#pinch raccoon

[pinchraccoon]

Pinch Reviews: Castlevania: Nocturne

I watched the new 8 episode series from Netflix and Powerhouse Animation, Castlevania: Nocturne. Nocturne serves as a stand-alone sequel to 2017's 4 season "Castlevania" from the same production hands.

While this Tumblr blog is to keep my followers up to date on the games that I've played lately, I have been slacking on my reviews and I am hilariously behind. This is to say, since my initial playthroughs of Rondo of Blood and Symphony of the Night, I've engrossed myself in the Castlevania series wholly, having played a total of 8 games in the series this year, and watched the initial series as well.

This review will come from someone who holds the games in very high regard, and *particularly* the stories and characters of Rondo of Blood and Symphony of the Night.

I'll be starting with a largely "spoiler-less" review of the series for those who would like to watch it, and it'll consist of about 1 paragraph of text.

Castlevania Nocturne is absolutely unrelated to Castlevania at large, with only tangential thematic or plot themes that connect it to the series' larger identity. While some might point to the presence of Vampires, Belmonts, and magic and say "well what else do you need?" I find many aspects of the series' identity in campy fun, but interesting and thoughtful instances of character writing the likes of which are seen in games such as Lament of Innocence and Aria of Sorrow, as well as the immense colorful, high-contrast visual style present in Castlevania media since the *very* beginning as elements that I lament the lack of presence of. At numerous points in the show, I thought "Why is this Castlevania? None of this is related to anything Castlevania? Why not just make an original property?" Which I personally find to be a damning sentiment, but I cannot fault the show for that which it doesn't do. To longtime Castlevania fans, you may find the show somewhat underwhelming. However, on a more general term, the show features more instances than not of choppy, flat animation, flat character writing, an irritating dialogue style, and underwhelming gore elements. However, they do *some* good things! There are a few characters who I could see viewers latching onto, and there's occasionally something cool that happens.

With that out of the way, I'll now be entering my *Very Spoilery Review*

First and foremost, Castlevania Nocturne's premise, while not completely and inherently distasteful, nor impossible to do in a way that's interesting, is done incredibly distastefully and uninterestingly. I am referring specifically to Nocturne's insistence on hilariously, absolutely wildly evil Vampires who "run the planet" essentially, who are motivated to put down the French Revolution because the existence of Democracy threatens the ease of the Vampire elite to control the Royalty of the world. I expressly don't think that this is a dumb, uninteresting, or distasteful idea inherently, HOWEVER, due to the nature of Vampires existence in their original literature and folk lore implications, it's incredibly easy to see the anti-Semitic, anti-immigrant inherent themes of Bram Stoker's "Dracula" all over it.

Again, I'd LOVE to see an idea such as this executed properly, however that isn't present here. Here's why. Nocturne features a cast of characters whose motivations are all in some way or another related to incredibly flat vampire characters who do nothing but kill for their entertainment and pleasure. I'm not calling for a reason to not kill the bourgeoise in the French Revolution, I just want a reason to latch onto the motivations of the characters in a way that isn't just "they're a different species than me and are also doing like, slavery and taxation and stuff and they killed someone close to me." Genuinely, EVERY SINGLE main cast member has someone who was killed by one vampire or another in the past, and while that works somewhat to unite the heroes emotional issues such that they can support one another (theoretically) it serves to illustrate the entire, sentient, living, vampire "species" as comically evil, wildly uninteresting, and most damning, caricatures of marginalized people being blamed for controlling all of human civilization. Which, to spell it out more blatantly to avoid the lack of nuance present on the internet, becomes uncomfortably synonymous with long-running theories of jews, or "lizard people" controlling government institutions.

I want to compare to Castlevania's own interpretation of Dracula as a way of demonstrating a "controlling vampire" done Right. Dracula has *very specific* *very pointed* origins and motivations that make him a far more compelling, and more than that, HUMAN, character who has a degree of feeling, despite the evil that he performs. Dracula does what he does because he's hurting, and he feels as though the world has turned and left all it's goodness behind, which, in his eyes, is the truth! It's not that he wants to control all of humanity, it's not that he wants to be worshipped as a god, it's that he just has beef, like people do.

