#i had to force myself to add it to my new playlist

[thetisming]

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[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~

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“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”

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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.

[kleescafe]

delusional attatchment

this ones way more personal, so it's my first.. anyway :

Before you can be 100% sure you want one, you should know the definition. (thank you anon for reminding me that d/a's can be for real people too!)

A D/A is the term for when you believe you are a fictional character, or a real person, and you're unable to separate yourself from the media [not in a fictive or kin situation, this is usually caused by schizo/psychosis/ect.]. It can be seen as a form of self-empowerment and creativity. While delusions are typically seen as problematic, D/A's allow people to step outside themselves and explore new identities and realities. This can provide an opportunity for personal growth and exploration of different parts of one's identity, and it can even offer a way to escape from painful or traumatic situations.

Many people [including adults, it's not just kids] that suffer from D/A's have reported that it hasn't affected their mental health in negative ways (of course, there's always some people that are affected negatively from this, and that's okay. I'm going by what I have personally researched and experienced.).

Ready to continue? Click the cut to get to the guide.

I cant 100% guarantee this will work,

but I can, however, give you the things that worked for me, personally.

One of the first things I did, obviously, was to look for the character. What character do I vibe with, that I can see myself being? What character would I be cool with looking like? Can I mimic the character well? Optionally, but important to me, will being this character help me deal with my trauma and issues? Once I had a character in mind, I made a long and detailed subliminal. Here's a link to a youtube playlist that helps you make your own subliminal. I was very specific in mine. I wrote a bunch of 'I am ___, I am forced to be ___, I am ___ from ___'. 'I have source memories.' is a good one too. Me specifically, I added extreme details of lore, I added any little quirks I wanted to have, and I included that I'd find source friends and such. You can add whatever you want to your subliminal.

The next thing I did, was do a complete rebrand. I started doing the hobbies that my character has, you can also do headcanons. I eat my character's favorite food, drink their favorite drink. Hate their dislikes and like their likes. I changed all of my personal social accounts to have the profile picture of my character, and I made my usernames/display names character themed. Started going by their name and nicknames. If anyone asked, I'd say it was either a rp account or that it's just a hyperfixation. I started associating my character and things related to them with the thought 'that's me,' 'oh, they drew/wrote/cosplayed me so well,' 'i used to do that with [someone from your character's source media],' (but never say those publicly to strangers, it could make them uncomfy.), and my brain automatically began thinking 'that's me!' whenever i saw my character.

What I also did was buy a cosplay. This isn't a must, just wear some comfy clothing you already own that your character would wear lounging around the house. It's also validating to go to conventions and ask people to refer to you by your character name (I usually say "it's for safety reasons, told someone once and they found socials and an address" yada yada.), and making temporary friends with people that are cosplaying character from your source. You can refer to them as their character name, you don't have to share socials, it's like a mini rp session for them, while it helps you affirm that you are ___, and even others from your source say so!

I apologize that this one is so short. I wanted to get this done today so I could schedule it's posting and start researching another to make a guide for. This one is mostly personal experience, and it's easier to write in 'I' forms (Plus, for some people, including me, it kind of makes me think 'oh, i do this.'). I also wanted to highlight the most important things, but near the end I was running out of 'must dos' and highlighted anything..

requests are open. minimum 2 days - 1 week for me to get to a request.

(Sorry about the accidental post and then removal. For some reason, my banners aren't working, and I meant to schedule this post, but since I can't I figured I'd fix it up really quick before posting it again.)

[halfmoth-halfman]

i got an ask about advice for writing when you're discouraged, so i thought i'd make a post addressing some of the points because i think this is something that everyone has gone through and can relate to. most of this is just what's helped me/what i'd tell myself in the past, but if anyone has advice to add on please feel free! i hope this helps at least a little bit, anon!

"I’m not good at (dialogue/atmosphere/prose/etc)."

write it anyways! one of the best ways to build a skill is to keep doing it. even if you don't ever post it, or only share it with a few friends, or just read it to your pets, or whatever you choose to do, it's better to write something "badly" than to not write at all. or even asking for help on how to improve from other writers. i struggle a lot with atmosphere and scenery, and something that helped me a lot was talking to other writers whose fics i really enjoy and inspire me. i know it may seem intimidating, but there are plenty of writers on tumblr that would love to talk about how they compose their scenes, their dialogue, anything and everything if someone asks.

"I can’t make moodboards/headers/aesthetic posts."

the good news is, you don't have to! fics don't have to have anything other than the fic itself. i can't speak for everyone, but while aesthetics may get my attention, it's the person behind the blog that i stay for. if you want your blog or your fics to have a pretty aesthetic, it shouldn't be because you feel forced to but because you want to do it. if you don't find making moodboards or headers or aesthetic posts fun, then you don't have to do them. and if you want to, but don't know how, there are a ton of resources, links, and blogs dedicated to helping on tumblr.

"I’m not at (insert someone else)’s writing level."

and you might never be, and that's okay! every writer is different - they have different styles, write at different paces, perceive their skill differently. basing your progress on someone else's isn't going to help because you're not them. you have your own time, energy, ability, and ideas, you'll grow and improve at your own pace, just like they did. don't force yourself to try and follow the same timeline of someone else, and don't put yourself down because you're getting better - and you are getting better - at your own pace.

"I can’t find the motivation to write."

honestly same. i think it's a pretty universal experience to lose motivation for something you were excited about at one point. sometimes the vibes aren't it and the story doesn't want to story, but that's alright. it can be hard to stay motivated, and what gets someone inspired again is different everyone. i can't give advice for anything outside of what's helped me, but a few ways i've re-motivated myself to write something are: making a fic playlist, stepping away from the fic for a day or two, giving it to a friend to read, re-watching/reading the source material, doodling fic ideas, and skipping to a different part of the story.

"I can’t write fast enough."

unless it's for something like work where you have a fixed deadline, there is no "fast enough" in writing. don't let anyone tell you otherwise. when i first started writing, in the very early days of ao3 and tumblr, fic updates could takes months or even more than a year and that was fine! one of my favorite fics took a six year hiatus, and that didn't diminish any of the enjoyment i had when it came back. you are not a machine, you're a human being with needs outside of writing. it's always okay if you need to take a break, if there's a long wait between chapters, or if you want to stop a project altogether and come back to it six years later. if someone gives you grief because you can't write within their time-frame then they're not worth having as a reader - do not overwork yourself for the sake of finishing a fic.

"It’s hard to stick to one idea at a time."

then don't! write all the ideas. write every single one. working on a project and you have a drabble that you just keep thinking about? write it. you get a sudden idea for a one-shot in a different fandom? write it. woke up in the mood to start a new five-chapter fic? write it. you can start or stop writing about anything at any time. there is no rule that you have to stick to one idea and finish it before you can write anything else, don't make yourself stick to something if it's not what you want to write, and don't punish yourself if you need to take a break from your current project.

