m including them.

The last thing I want to mention about this poem is how its “moral,” if it can be said to have one, is to treat living things with respect – you as a person do not live in a vacuum, and your actions have consequences for others, not just yourself. And I think this sentiment lines up incredibly well with a line that Jim has in S2E02:

…

There was a time when life meant something on this ship. When we lived for each other.

…

According to Jim (and according to literally everything the show has been telling us), the ship was a safe place when the people onboard cared about each other. Fang mentions that Blackbeard didn’t even react when Ivan died; Blackbeard callously shoots his first mate, with the intent of having him killed; he doesn’t even care about his own life and whether he lives or dies. Just like in the poem, this is the issue that needs to be resolved in order for the curse to be lifted – the Mariner (Ed) needs to rekindle an appreciation for life. In the poem, this is a simple “every living thing is special” kind of epiphany – I get the feeling it’s going to be a much more complicated journey in OFMD, especially since the show as a whole is somewhat irreverent concerning the deaths of non-recurring characters. For Ed, I imagine it’s going to be more of an appreciation for his own life – not the value of life on the whole, but the value that his life holds.

So. That’s a lot of words that I just typed – I’m hoping at least some of them made sense. Huge thank you to anyone who made it this far! This is all I’ve got on this particular poem, but I’ve still got more things I want to say about another poem called L’albatros (Charles Baudelaire) and how it relates to Ed and his perception of himself. It’s a huge stretch to say that this poem exists in-universe and Ed has read it, but it makes sense to me and I want to get my thoughts down on (virtual) paper – I’ll link to it in the original introductory post (link to that at the top of this post!).

Let me know what you think!! This silly, stupid pirate show will be consuming my thoughts for at least the next several months, and I’m dying for some reciprocal opinion/info-dumping. Inbox is open!

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eyesremain · 3 months ago

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"They call me Vast. I suppose you may speak to me."

A Watcher OC written by Null. The interpretation of the watchers in this blog is very much horror focused, from how they came to be, to how they recruit more. This blog is horror based, to put it simply.

No NSFW or Suggestive. I also don't do shipping with people I don't know well (for my own comfort.)

Hermit character rp blogs & Life series rp blogs welcome to interact.

content warnings / tws ; horror, eye horror, body horror, unreality, unsettling atmospheres, uncanny valley, violence (more will likely be added.)

tags , , #watchers answer ; in character #the one above ; out of character #the warning signs ; psa #the archives ; reblog #memory lane ; lore #cain's way to hell! [ CAIN . ] ; says it on the can really, cain is talking rather than vast. #the observed ; not mail #the watching of the games ; fun little things like ask memes and stuff.

stuff with a name and then [ story. ] is lore that is separated into tags so it's easier to find. Usually a bigger story inside of the Watchers.

List of all the watchers that belong to me: Vast Dave (@davethecoolestguy) Cain The Beholder (@feastoftheeye)

tw ; body horror, horror, eye imagery, eye contact, evil

#watcher oc #evo smp #evo smp rp #hermitcraft rp #life series rp #trafficblr #hermitblr

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striderthefrog · 2 years ago

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Scratch McGee and repressed trauma.

First off I’d like to preface this by saying I am not an expert on mental health this is an attempted analysis of a cartoon character through the lense of mental health for the purpose of entertainment.

TW: Discussion of mental health/ptsd

Scratch has been one of the most complex characters in tgamm. He starts off as a grumpy hermit, but as the series progresses we begin to see that he has a softer side. However he is trying to escape a traumatic past and is scared of forming attachments.

In scaring is caring it is revealed that Scratches worst fear is losing Molly. Although they’ve only known each other for a few months these two have become the closest of friends and we see that Scratch is deeply afraid of losing her even though he shouldn’t have to be worried about that.

Then we get to season two, this is when we really start to see where the possible trauma originated. In A soda to remember we see Scratch and Molly try to get a soda he had as a kid to help him remember his past. This could be seen as a trigger for his trauma, something related to it that starts to bring up those feelings/memories.

Scratch confesses to Molly that he is scared of his past, he doesn’t know if he wants to remember, part of him wants to forget it for good. He ends up deciding that not knowing is the worse end so he takes a sip and we get a peak into his childhood.

Here we see that Scratch had a friend that moved away. We hear a sad version of the friendship motif which has been used with Molly and Scratch’s bonding moments. Scratch looks up from the soda directly at the screen showing the most raw emotion we have seen of him yet. He does not tell Molly about this for a while.

Finally we get to All in the mind, an entire episode delving into Scratches past memories and trauma. The form of these memories coming back takes the form of bubbles fizzing up. A fitting way to show that he can’t hide from his trauma forever. Now Scratch seems to be depicted with some form of ptsd/cptsd albeit a more simplified cartoon version. These can be triggered by very small things sometimes seemingly unrelated however the brain usually has come to associate some things with the traumatic memories causing it to trigger.

It seems possible due to the correlation with Adia that being around Molly is causing Scratch to remember things and face his repressed trauma. The better he gets to know her the more he feels a connection similar to his one with Adia.

Once we dive into Scratches mind we see many things such as childish cardboard ship in a bottle of the same soda. And we also see many food related things. Including a taco “of his past.” In his mind we see a brief scene where Scratch is in a chair across from a monkey very clearly like he would a therapist. Scratch clearly has something mentally going on.

Later in the episode Scratch is finally able to stop running for a bit, he talks through it with Molly and although still scared he’s going to try and confront his past. We get an even deeper look into his mind and see him and Adia discussing their plans to travel the world, while in a cardboard boat.

We get another look at the scene of Adia moving away but this time we see scratch look down at his hands where the soda is.

Scratch has begun to dig up his past trauma although it seems we have yet to see the source. At the end of the episode we see a massive bubble come up with Adias face in it distorting the end music and the logo.

Scratch still has his biggest traumatic memories to deal with.

It’s been confirmed that Scratch would have been about 9-10 in the flashback scene we got. When someone goes through trauma they often will act in a way reminiscent of the earliest time they had before said trauma. We consistently see Scratch acting like a child, throwing fits, and talking about things like a 9-10 year old would.

All this seems to point to Scratch having un processed trauma and memories. The show seems to be leading towards the final straw being something happening to Molly as Scratches biggest fear is losing her, like he seems to have lost Adia.

On that note I’d just like to add that trauma takes many forms, and many different things can lead to childhood trauma. One persons will not be like someone else’s necessarily and traumatic experiences happen much easier when one is a child as the brain is still forming. Please feel free to critique anything I’ve said. Hope this has been interesting.

#scratch mcgee #tgamm scratch #tgamm #tgamm spoilers #trauma #molly mcgee #tgamm adia #mental health

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