Few to none of the vampires hold that same quality of "beef" in Nocturne. Most of the vampires don't speak, save for a few main heads of their movement, however, even these heads hold hilariously overblown, stupid, uninteresting, unsympathetic motivations that JUST serve to make me hate them on the notion that they're Objectively evil. Like, OF COURSE, I hate the Caribbean slave-owner vampire, and OF COURSE I side with Annette on hating him. He was a slave owner? Duh? You don't need to provide a thousand other scenes of the man being just flat out cruel in the interest of making me hate this man More. Half of his lines are belittling Annette, the other half is justifying slavery, and I'm not exaggerating.

Or, perhaps, consider the "main villain" of the show, Bathory. She's built up as "The Vampire Messiah" for FOUR EPISODES before we actually see her, and then when we do, FINALLY, get to see who this OVERWHELMING threat is, she just laments about, get this, HATING THE SUN. Of course she hates the sun, she's a vampire! That's the actual lamest conceivable motivation. Not to mention, she's insufferably annoying and isn't remotely entertaining to watch, nor are we ever sold on her power to any degree whatsoever other than a bunch of side characters saying "ah, well, she drank the blood of the Egyptian Goddess Sekhmet, so she's pretty strong, we would die for her." When your allegory for the ruling class is this comically evil in the "killing and maiming people" way as opposed to the "capitalist allegory" way, it reads as really wildly uncomfortable.

To summarize the last point, because of the commitment to making each and every vampire character comically evil, and the premise combined, it easily reads far too similarly to monster literature of the past which would seek to conflate the evils of the monsters in question with a specific demographic of people, which is uncomfortable to watch, and rather distasteful to write.

But my distaste for this show doesn't end there!

I'd like to discuss Annette. A lot of people are getting mad regarding "race swapping" or "omission of character in the interest of wokeness" which I think is a load of shit that I couldn't begin to entertain. I am not perturbed by the same things that those people are. Instead, I feel that the explanation of Annette and Edouard's backstory is incredibly poorly paced, and above all, gratuitous in their depiction of black generational trauma.

Annette in this series is an escaped slave who comes to France in search of a Belmont in order to hopefully be able to kill the Vampire Messiah who was foretold to increase the scale of the institutions of slavery that Annette had been fighting against for her entire life. I actually really like her motivation and how it reflects very real attitudes of Caribbean revolutionaries regarding how they felt about the French Revolution. But my main issues with the communication of her motives comes in the gratuitous depiction of a slightly dramatized form of the *very very real* trauma of slavery. This isn't like Toni Morrison's Beloved, or even something like Django Unchained, both of which don't shy away from detailing slavery in as gruesome of detail as possible for the purpose of demonstrating character as well as history. Nocturne demonstrates slavery comically, as it attempts to roll it's own fantasy elements in the same breath as their real-world slavery depiction. For example, the reason that Annette's mother is killed isn't related to the injustices of the notion of slavery in general, it's instead because her mother was practicing magic. I find that these elements in conjunction with one another create a dissonance that puts a bad taste in my mouth, all for the only real payoff to be such that Annette is knowledgeable of, and holds hatred to, the institution of slavery as well as magic.

It isn't a BAD thing to discuss, depict, or have subject matter related to slavery, that's absolutely not what I'm trying to say. What I feel that the issue here is is that a significant amount of the information and cruelty shown could have been omitted and the viewer would have the same understanding of Annette's character. Because they committed far more to demonstrating than was necessary for what elements they were attempting to explore, the incredible commitment to demonstration of black generational trauma feels gratuitous and somewhat cruel. Sorta like the writer is holding it over your head like "hey! you! did you know that slavery is ALSO bad when vampires do it? let me show you some just TERRIBLE subject matter to let you know!" Like, yes, I knew this already, slavery IS evil and is perhaps THE MOST evil, so we were already on the same page here.