"Maybe I’m not made for writing on tumblr."

tumblr is a shitposting website that barely works at the best of times. half of my drafts get deleted every other week for no reason - there is no way to be "made for writing on tumblr"! but tumblr is huge, there's a bajillion communities on here that would be so excited to have another writer, and a ton that are solely dedicated to helping writers and providing different resources. i guarantee there is someone on this website that will love and adore your writing.

"The things I read are better than anything I can write/comparing myself to other writers."

i don't have the cake picture saved, but we all know the gist of it: the audience (generally) isn't going to care about how decorated your cake is compared to another, they're just happy to get two cakes. and that's really all it is. your fic might not be the same preferred flavor as the audience of other writers, but there is someone out there who's going to enjoy it. i won't tell you to just not compare yourself to others, i know that's not how it works, but what has helped me is changing the way i view other fics. instead of thinking "i wish i could write like this person", i look at like "this inspires me to improve my writing". and don't get me wrong, i still have moments of doubt about my writing compared to some of the people i read, i don't think that will ever really stop, but the best thing you can do is not let yourself give in to that feeling. try and stop that train of thought before it leaves the station. no one else can write the way you can. no one else can tell your stories the way you can. no one else has the same voice as you do. if everyone wrote the same way, everything would be boring. the heart of a fic is seeing the author's personality shine through it. if you see someone write a good fic, that doesn't mean yours won't be. you have to give yourself a chance even when you feel like your writing won't be as good as someone else's. you have to bake your cake anyway.

"How do I find joy in something I know I’ll never be good at?"

you won't. full stop. if you keep telling yourself you'll never be good at something, you'll never improve, there's no point in trying, then you'll never enjoy it. i know it's easier said than done, but you have to have some level of confidence in yourself and in your writing. not only will you not enjoy it, other people will see the lack of enjoyment, the "i wrote this and it sucks" comments, the self-degradation, and they won't enjoy it either - no one feels good about a fic the author clearly didn't want to write. and, if you try everything you possibly can and still can't find any joy in writing, then maybe writing isn't the hobby for you. and that's perfectly okay! i tried quilting and glassblowing several times before i realized i just didn't like it the same way i liked writing. you owe it to yourself to find something that's fun, that makes you smile, that you're excited to do. there's a million hobbies out there, i promise you'll find something that brings you joy.

[theanomily]

Regarding the H.I.V.E. birthday bundle, specifically my less-than-satisfactory contribution to it:

(Under a cut because I estimate this to be about 1000 words).

The shortest way I can say this is "sorry."

In a longer form, I acquknowledge that Wing is a beloved, respected character of the H.I.V.E. series, becoming a favourite of many, and ranking highly in the minds of everyone else. If anyone deserved better treatment in this event, it was undoubtedly him, not to mention the real-life disappointed H.I.V.E. fandom.

I also acquknowledge that this was probably the largest communal event since the release of Bloodline three years ago and that the date on which it was announced was long enough ago to counter any explanation I could possibly give, especially since I, as a minor, have more time to commit to any one project than an adult burdened with full-time employment and more significant responsibilities than I. Yet I shall offer one regardless and leave the perception of my character at the mercy of your own individual judgements. It is as follows:

Some of you might remember me directing a post to an "anon" threatening me in January, which I have since deleted. This is actually not a recent or isolated issue- not even for my blog, although I doubt that anybody remembers her posting so-called "edgy" stuff on it back in like 2019. But if you do, fun fact: it was the same person. This person used to be my friend, then a "girlfriend" and is now something of an enemy. As well as threats, there has been blackmail and cases of physical violence committed against both me and my other friends. The reason I bring this up is because she followed me to the store I worked at sometime mid Feburary and provoked me there too. I was stupid, I shouted at her, and I was rightfully fired as a result. And the reason I mention this at all is because it has been hell finding a new job, eating up the time I had specifically set aside for this project.

Then, the entirety of March I more or less dedicated to finally reading bloodline (I read it twice more after my initial "live react" posts so I could actually get the juice out of it).

On the 23rd of March, my cat died, and to be brutally honest, I spent the entirety of April not doing anything that wasn't complete brainrot (hence the surge in my blog activity 💀).

May brought with it UCAS exams (UCAS points being what you need in the UK to get into university).

June brought the results, one of which was a C in physics, a grade that my school, family, and peers viewed as an unforgivable failure. As such, I had devices as well as other "distractions," including my books, taken away until the end of July so I could focus on resitting everything. Additionally, I was forced to go to school two hours early for extra lessons, given hour long detentions until the end of the academic year and had to have random meetings during my breaks to really rub in how stupid I am (no exaggerations are being made here; my head of year managed to drag calling me the r slur into a forty minute rant on one occassion).

Then, in August, my uncle got into a car accident and requested that myself and my parents fly over into Zimbabwe to help him. Fair enough, but in the time it had taken us to get over there, the man had gone off-grid (as he has a habit of doing) and we still have no clue of his whereabouts.

I promise I will make amends, and the only path I can see heading towards this objective is completing and redoing what you have seen for this project alongside a few other elements I had planned to incorporate into it. To be more specific, I will:

- Finish the birthday bundle.

I'm sure you've noticed that the "playlist" and "prompts for you" categories are missing from my offering. This will be rectified, and I will add these to the original birthday bundle post so it can be completed. I had elected to avoid those categories as I figured that having a few tasks done to a "rushed and painfully mediocre" standard would be better than having a small amount of awful content for each element of the bundle. The reasons why those two categories were chosen to be neglected were that a) no music I know at all aligns with Wing and b) I had not noted that the "prompts for you" was an existing section and only remembered when reading through the example Otto post, meaning I had not left myself enough time to sit with and revisit ideas to see if they really were any good. Additionally, that fanfic is nowhere near finished. I do plan to edit the published chapter and then continue it, and I shall try my best to stick to frequent, regular updates of a higher quality and quantity than I have presented you with thus far.

- Improve what I have given you

I plan to drastically improve my digital art for each "mini" picture that's in my work- you can see that there's a very, very good reason why I kept them all mini. When I'm done, they will be transformed into something that can at least be posted at their full size without risking the health of your eyes.

- Add to what I've given you

I know I've done very few headcanons, so I'll be sure to focus on Wing for future ones that I'll publish on my blog. In all likelihood, the next post of mine will be a much longer list of Wing headcanons. And even if it is not next, it will still hopefully be in the near future.

My initial plan for the "Wing art" was to make a rudimentary physical model of him. I can't promise it'll be of high quality since the last time I did this, I was four years younger, working with better materials, working without keeping it a secret, and crafting the fox emoji rather than an entire person. I also can't see how the colour green, which is what I was assigned, will fit in. But I'll do it anyway.

Something that I played with a bit while waiting for the prompts to be given out was character art. Currently, I have WIPs for Shelby and Laura and have posted a Ms Leon. I want to do something for every character, and Wing will most certainly be included in that, so I promise I'll take extra care to do him justice when I get around to him. Consider it to be like a non-picrew alternative to the cover image.

I also have a physical drawing in the works, though I confess this too shall probably take a while in the interest of refining skills before applying them so I don't waste the one piece of sketch paper I bought.