This concludes my largest issues with the show from a standpoint of legitimate mishandling of social issues and sensitive subject matter, the rest is more about the show in general.

I don't entirely dislike the way that Richter is written on the macro scale in Nocturne, I feel that his very real connection to the Belmont Clan and the depictions of his mother Julia Belmont, as well as his grandfather, Juste Belmont (who I felt happy to see), was very interesting and worked to the themes. BUT: On the individual, what the character says level, I find Richter SO annoying. This is related to a larger dialogue writing issue with the show in general, which is the inclination to curse like a third grader who has just learned of what swearing is. The number of times that a character uses the term "fuck" or "fucking" purely to provide unnecessary emphasis to their sentence that was perfectly good without swearing comes of as flat out cringey. Now, I swear a lot! I'm not *against* swearing! But the way that Richter and every other character is written makes them all feel unbelievably annoying. Heroes, villains, everyone says "fucking" like it's going out of style! So much so that I might propose a drinking game where you take a shot every time there's an unnecessary use of the word "fuck" in a scene. Granted, I can guarantee you'll be wildly hungover the next day, so I can't recommend doing that.

One particularly damning scene is Richter's moment of personal growth this season, realizing that he has to fight with the whole of him to protect those who he loves, and has a cool fight scene with a bunch of vampires, in which he then says This:

GENUINE COP OUT. I cannot stress enough how every single character's childish inclination toward being edgy by swearing undermines every single character.

I'm beginning to ramble somewhat though, so let's touch on a few things that I think were good and bad, but don't have a ton to say about before we wrap up.

-Drolta is a cool character, and genuinely should have been the only main villain of the show. I also adore her character design.

-The action scenes lack interesting gore, which I felt was a overwhelming positive of the 2017 Castlevania series.

-The monster designs (and show in general) lack color, and it feels like a deliberate attempt to push against the legacy of the source material.

-The animation is excellent when characters are using whips, but very jarring in scenes of standing and speaking, or even in the use of magic.

-Tera is an awful mother figure character and I felt nothing when she was turned in the finale. It doesn't help that they only drew her face twice and copypasted it between scenes it feels.

-The romance plot between Richter and Annette appearing at the end of the show is the Most Forced shit I have ever seen, almost like the writers forgot that they were love interests in the original and decided that of All of the things they had to include that that was INDISPENSABLE.

-Richter, Annette, and Maria's dynamic as a group barely exists beyond each of them calling eachother "Wankers" "bastards" and other terms of endearment. It's a hollow and ineffective means of emulating the good writing that Trevor, Sypha and Alucard had in the 2017 series, and was that show's highlight.

-I like Edouard's arc of being a monster with a soul, and it DOES help to begin to demonstrate the theme of "the lack of absolutes in good and evil", which I'll discuss later.

-Olrox is excellent. He's written well, his motivations are kept close to the chest, and he's genuinely intriguing as a character. I quite like his motivation, I like his design, I like his voice, no he's great. Best part of the show, honestly. (and the only evidence thus provided [save for alucard] of a "not completely evil" vampire)

-again, the commitment to every character exaggerating their sentences by cursing like a child is unbelievably grating.

My final point is one related to whether or not I think that in it's current state the show is worth watching. Generally, with shows, I prefer that the show have some sort of thematic relevance that reflects the progress of the story, and while I can somewhat see elements of that being shown in the "absolutes of good and evil" theme explored by the Abbot, Olrox, and Edouard, nothing is actually done with this theme, and it only comes into contact with our main cast in the finale. As such, these themes are only seen in the same way that dramatic irony is set up, but not executed on. Because of the half-execution of this theme, I feel that the show feels hollow thematically, and feels as though absolutely nothing happens or changes for a single character throughout it's runtime.

In some ways, this show being 8 episodes is really fitting, as it feels like in any other anime when you watch a show to episode 8 and then stop watching, but in this case they didn't release or make the rest of the season, which will likely be released later on in a "season 2" that does literally anything at all to provide the themes or story elements any merit.

Personally, I think I would confidently call this show "unfinished." There is no "win" to match the characters growth, the little that they did, and I felt that I was left on a lazy cliffhanger because of arbitrary fail-states.

As a fan of Castlevania, this could not be further from its source material, as a fan of shows that are good, Nocturne also manages to fail.

It pains me to say that I don't think it's worth your time, as I really want people to get into Castlevania, but I really cannot stress enough that this show is not even close to a good demonstration of what the series is about, or what the series' themes are. Genuinely, I don't care if you don't care about the games, they are better than this show, which is hard to measure, because they're different mediums, but I'm confident in this assessment.

[sweetpeauserboxes]

[id: a light blue userbox with a pastel blue border and pastel blue text that reads "this user’s comfort character is pinch raccoon." on the left is an image of pinch raccoon from pb&j otter./end id]

[ur-fav-is-a-killjoy]

Pinch Raccoon from PB&J Otter is a Killjoy!!

Requested by: Anonymous

[bryan360]

Here’s my note before I’ll get started….

(NO COPYING OR PLAGIARIZING FROM ME AND ONE OF MY CLOSEST FRIEND’S WORK! THAT INCLUDES OUR CHARACTERS, DESIGNS, STUFF, ETC. IMPOSTERS AND SEXBOTS ARE NOT WELCOME TO FOLLOW MY BLOG WHATSOEVER! 😡 That will be all….I mean it.)

On This Day - April. 2nd, 2017

Just a fun throwback where I did my “PB&J Otter” fanart; featuring the kids of Lake Hoohaw playing in their Nintendo Switch system.

Very fitting as they used to race before; especially back in the soap box derby episode in Season 1. Do hope they’re never get into any fights; same goes to break their controllers.

BTW in a unrelated note, just the reminder for “The Super Mario Bros Movie“ will be coming in 3 days away. I asked my mom if we have much time to get there at the movie theaters. So she asked me that we’re going on Thursday instead. I hope that the case or else I have to go through avoid for a long time….unless getting the dvd copy. 🫤

Tagged: @murumokirby360 @carmenramcat @alexander1301 @rafacaz4lisam2k4

[keeganjeannotte23]

Pinch: Come on, Scootch! Let’s help each other taking apart this beautiful kite.

Scootch: Okay.

Taken from: Baby Butter’s Bankie (Season 2, Episode 19)

[frogtablestudios]

Bowless Pinch Raccoon

[nevesceramics]

a peek at one of my favorites from this little pottery batch... droppin' @ 1 PM CT this friday! 🦝💤 (shop link)

[lilacthebooklover]

my friend and I angsted Bossman Hero during a shitpost RP so hard that now when we derail a shitpost RP to angst we go "oh fuck we have another Bossman Hero moment on our hands"

AS YOU SHOULD, LEGENDS

look at this scrunkly little guy and tell me you don't want to whump him. see? you can't. he's too whumpable <3

[violetncee]

today, i am thinking abt some of yuri’s poems, and feeling soft abt ‘em, so!–

GHOST UNDER THE LIGHT PT. 2

the tendrils of my hair illuminate beneath the amber glow. bathing. in the distance, a blue-green light flickers. a lone figure crosses its path– a silhouette obstructing the eerie glow. my heart pounds. the silhouette grows. closer, closer, i open my umbrella, casting a shadow to shield me from visibility. but i am too late. he steps into the streetlight. i gasp and drop my umbrella. the light flickers. my heart pounds. he raises his arm.

time stops. the only indication of movement is the amber light flicker -ing against his outstretched arm. the flickering light is in rhythm with the pounding of my heart. teasing me for succumbing to this forbidd -en emotion. have you ever heard of a ghost feeling warmth before? giving up on understanding, i laugh. understanding is overrated. i touch his hand. the flickering stops. ghosts are blue-green, my heart is amber.