Once more, I am so extremely sorry for what I have done, and I will ensure that never again shall this height of inadequacy be reached and inflicted onto people who deserve so much better.

Thank you for reading

[sweetpascal]

7, 10, 16, 20, 22, 42, 45, 79, 86 ♡

ask game

oooo thank you for the lovely abundance of numbers, lea !! i'm so excited to answer them !! ☺️

7. tell us about the plot of the first fanfic you ever wrote.

oh my god, it's so embarrassing. i was 12 years old and i was obsessed with the Dolan twins. they were huge back then on vine and YouTube. i was using wattpad at the time. and the fic i created was "the dolan twins are my bullies" 😭 IT'S EMBARRASSING EVEN THINKING ABOUT IT. i was so new to writing, so my writing was fucking horrid (bad spelling, bad punctuation, horrible plots, etc.) and it got a few hundred thousand views. i refuse to read it again now that i'm almost 22 years old 😭

10. at what point in the process do you come up with titles, and how easy or hard is that for you?

funny enough, titles are the second biggest thing i struggle with in story-building (summaries are #1). i try to build around titles to get a feel of how i want the fic to go, but then i get so obsessive over trying to come up with a title that matches the energy and vibes i want to convey. like, it's extremely hard and exhausting. because also, the title won't match the plot and then the fic won't match the title, so it gets really messy. i WANT to try writing first and then creating the title after, but my friggin' brain won't let me use that technique 💔

16. where is your favorite place to write?

in a moving vehicle 🩷 i'm a huge lover of long rides, so the gentle rocking motions of the car/bus/train calms me down and puts me in a state of tranquility and creativity. also, being out in nature helps me shut my brain off and focus on what needs to be done. i usually write in bed, alone. i've soon realized that isolation is what negatively impacts my creative processes 🥺

20. what is your favorite trope to write?

oooooo, that's a tricky one. THERE'S SO MANY TROPES I LOVE TO WRITE AND WANT TO WRITE. enemies to lovers is just *chef's kiss* 😚🤌🏼 delicious. add in some angst and slow burn ??? that is top fucking TIER. a close second is definitely husband x wife fics. especially protective, guard dog husband fics. that's a good oomph.

22. describe your writing process from scratch to finish.

- develop inspiration from a song, gif, moodboard, movie scene, etc.

- write it down in the notes app

- listen to a playlist to create a vibe of whatever fic i want to write

- write a brief summary and warning tags i want to include in the fic (this helps me build around it)

- write one paragraph

- procrastinate for a few days

- go on pinterest and create a board for inspiration

- write the next few paragraphs until i reach mental exhaustion

- don't write for another few days

- procrastinate and talk about my fic ideas to my fiancé rather than sit and write

- write the next few paragraphs

- procrastinate for a few hours

- listen to music to get in the mood

- force myself to finish the last few paragraphs

- spend another hour rereading and editing

42. describe the aesthetic of a story in 5 words.

makes you want to dissociate :3

45. name three of your favorite fanfic writers.

it was so, so incredibly difficult to pick just three. just know that i had well over 15+ writers, but i narrowed it down to the three that inspired me to start writing for Pedro characters when i wiggled my way into the fandom 🩷

@joelsgreys ; @gutsby ; @pedgito

79. are you an over-writer, under-writer, or just-right-er?

IT ALL DEPENDS ON THE MOOD I'M IN. when i'm so excited about a new fic i want to write, i'm an over-writer. i go overboard and don't realize that i wrote well over 10k words. when i'm in a depressive, mentally exhausted state, i lose care in my writing and write just to write, not really enjoying myself, so that causes me to be an under-writer. i'm one or the other. there's no in between, unfortunately 😣

86. which season best matches the mood of your wip(s)?

[ just like that - day six - perv!stepdad!joel ] ; early fall when it's thunder-storming and insanely windy and dark outside.

[ the serpent and the crown - king!marcus acacius x concubine!reader ] ; late winter when there are blizzards and frostbite type of cold, but also sunny, warm, winter mornings.

[ lies a beating heart - part two of beneath the armor - husband!marcus acacius x wife!reader ] ; early summer with warm afternoons and cool, humid nights.

[ where do we go from here - grumpy!joel x sunshine!reader ] ; late spring with flowers in full bloom, birds chirping, and light rain while the sun is still out.

[cloudcountry]

Oh I've been in a play that my high school had before! The set pieces was made by volunteering parents. We did the Little Mermaid Jr. and I auditioned for Ursula. I got three minor roles, but I'm rather happy with that because I'm not sure if I could have memorized all those lines. It was an absolute blast. I was a sailor, a chef, and I got to be one of the princesses!

A real play is so much more fun than the mandatory plays I had in elementary school. No auditions, our roles were chosen for us. One elementary play wassss I can't remember the name but it was jungle related. I missed the day we were told what roles we got so I showed up to school confused as instead of classes we were starting the day off going to different classes. This was either 2nd or 3rd grade? I lined myself up with the cheetahs as I wanted to be one. Eventually I was found and brought to the right class.

They gave me a flower role. As in stage decor that sings along with some songs. Never really enjoyed any of the elementary school plays.

I do quite enjoy musicals though! Like that's a one-time run with no cgi help! I haven't gone to many of them, but I enjoyed the Annie musical. They had a real dog which just amazes me. A dog in front of so many people but following his role so perfectly, not getting distracted at all! Seeing musicals in person feels superior to watching recordings since recordings can't really capture the whole stage.

Pretty silly but I enjoy the netflix recording of Shrek the Musical.

I should find the Little Mermaid Jr soundtrack and add some songs to my disney twst playlist. There's an Ursula song that wasn't from the movie which I recall being pretty cool. My friend got the Ursula role and she did great. The costumes were awesome and I think were also made by parent-volunteers.

I think the whole production did so well as a high school musical since it was a charter school and so many parents were willing/able to help out.

How did you get to working on set pieces? Was it a voluntary thing or did the school just force you to help? Do you have any interest in acting? Minor roles or major roles?

I quite enjoyed my minor roles since that meant very little pressure if I messed up. Didn't have to necessarily worry in my princess role either since it was one line and I was supposed to sound terrible.

I PROMISE I READ ALL OF THIS BUT IM JUST GOING TO ANSWER YOUR QUESTIONS BECAUSE ITS SO LONG HELP

i got to working on sets after my friends introduced me!! it was voluntary and i got to use it for service hours C:

the sad thing is i felt interested in acting at the last play of the year (and my last year in high school.) i thought it looked really fun but i hadn't had the confidence to audition, and by then it was too late anyway.

take notes kids, try new things even if they don't seem that interesting at first. you might regret it later.