[dravidious]

You're the most amazing

creature!

I also filled the other 5 color pairs with various frogs

[solxamber]

Fairytales and Fever Dreams - Vil Schoenheit x reader

When you decide to beg a fairy for help at your lowest point, you didn't expect that he'd decide to help you— at the cost of you making skincare for him.

You’re a mage at the academy, and life has officially declared war on you. Seriously. You’re about this close to having a full-on breakdown, the kind where they find you cackling in the library while surrounded by half-finished spell scrolls. One more minor inconvenience and you swear, you’re going to walk out onto the quad, set fire to the herbology building, and just stand there, staring blankly as it burns, sipping tea.

And why? Because you have four—count them—four finals on the same day. You don’t know who pissed in the universe’s cereal, but apparently, you’re the one paying for it.

"Okay, it’s fine," you mutter to yourself while chewing on the end of a quill. "You just need one little miracle. Just a small one. Like, I don’t know, a meteor wiping out the school. Or the headmaster spontaneously combusting. Something normal like that."

But then, you remember the rumor—the kind of rumor people whisper about when they’re this close to a mental collapse. Oh yes, the whispered tale of the fairies in the forest at the edge of town. Supposedly, if you bring an offering to the fairies, they’ll grant you a wish. Any wish. No strings attached.

You snort. It’s probably a load of magical nonsense. But considering your current state of sleep deprivation (and let’s be honest, mild hysteria), you’re willing to give it a shot. Desperate times and all that.

So, you scrape together the fanciest honey and milk your student budget can manage, which is probably a 5/10 by fairy standards but hey, beggars can’t be choosers. You pack it up in a basket like some weird, broke Little Red Riding Hood and trudge out to the forest.

The second you arrive, you’re not even trying to be subtle or respectful about it. No, you go straight to begging.

“Please, fairies, PLEASE!” You fall to your knees dramatically, waving the basket around like you’re presenting some holy relic. “I’m begging you. I need help. I haven’t slept in three days, I’m running on a liter of coffee and sheer spite, and if I fail one more class, I’m gonna have to turn myself into a toad and live under a rock. Just—just one wish, that’s all I’m asking!”

It’s bad. Like, so bad, you’re half-expecting some animal to come along and put you out of your misery out of sheer secondhand embarrassment.

But then, there’s this rustling sound behind you, and when you look up, someone is standing there.

Correction: the prettiest person you’ve ever seen is standing there.

He’s tall, ethereal, and glowing—literally glowing, like he bathes in moonlight and stardust. His hair’s all silky and perfect, his skin looks like it’s never heard of acne, and the expression on his face tells you that he’s about two seconds away from calling security on you.

“Why, exactly,” he starts, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow that could cut glass, “are you kneeling in front of my forest and making this embarrassing display?”

You blink. Several things occur to you all at once:

1. Fairies are real. Huh. You thought you were just being insane.

2. Holy hell, he’s the most beautiful person (fairy?) you’ve ever seen.

3. Wait—his forest?

You quickly wipe the pathetic tears from your face and stumble to your feet. “A-are you… a fairy?”

“No, I’m a sentient dust bunny,” he deadpans. “Yes, of course, I’m a fairy. What are you even doing here?”

You hesitate. He’s giving off serious annoyed model on a runway vibes, and you’re not sure if he’s going to hex you out of his forest or just roll his eyes so hard that you get flung into another dimension.

“I, uh… finals,” you mumble, the tears starting to well up again. “Four finals. Same day. And I haven’t slept. I’m one failed exam away from permanently turning into a raccoon.”

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose like your existence is just too much for him. “And you thought the best course of action was to come here and… grovel?”

You nod pathetically. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

For a moment, he looks like he’s about to just walk away, leaving you to your breakdown. But then his eyes narrow, and he points at your backpack. “What’s that?”