[fates-theysband]

8, 10, and 12 for Fate for the new year selfship asks? 😸

the fact that you always add a little cat emoji when you ask stuff for him for ask memes delights me to no end

in which ways did your F/O(s)/selfshipping help you this year?

so this year has been...eventful for me. and like, between having a fun diversion and a way to force myself to see myself through the eyes of someone who loves me as well as the camaraderie of the actual community, i've had the good fortune of having something to hold onto when it feels like everything else is slipping away. fate in particular served as a kind of...Someone To Lean On during some of the rougher patches.

have you bought any merch of your F/O or other items that remind you of them this year?

i think it's interesting that you specified fate because yeah. yeah i did buy a lot of merch of and items that remind me of him. i have two skull-shaped candles, an articulated fidget toy shaped like a cat, a water bottle with his silhouette from the ng+ intro, a hoodie with the game's logo on it, and multiple lemon-scented/flavored things.

if you have spotify wrapped, were there any songs related to your F/O(s)/selfships in your top 100? if you don't, were there any songs you listened to a lot this year because they remind you of your F/O(s)?

so for fate specifically somehow the only song from his playlist to make it onto my wrapped is "rest employed" which is odd bc i thought for sure i listened to "curses" a lot more than that.

in terms of like, my entire f/o list though i think a good 75% of the songs on my wrapped are there because of one f/o or another.

[thumpersdae]

🧠 😅🤗

🧠: pick a character, and I'll tell you my favorite headcanon about them.

I'm not sure which character to pick, (choosing a jodie headcanon felt like a cop-out… no pun intended) so I lurked on your blog for a sec and found "Scary Marlowe was in your "posts alot about" section. so we're going with her. I think my biggest most, undebatable headcanon for Scarry is that I see her as a fat girl. I know that isn't super deep, or exciting but it's the most concrete hc I have about her.

To make up for that I will add that, at the end of s1 I tried to make playlists for the S1kids-S2parents. and ended up gravitating to poetry for Terry Jr's playlist. because of beth and because sometimes being a teen with a step-parent means listening to button poetry on youtube and feeling profound and forlorn.

So now I sorta have this HC that TJ had a big poetry phase at about Scary's age and he's just itching to share some of his favorite poems with her, but also he's aware that sharing outdated angsty poems with his teenage daughter would be quite possibly the most un-cool thing he could ever do. but he did once leave a poetry book out without telling her it was his. and Scarry has poured over that book several times 😅: what story or scene you've created that you're a smidge embarrassed exists?

ok… so, I really sort of don't feel embarrassed about any of my fics. I know each one of them was a thing I loved working on, and was proud to share. and even the things I was writing as a teen, when I was worse at writing, remind me how much I've worked on my writing skillzzz.

that being said,,,, in 2014, I wrote my second fan-fic ever. (against my better judgment) I will link it here. please be warned the word count makes it hard to load on some devices, and the payoff is not worth that frustration. 🤗: what advice would you give to new fanfic writers that are just getting started?

I genuinely would like to tell all new fan-fic writers "don't take yourself seriously" the culture around modern fan-fiction has made it so this creative writing is one of the few artistic outlets that cant be commercialized. and I fucking love that actually. I love having a thing I can pour my heart into that doesn't need to be sellable. it took me a while to realize this about myself and there was a time when I spent a lot of energy and angst trying to write for clout or influence. do not do this. I know it's cliche but please "write for yourself". write crack fics, and shitposts, and rare pairs, and the same "identifying marks" soulmate au 50 times. abandon things that aren't working anymore, stop writing altogether for months at a time. this hobby is work, just like any other time-consuming creative endeavor. it's volunteer work, with no monetary gain, but that doesn't make it rewardless. but tyeing those rewards to other people's reactions rather than your own enjoyment is a good way to have the joy sucked out of this hobby. yes, i love the comments and kudos and attention i get from sharing my work, and interactions like that have factored into me being motivated to write more. but one of my other driving forces for writing is just reading over my old work, and then wanting to pin down the endings.

[wrongcaitlyn]

hi!! i know you get a lot of music recs but i thought i might just add some of my own too bc i love the dear reader series sm and literally cannot stop connecting songs to it 😭

'favor' by julien baker is maybe a bit depressing but also some of the lyrics just seem so nico, like 'turns out that all my friends were trying to do me a favour' and saying how hard it is to be tender and all (i feel like she has a lot of depressing songs which could be past nico-coded but not so much with his mental health getting better??)

but also more positively 'free treasure' by adrianne lenker which doesn't super feel like nico's style in terms of melody but the lyrics kind of fit to me, with things like 'you show me understanding, patience and pleasure' and 'just when i thought i couldn't feel more, i feel a little more'

also (last one!!) 'it'll all work out' by phoebe bridgers i can kind of see as nico either to bianca or to himself pre-transition - just kind of sad but healing at the same time

thank you for letting me ramble!! i love your work <3

AHHSDF YAY MORE SONG RECS sorry it took so long to get to listening to these but i'm here!!!

i swear julien baker (as well as lucy dacas) are artists that i keep telling myself i need to listen to bc i do love a lot of phoebe bridgers and boygenius songs and yet i never have😭 I WILL THIS SUMMER god i actually need to make a list of discographies to binge it's just hard forcing myself to listen to new musiclksjfd

but anyway onto the songs!!

you are SO real about depressive songs being so nico, and honestly even though his mental health is getting better, the problems don't always go completely away! i think it's very natural for him to still have those depressive songs, because like, he is still struggling with depression and ptsd and definitely still has bad days, and uses music as a way to vent :/

as for favor, these lyrics are SPOT ON but what stood out even more was the production on first listen, like it's such a nico coded song from everything from the lyrics to the production and i just love it?? god i have a playlist of songs that i want to add to albums and this is going straight there, at this point i have so many songs that i don't have the timespan to possibly have nico release all of them but i'll just keep in mind for possible future playlists😭😭 i absolutely love that one!! the lyric you pointed out is literally so real, and also "how long do i have until /i've spent up everyone's goodwill?" is just SO nico coded oh my god😭it's definitely him in high school coded, just thinking every now and then of like why he ended up where he did :/ and "who put me in your way to find? what right had you not to let me die?"LKSDJFDSJF IM SO OBSESSED WITH THIS NOW WTF im gonna keep listening to it all day and stressing over which possible album i could fit it in because i'm like out of room but also aghsldkfjsldf it needs to go somewhere

anyway. NEXT ONE

these lyrics😭😭i wanna cry this is just him finally feeling comfortable and happy and content with his life and with will and AHGSLDFJ THAT MAKES ME SO HAPPY "we're sitting on the kitchen floor / just when i thought i couldn't feel more / i feel a little more" LIKE. THEY'RE JUST. SOULMATES. I LOVE THEM. AND I LOVE THIS.

(just scrolled back up and saw that that was the lyric that you put into the ask and that was a total coincidence but just goes to show your idea was absolutely perfect like spot on)

now onto phoebe!! i've listened to stranger in the alps a few times but i don't think i heard this one before which is odd, but then again i don't listen to phoebe as much as i'd like :/

but holy shit. i wish i heard this earlier. this one is 100% going on an album i just need to figure out which one bc it's literally perfect wtf. "when she needed me i wasn't around" talking abt when bianca died and he wasn't there, and then "now the wind is high and the rain is heavy" the RAINSDLFJ all i can think abt is nico thinking abt bianca when his dad died and the same sorta situation :// "never goes away, but it all works out" is just him finally trying to work through the trauma over the years and him finally coming to a time of like sort of peace? and contentedness in his life??

also idk why but my first thought at the lyric of "better off with him than here with me" was hearing it as "better off with Him" as in like referring to god and heaven, "than here with me" :(( i know that's 100% not the og meaning but that's how i initially interpreted it (bc i was already thinking of biancaksljdf) and probably how i'll continue to see it😭😭

anyway these were SUCH beautiful recs omg thank you so so much <333 i shall now scour through my playlists to try and find spots for them!!! worst comes to worst i'll have to move a few other songs into being unreleased songs, or singles, and maybe make a playlist of unreleased songs, and another for singles, we'll see!

[chorusfm]

Liner Notes (October 29th, 2023)

We’re back with another newsletter. This week has thoughts on a stacked release week and the usual commentary. As always, there’s a playlist of ten songs worth your time, and this week’s supporter Q&A post can be found here. If you’d like this newsletter delivered to your inbox each week (it’s free and available to everyone), you can sign up here. A Few Things * Anyone who’s followed me for any time knows my longtime love for the TV show Friends. It was my comfort show for many years, the show I had every season of on DVD and would put on in the background and watch over and over again. It’s cliche, but it was like having a group of friends to hang out with. It made me happy. I’ve seen the entire show more times than I can count. So seeing the news of Matthew Perry passing has me feeling emotional today; I’m sad. RIP. * I enjoyed this piece by Ted Gioia and felt explicitly like this part resonated with me: “This has forced me to develop a number of tools and rules for my writing. For example, I only review albums I genuinely love nowadays. Life is too short to do hit pieces—although those are often very popular with editors and readers. Also, I try to focus my most intense criticisms on organizations, institutions, policies, and attitudes, and avoid direct attacks on individuals.” But the entire thing is full of gems and worth your time. In Case You Missed It * Review: The Format – Interventions + Lullabies * Review: Blink-182 – One More Time… * Blink-182 Announce 2024 Stadium Tour * New Found Glory Releases ‘Catalyst’ On Vinyl * Two New Blink-182 Songs Added to Streaming * Travis Barker Teases Two More Blink-182 Tracks * The Last Beatles Song * Spitalfield Announces Some New Tour Dates * Green Day Announce New Album * Albums in Stores – Oct 27th, 2023 Music Thoughts * It looks like Blink-182 will have the number-one album in the country on next week’s charts. I’m obviously very happy for the band. The late push to add two new songs to the album and the signing event seems to have put them over the edge. Of the new two new songs, I like “See You” and am pretty impartial on “Cut Me Off.” I’m still, clearly, playing the hell out of the new album and don’t see myself stopping anytime soon. If Blink wasn’t already running away with the top spot on my Last.fm profile, them releasing a new album while Jimmy Eat World didn’t this year, is causing some dramatic separation. * This year saw the release of several albums I’ve written about that are finally available to everyone. The new Taking Back Sunday album is shockingly good. I had written off the band after not liking the past two or three albums outside of one or two songs, but this album has blown me away. Highly recommended. And then we also have The Gaslight Anthem’s comeback album getting a release, and I’ve been happy with all the positive comments I’ve seen from fans in our community. It’s become one of my most-played albums this fall, and it feels perfect for this weather—an incredible late-afternoon album. * Crime and Stereo’s new album is also worth a look and could be a late contender for album of the year lists—super solid rock album with great lyrical moments. * Sigrid released her new EP, The Hype, and it continues her streak of releasing songs that I just flat-out enjoy listening to. Great pop music. * Last week saw the release of A Story Told’s Mundane Magic, and if you’re looking for a really solid guitar pop album, this should be on your radar to check out. Catchy, really great vocals and a super fun listen. * The monster release this week was Taylor Swift’s 1989 (Taylor’s Version), and I’ve listened through once so far. The original version is one of my most played from Taylor, so I was excited to hear the new renditions and the vault tracks. I’ve seen comments ranging from “it sounds identical and reconstructed with the wisdom of time” to “it sounds awful and is so different and demonstrably worse.” My take is dull in comparison. I like… https://chorus.fm/features/articles/liner-notes-october-29th-2023/

[audiofuzz]

HEAR: Americana Folk Rock | Mipso - “Broken Heart / Open Heart”

North Carolina based indie-Americana folk quartet Mipso share the contemplative and gentle track "Broken Heart / Open Heart" out everywhere now. The band's propulsive sixth studio album Book of Fools, is due out August 25. The album is now available to pre-order digitally here and on vinyl here. Plus, the band will embark on an extensive tour across North America beginning in Portsmouth, NH on August 17 with tickets on sale now via mipsomusic.com/tour. "Broken Heart / Open Heart" is an earnest processing of grief and display of love and hope amidst loss. "Broken Heart / Open Heart" out today, was built around the idea that a broken heart can become an open heart. On the track, the band builds to a simmering pace, but it never boils over–the intimate vocal is gripping, alongside the muted piano and an overdriven guitar that add grit to the bittersweetness. Mandolinist and vocalist Jacob Sharp and guitarist Joseph Terrell wrote the track together that became a vessel for his processing of the grief that comes in the wake of losing someone you love. Referencing the gut-wrenching opening lyrics, "How do you tell someone you’re lonely, when they’re sitting by your side?" Sharp shares, "I’ve had a couple friends recently who lost a family member for the first time. My mom was sick for a long time - I remember hard times, and I was broken for a while after she passed." Despite the immense pain and heartache Sharp endured, he's able to embrace the brokenness to rebuild himself. Sharp continues, "Now I look back grateful to have been broken enough to have had to decide how to put myself back together. There’s a universal binding in that feeling of realizing you’re broken enough to be wide open - and I think with the right support and love that openness can be a gift. " Book of Fools, the forthcoming sixth studio album by Mipso out August 25, sees the band at their most assured, guided mostly by their own intuition and less impacted by time constraints, expectations or outside forces. Over ten cohesive tracks, driving rhythms, earnest, thoughtful lyricism guide the band back to their roots and who they are at their core. As Terrell puts it, "'Book of Fools' feels more relaxed, more confident, more us – like we’re wearing our favorite clothes and telling our favorite story and it feels exciting again.” There's a fresh, solid confidence and profound understanding of one another that radiates through the music. It's this palpable connection that can only come from this group playing together around the world several hundreds of times and it's here they rediscover their joy and unmatched connection as musicians and as best friends. The previously shared tracks "The Numbers," and "Carolina Rolling By" have captivated fans who are eagerly anticipating the forthcoming project. "Carolina Rolling By" earned the band the cover of Spotify's Roots Rising and number one spot on the playlist, plus placements on Summer Acoustic, Chill Folk, Fresh Folk, Apple's New in Americana, Southern Craft and Amazon's Fresh Folk & Americana. "The Numbers" also appeared on Fresh Folk and New in Americana. "The Numbers" is a rhythmic, wry, finger-wagging observation of the market-obsessed culture that permeates American society. Inspired by NPR's Kai Ryssdal and his signature phrase, "Let’s do the numbers!," the band wonders how tracking the daily economic tea leaves became a veritable religious observance for the ruling class. Fiddler and vocalist Libby Rodenbough recalls hearing an Iowan voter on TV discussing presidential candidates and saying, “I like the incumbent because the stock market’s doing well.” Rodenough says, "I looked around at this cruel place where we live and I felt forlorn that the NASDAQ offers anybody any kind of comfort. How do I know things are bad? Because I feel it, and I see it.” The notion that the success of the stock market had very little to do with the actual lived experiences of everyday people laid the foundation for the groovy, slick "The Numbers." The first taste of the forthcoming project, "Carolina Rolling By" is a relaxed, country-tinged groove that tells the story of a down-and-out pill-popping truck driver trying to get back on his feet. Written in part as a love letter to driving around their home state, Mipso's signature layered, poignant harmonies paint a vibrant portrait of the view out of the driver's window–the deep, clear blue sky with the sun beating down and the crisp air floating by. Terrell says the song came about after a boating accident that led to him needing to take painkillers during recovery. Similar to previous Mipso releases, the track finds beauty in pain and allowed Terrell the space to craft the ode to driving through North Carolina that he's always wanted to make. It was during his recovery that the song materialized. Terrell says with a fresh understanding of the power of pills, "I couldn’t walk for 12 days but I had my grandma’s guitar and some hydrocodone and worked on this song I think because I fully understood for the first time how anyone could get addicted to those." Read the full article