“Huh?” You look down and see the sunscreen bottle sticking out. “Oh, uh, that’s just something I made. I’ve been working on a skincare formula for sensitive skin.”

He steps closer, plucking it from your bag with the grace of someone used to handling priceless artifacts. “Skincare, you say?” He opens it, sniffing it cautiously before dabbing a bit onto the back of his hand. His eyes light up for a second, and you swear you hear an angelic choir in the background. “Hm. Not bad. A bit of a lavender undertone. Smooth texture. SPF 50?”

You nod. “Y-yeah.”

He looks back at you, and for the first time since he appeared, you see the barest hint of approval on his face. “It’s hard to find good skincare products these days, even among the fairies.”

You’re not sure how to respond. Is this your life now? Trading finals survival for skincare tips with a beautiful fairy?

“Well,” he says, still admiring the product, “I suppose I could grant you one wish. One. But only if you agree to make more of these skincare products for me.”

“Really?” You blink, not entirely believing your luck. “You’ll help me?”

He gives you a sidelong glance, a smirk playing on his lips. “I don’t do charity. But your skincare is adequate. And it’s not every day I meet someone this close to unraveling. It’s almost entertaining.”

You stare at him, mouth hanging open like a fish. “Deal. Deal. I’ll make you whatever skincare you want, just get me through these finals.”

He gives a nod, satisfied. “Then we have a deal.”

And just like that, you’ve somehow bartered your way out of academic doom with a fairy obsessed with sun protection. Let’s hope this arrangement works out better than the rest of your life so far.

Apparently, fairies like Vil don’t believe in things like cheating or, you know, the basic decency of using magic to fix your problems instantly. No, that would be too easy. And Vil—your very pretty, very exasperating new fairy overlord—has decided that the best way to help you pass your finals is to tutor you personally.

His price? One skincare product per lesson. And you, being surprisingly decent at making potions and cosmetics (alchemy major, what else), agreed because, at the time, you thought, How hard could it be?

Sweet summer child. You had no idea what you were getting into.

Because Vil? He’s not just strict. He’s villain origin story strict. His “tutoring” is so intense, so grueling, that you’re starting to wonder if he’s secretly training you for some kind of sadistic mage boot camp. At one point, you fail a poison-brewing technique, and he makes you redo it. Then again. And again. And again.

By the fifteenth attempt, you’re seriously contemplating bottling the poison and taking a little sip just to see what happens.

“Again,” Vil says, his voice icily calm, like he hasn’t just been watching you fail for an hour straight.

“I think I’m seeing stars,” you mutter, staring at the cauldron. “Should potions be giving me a near-death experience?”

“Focus,” he says, completely unfazed by your descent into madness. “If you can’t even get this basic potion right, I have serious concerns about your competency as a mage.”

You’re on the verge of a mental breakdown. One more failed attempt, and you’re going to throw yourself off the nearest cliff. Or better yet—turn yourself into a toad and hop into a pot of boiling water. Anything to escape the relentless perfectionism of Vil Schoenheit.

“Maybe I’ll just hex myself into a mushroom and live out the rest of my life in peace,” you grumble under your breath as you stir the potion yet again.

“ What was that?”

“Nothing!” You stir faster.

To your utter shock, the potion finally turns the right color. You’ve done it. You’ve successfully brewed the poison, and it only took, what, half your lifespan?

Vil inspects it with a critical eye, and after a long, painful pause, he says, “Acceptable.”

“Acceptable?!” You want to scream. This is the culmination of blood, sweat, tears, and the remnants of your sanity, and all he has to say is acceptable?

“Yes, acceptable,” Vil repeats, as if your suffering isn’t the most amusing thing he’s seen all week. “You’ll need to refine your technique, of course, but this will suffice for now.”

You groan, head in your hands. “I’m going to transmute myself into a sock and live in someone’s laundry basket.”