[chrisryanspeaks]

HEAR: Americana Folk Rock | Mipso - “Broken Heart / Open Heart”

North Carolina based indie-Americana folk quartet Mipso share the contemplative and gentle track "Broken Heart / Open Heart" out everywhere now. The band's propulsive sixth studio album Book of Fools, is due out August 25. The album is now available to pre-order digitally here and on vinyl here. Plus, the band will embark on an extensive tour across North America beginning in Portsmouth, NH on August 17 with tickets on sale now via mipsomusic.com/tour. "Broken Heart / Open Heart" is an earnest processing of grief and display of love and hope amidst loss. "Broken Heart / Open Heart" out today, was built around the idea that a broken heart can become an open heart. On the track, the band builds to a simmering pace, but it never boils over–the intimate vocal is gripping, alongside the muted piano and an overdriven guitar that add grit to the bittersweetness. Mandolinist and vocalist Jacob Sharp and guitarist Joseph Terrell wrote the track together that became a vessel for his processing of the grief that comes in the wake of losing someone you love. Referencing the gut-wrenching opening lyrics, "How do you tell someone you’re lonely, when they’re sitting by your side?" Sharp shares, "I’ve had a couple friends recently who lost a family member for the first time. My mom was sick for a long time - I remember hard times, and I was broken for a while after she passed." Despite the immense pain and heartache Sharp endured, he's able to embrace the brokenness to rebuild himself. Sharp continues, "Now I look back grateful to have been broken enough to have had to decide how to put myself back together. There’s a universal binding in that feeling of realizing you’re broken enough to be wide open - and I think with the right support and love that openness can be a gift. " Book of Fools, the forthcoming sixth studio album by Mipso out August 25, sees the band at their most assured, guided mostly by their own intuition and less impacted by time constraints, expectations or outside forces. Over ten cohesive tracks, driving rhythms, earnest, thoughtful lyricism guide the band back to their roots and who they are at their core. As Terrell puts it, "'Book of Fools' feels more relaxed, more confident, more us – like we’re wearing our favorite clothes and telling our favorite story and it feels exciting again.” There's a fresh, solid confidence and profound understanding of one another that radiates through the music. It's this palpable connection that can only come from this group playing together around the world several hundreds of times and it's here they rediscover their joy and unmatched connection as musicians and as best friends. The previously shared tracks "The Numbers," and "Carolina Rolling By" have captivated fans who are eagerly anticipating the forthcoming project. "Carolina Rolling By" earned the band the cover of Spotify's Roots Rising and number one spot on the playlist, plus placements on Summer Acoustic, Chill Folk, Fresh Folk, Apple's New in Americana, Southern Craft and Amazon's Fresh Folk & Americana. "The Numbers" also appeared on Fresh Folk and New in Americana. "The Numbers" is a rhythmic, wry, finger-wagging observation of the market-obsessed culture that permeates American society. Inspired by NPR's Kai Ryssdal and his signature phrase, "Let’s do the numbers!," the band wonders how tracking the daily economic tea leaves became a veritable religious observance for the ruling class. Fiddler and vocalist Libby Rodenbough recalls hearing an Iowan voter on TV discussing presidential candidates and saying, “I like the incumbent because the stock market’s doing well.” Rodenough says, "I looked around at this cruel place where we live and I felt forlorn that the NASDAQ offers anybody any kind of comfort. How do I know things are bad? Because I feel it, and I see it.” The notion that the success of the stock market had very little to do with the actual lived experiences of everyday people laid the foundation for the groovy, slick "The Numbers." The first taste of the forthcoming project, "Carolina Rolling By" is a relaxed, country-tinged groove that tells the story of a down-and-out pill-popping truck driver trying to get back on his feet. Written in part as a love letter to driving around their home state, Mipso's signature layered, poignant harmonies paint a vibrant portrait of the view out of the driver's window–the deep, clear blue sky with the sun beating down and the crisp air floating by. Terrell says the song came about after a boating accident that led to him needing to take painkillers during recovery. Similar to previous Mipso releases, the track finds beauty in pain and allowed Terrell the space to craft the ode to driving through North Carolina that he's always wanted to make. It was during his recovery that the song materialized. Terrell says with a fresh understanding of the power of pills, "I couldn’t walk for 12 days but I had my grandma’s guitar and some hydrocodone and worked on this song I think because I fully understood for the first time how anyone could get addicted to those." Read the full article

[rubitheracoon]

I FINALLY DECIDED TO MAKE AN ABOUT ME POST!

Hi! My name is Rubi

I am a minor and a budding artist, I can draw horses/ponies and dragons the best but I've recently found myself branching out to other cool little creatures like cats, wolves, deer, birds and FINALLY (after over 3 years of telling myself ill do it) i have started learning to draw people. Though I've sorta just been brute forcing my way through it so it looks pretty bad

My page pretty much is most of the shows listed below or a reblog related to astronomy or hermitcraft (or from one of my moots) :)

a SUPER important thing that anyone needs to know about me is my undying love towards space and astronomy. It's been my primary special interest since I was a little kid and holds a very very special place in my heart.

I am also agender masculine presenting (afab) and don't mind any pronouns (including neos), and prefer that people mix it up. My personality is INFP and I likely have undiagnosed autism (and possibly inatentive ADD)

I also generally favour animation and indie over most other types of content.

My favourite shows and movies are, but not limited to:

- Hazbin Hotel (indie)

- Steven Universe (both shows and movie)

- Adventure Time

- Arcane

- Lackadaisy (indie)

- Helluva Boss (indie)

- The Amazing Digital Circus (Indie)

- Murder Drones (guess what, also indie)

- ENA (indie, idk if it's a show per sé)

- Sk8 the Infinity (anime)

- Into and Across the Spiderverse

- MLP

- Good Omens

I've run out of shows/movies I'm super passionate about but there's absolutely more. I have plenty more shows that I do like but probably wouldn't be a whole conversation of interest for me

My dms are always open and I'm always happy to make connections with new people

If you are an adult please do not dm me.

Some other misc stuff that I couldn't find a way to mention:

- my favourite colours are Dark teal and gold

- German Shepard's are my dream breed <3

- I'm a big fan of hermitcraft and I usually watch Grian, Scar, Mumbo, and doc. I've been watching since season 6 :]

- I used to play the cello until the end of 2023 where I had to quit because lessons became inconvenient. I miss it very much :[

- l love analogue horror!

- I find liminal spaces a very intriguing concept

- I've recently found myself intrigued by the new mlp infection AUs that have been trending

- I'm also pretty into arg's but haven't tried hunting myself. I usually watch theory videos.

- FNAF definitely has to be one of my favourite franchises of all time. Been utterly fascinated since around 2018

- science in general is very interesting to me. I love th philosophical aspects of astronomy as well as the scientific aspects. I always loved palaeontology, I also love psychology. speculative sciences like speculative biology (mainly for aliens it's just so cool) are really interesting.

This is turning into an autism rant I better stop now and turn this into a separate post

Also here's a project I've been working on for a full year (on the day I'm editing this, 21st may 2024)! It's very inspired off of the way liminal spaces make me feel but it is not meant to be set in the backrooms. This has sort of been a casual thing for me so it is far from being completed, but regardless it is still a very big passion project that I want to share with the world.

My intention for this playlist is to be subjective to the listener. You can get as specific or as basic as you want with the story. I've made sure to account for people who want to get into the details by including titles and/or covers that may allow you to make up your own ideas.

ALL I ASK IS TO READ THE DESCRIPTION!!!

It is VERY important for giving you the vibe I'm going for.

Having said this, please enjoy and be sure to @ me if you have any theories. There's no wrong or right answers. I just want to see the creativity of others showing through a basic idea that was provided for them. That's what this playlist is.

Have a nice day and enjoy all my stupid shitposts and art!

made on 3rd April 2024. Banner by @rubra-wav

And I thought this man couldn't get any more ✨️𝑭𝒂𝒃𝒖𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒔✨️

[idkthisisjustforfanfic]

story page | talk to me/join the tag list | the playlist

EXTRA - PART 6.5

He was laying in bed, chin propped up on his hand when you moved about the kitchen. Two weeks until he’d be back in New York, a smile on his face when he listed off the things he wanted to do.

“You have to come to this bar in my neighborhood, it’s great on the weekends, pretty quiet--”

“We also have to have dinner with Blake and Ryan,” you rolled your eyes. “They’re both under the impression we owe them a proper thank you.”

“For this?” He motioned between the two of you, thousands of miles apart but still connected through the screen.

“Yeah--Ryan specifically.”

“Of course he thinks that,” Jason laughed. “Fine, we’ll add them to the list.”

“The list?” You let your eyebrows rise, forked into the quinoa bowl you’d heated up for lunch. A fitting in the afternoon, meetings to finalize the album release too. For now, you’d sit right here and watch the way he smiled.

“Yeah, you know, the list of things we have to do together in New York.”

You smirked, pretended his words didn’t make your stomach flip in excitement. “Well, New York’s about to be the most disenchanting place ever.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s getting hotter every day--yesterday it was almost 80 and the trash smell is back in full force.”

“Oh right,” he made a face, “yeah, by the way I have no sense of smell.”

Record scratch. “What?” you looked up at him, lip curled in confusion. “Like in a COVID way?”

“No,” he laughed, “in a born without it way.”

“What?” You asked again, head tilting to the side when you took another bite. “None whatsoever?”

“None.”

“You’ve never had it?”

“Never,” he nodded.

“Is something wrong with you?”

He laughed at that, rolled his eyes. “That’s another list that we can go over if you want--the shit that’s wrong with me.”

You shook your head and laughed. “Wow. You learn something every day.”

“Yeah,” he shrugged.

“So you’ve never smelt the summer garbage stench in New York?”

“Can’t say I have.”

“You’re a lucky bastard.”

“Never smelled the good stuff either. Food, flowers, body wash.”

“What a sad life,” you thought aloud.

He found this funny. “I’m doing okay for myself so far.”

“Yeah but you’ll never smell me.”

“You?” His eyes went wide. “Do you have a smell?”

“Everyone has a smell,” you shrugged, like it was obvious. It wasn’t, to him. “Like, the same way everybody’s house has a smell.”

“Yeah, I mean, I know people talk about the way babies smell--but, yeah, never experienced that.”

“Wow.”

“You gonna make it? You’re taking this pretty hard.”

“You smell good,” you said quickly, a heat on your face when you looked back up at him through your phone. Was that too much? Too intense? Too forward? “Like, just nice, you know.”

He smiled, “good to know.”

A beat of silence when you wished you hadn’t been so blunt. From the look on his face, he thought it was cute when you rolled your eyes.

“I’d say the same about you but I actually can’t confirm.”

“People say I smell good,” you told him. “You’ll just have to take their word for it.”

“Okay,” he laughed. “I can do that.”

story page | talk to me/join the tag list | the playlist

tag list: @golden-hoax @fineelineee @westcoastrry @missing-you-like-war @truly-madly-kiki @caplikeme @baueoud @tiredbuthappy @whymyparentscheckmyphone @tedlassostan @tegan8314 @yourgoldengirls @loganrwebb

AN: HI! Sorry i can't post chappie 14 this week, pls enjoy this extra to tide you over!

[watchmegetobsessed]

ANOTHER TITLE

a/n: personally i’ve been waiting for this part to come since the beginning lmao, so here is the proposal finally!! it’s like so fluffy, almost disgustingly, but i just couldn’t help myself

pairing: Sebastian Stan X Reader

word count: 1.8k

This fic is part of the LITTLE ONE series, but can be read as a simple oneshot as well! Find the masterpost of the series HERE!

masterlist

(gif is not mine)

You’ve been eating like a hormonal teenage boy these past weeks and you know it needs to stop and held under control, but you just can’t help yourself. It’s like your stomach has become a black hole that needs to absorb any and every food that’s home, you’re constantly snacking beside the large portions you eat three times a day, there’s always something you’re craving, the shopping list on the fridge is changing every hour because you think of something else to eat.

Luckily, you haven’t gained that much weight besides the noticeable bump that’s your baby in your belly, seems like your little girl does need all the food and she uses it instead of letting it all get stuck on other parts of your body, so you’re fine for just now.

Sitting on the couch, watching some kind of soap opera, you’re snacking on an entire jar of Nutella this time, shamelessly stuffing your mouth with the sweet, thick stuff, pretty sure that nothing will be left of it by the end of the day. Sebastian is away again for his second filming that was scheduled even before you found out you were pregnant and he messed around with it a little, shortening it once again and you just visited him last weekend. Now that you are pushing the end of your second trimester, your bump is quite evident, not something you can hide easily, so when you showed up on set with your boyfriend, you didn’t even try to cover it up, knowing well someone would spot it sooner or later. However everyone on the team has been so respectful, keeping the news to themselves, because no headlines have been made about your pregnancy just yet, keeping the secret even longer. To be honest, you’re surprised it hasn’t been discovered sooner, you thoughr someone would catch you out and about and see right through your baggy clothes and sell the news to the tabloids, but now you are in the sixth month and no one knows a thing.

Your phone chimes next to you, a text from Seb and you hum to yourself happily, putting the jar aside to grab the phone and see what he wrote.

“How are my two favorite girls doing? Miss you a lot!”

He even attached a silly selfie of himself in hair and makeup, he looks adorable with the clips in his hair and some kind of patches under his eyes. Like a real beauty guru.

Grabbing the Nutella, you place it on top of your bump as you move the phone to a lower angle and take a selfie that makes your bump look even bigger, the jar on top and you grinning widely at the camera as you snap a picture and send it to him with your reply.

“Enjoying our third snack of the day at 11 am! Miss you too, can’t wait to see you next week!”

He reads the message right away, his reply coming just seconds later.

“Look at that bump! You look gorgeous, baby! Can’t wait to see you too, have fun with your sister today, love you lots Xx”

Since he has left you’ve been trying to keep yourself busy so you don’t miss him too much and you’re also using these weeks to spend as much time with your friends and family as possible, knowing well once the baby arrives you won’t be going out that much for a while, nestled up in your home, learning the ropes of being a mother. Today you are meeting up with your sister, she is taking you out to this alleged new, quite fancy restaurant you haven’t heard about before. She claimed that it’s really exclusive, so you don’t have to worry about being photographed or bothered, but she also told you to glam yourself up for the occasion. It’s gonna be some nice sister time, something you haven’t been able to do in a long time.

You take the assignment seriously, doing your hair and makeup the best you can and you decide to put on a flowy maxi dress with a soft, knitted cardigan, very much going for a kind of cottage core vibe. Leaving just in time you text your sister that you’re on your way, putting the address into the GPS and heading out of town, because the place is near the beach. She texts you back that she’ll meet you there and so your short little road trip begins. Sitting in the car you’re listening to one of the many playlists Sebastian has made for you and the baby, he likes to play them at home, humming the songs under his breath, hoping to start educating your little girl in the field of music as early as possible. You have to admit he has a good taste, so you don’t mind it at all.

As you follow the instructions of the GPS you find the place that’s supposed to be your destination, but it doesn’t seem like a restaurant at all, more like a mansion of some kind, a very expensive looking if you are being honest. There are no other cars, no sign of other people so as you park at the front you call your sister.

“Hey, I’m right outside, but I have a feeling I’m at the wrong place? It doesn’t look like a restaurant.”

“Oh, don’t worry! You’re at the right place! I’m a little late, but I’ll be there soon, just go inside, they are expecting us!” she assures you, but you’re still not convinced.

Ending the call you approach the entrance and for your surprise the heavy doors open before you could even knock or find the bell. A man in a tuxedo appears in front of you, smiling warmly at you.

“Miss Y/L/N?”

“Uh, yeah,” you nod, a little shy and confused.

“Please, follow me,” prompts as you walk inside and the two of you start crossing the grandiose hall of the building.

At this point you are sure it’s not a restaurant, but you have no idea why your sister wanted you to come here. You want to ask the man if you’re even at the right place, but he called you by your name so he was expecting you, this has to be the place where you’re supposed to be. More and more questions pile up in your head as you follow him out to the backyard, a gigantic, flower-filled garden that’s straight out of a fairytale, a path leading down to the beach where there’s a dreamy little pergola with even more flowers and fairy lights and as your eyes fall on the figure standing in the middle of the pergola, you immediately gasp.

Because surrounded with all the flowers and lights, there is Sebastian standing in an elegant suit, smiling widely at you as the man next to you helps you down the stairs before you start walking down the path to him.

Tears are flooding your eyes, because you already know what it is, but you can’t believe it’s really happening. He was so sneaky, he got home from filming earlier and even made your sister play along to surprise you, he is such a romantic soul, no one can change your mind about that!

“You’re not in Atlanta!” you tell him when he is finally close enough to hear you. He chuckles sweetly, taking a few steps forward to meet you sooner, his hands finding your waist as you cup his face in your hands, pulling him down to kiss you right away.

“No, I’m not, baby,” he smirks, his hands sliding to your belly, gently stroking the sides as you wipe your tears away, but there’s no use, because the next moment, he steps back a little, just enough so that he can get down on one knee and you’re crying again when you see him pull out a little velvety box from his pocket.

You were expecting it. You knew he would propose before the baby arrives, but you just didn’t know when and how, but he surely outdone himself with his little surprise.

“My Love, Y/N,” he starts after a deep breath, his hands finding yours and you can feel the shaking, but you’re not sure if it’s coming from yours or his. Probably both. “I’ve spent the best years of my life with you and I haven’t been the same man since the day I met you, but in the best way possible. You are the most amazing woman I’ve ever met and I’m so lucky that you did not only choose to be with me, but you are now carrying our baby under your heart as well, out little one who is equal parts of you and me, though you’re doing ninety percent of the job here,” he adds with a chuckle, making you laugh through your tears. “I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you the moment you were so badass on your first date, kissing me when I didn’t have the balls to do the first step, but I’m glad you did. I fell in love with you right then and there and the same thing has been happening every day, over and over again since then. I know we went a little out of order with everything we had planned,” he smirks, glancing down at your bump before his blue eyes find yours again, “but that doesn’t change the fact that I want to spend the rest of my life with you, so I have a question for you.”

He pops the lid of the box open, a gorgeous, brilliant diamond ring coming to your vision, sparkling in the warm afternoon Sun so perfectly, it takes your breath away.

“Y/N Y/L/N, will you make me the happiest man alive and marry me?” he asks, clearly nervous, even though there’s no doubt about your answer, you’ve told him plenty of times before that you want to marry him, but still, it’s a huge moment in both your lives.

“Yes, yes, yes!” you nod eagerly as you both start laughing in relief, his shaky fingers tagging the ring out of the box and sliding it to your finger gently, before he brings your hand to his mouth and kisses the ring.

Then he finally stands up and you basically throw yourself into his arms, kissing him like your life depends on it as he kisses you back with just as much force.

“I love you and I can’t wait to call you my wife,” he sighs pleased against your lips.

“Mm, another title in the line? Girlfriend, baby mama, fiancé and then wife,” you giggle giddily.

“You missed one,” he cocks an eyebrow at you slyly.

“Which one?”

“Love of my life.”

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!