But here’s the kicker: despite all of Vil’s strictness, he’s actually the nicest person (fairy?) you’ve ever met. You don’t know if that’s pathetic or straight-up depressing, but still, it’s true. He’s picky, yes, but he cares.

Apparently, Vil has a radar for poor life choices because one day, after what feels like your 57th failed poison attempt, he takes one look at the sad pile of instant noodles and energy drinks cluttering your desk and clicks his tongue in disapproval.

"You've been eating this?" He gestures at the disaster that is your meal—a cup of ramen sitting next to an open bag of questionable chips. His expression could curdle milk. "Do you actually value your internal organs, or are you trying to audition for the role of a trash panda?"

You blink, staring at your gourmet spread, and then back at him. "Excuse me, I’ll have you know, this is an advanced student diet. We run on caffeine and MSG."

He raises an eyebrow. "You’re not running on anything. You’re sputtering at best."

You open your mouth to argue, but then glance down at the pathetic excuse for food in front of you. Okay. Fine. Maybe you are sputtering. But what are you supposed to do, handcraft five-course meals between four finals and Vil’s poison-torture sessions?

Vil sighs dramatically, as if your very existence is a personal affront. "I’m not letting you continue this… self-destruction. You’re going to eat real food even if it kills you." He waves a hand, and suddenly a basket of the most beautiful, vibrant fruits and vegetables you've ever seen appears out of thin air. It's like the entire organic section of a high-end grocery store, but, you know, without the soul-crushing price tags.

"Where did you even get all this?" you ask, poking suspiciously at a particularly shiny apple. "Did you steal it from some enchanted Whole Foods?"

Vil glares at you like you’ve personally insulted his lineage. "I foraged it from my forest, you uncultured turnip."

You blink. "I’m a potato now, and a turnip? What’s next? Are we making a root vegetable salad?"

Vil rolls his eyes. "No, we’re making something that doesn’t resemble a cry for help. Get to it."

You sigh, but with Vil watching like a disapproving food critic, you figure you might as well try to impress him. You rummage through the basket, grab a few ingredients, and somehow manage to throw together a halfway decent stir-fry. You may be broke, but you can cook. It’s one of the few things that hasn't gone completely sideways in your life.

You serve it up with a flourish, smirking a little. "Voilà, a proper meal. Happy now?"

Vil inspects the plate with his usual level of judgment. You half-expect him to whip out a magnifying glass and start searching for flaws. Finally, he takes a bite, chews thoughtfully, and then gives you a rare, grudging nod of approval.

"Surprisingly competent for someone who survives on garbage," he says, in what you can only assume is Vil’s version of high praise.

"Wow, a compliment. I feel blessed," you deadpan, but you’re grinning. It’s not every day you get validation from a fairy with standards so high he probably judges oxygen.

Vil continues eating, and you join him, secretly proud of the fact that you managed to cook something that didn’t send him into a rant about toxins and poor life choices. For a moment, the two of you sit in companionable silence, just… eating. It’s weirdly nice.

After you both finish, Vil leans back, looking mildly satisfied. "If you continue to feed yourself like a proper human being," he says, "you might actually survive your finals."

"Yeah, well, if I keep spending time with you, I might also survive on sheer fear," you mutter.

He smiles, that rare, dazzling smile that makes your brain short-circuit for a moment. "Fear is a good motivator. But I expect more than just survival from you. I expect excellence."

You groan. "You know, for a fairy who showed up because of my embarrassing begging, you sure do expect a lot."

Vil just smirks. "You begged for help. I’m making sure you don’t embarrass yourself further by failing."

"Touché," you admit, stuffing another bite of food into your mouth to avoid further conversation.

You know, maybe being insulted by the prettiest fairy in existence while eating fresh, organic food isn’t the worst thing that’s happened to you.

But soon enough, it was back to work. After the food debacle, you whipped up a fresh batch of moisturizer for him. It’s something you’ve done a thousand times before, so you’re not expecting much.

Then Vil tries it. And his entire face lights up like you’ve just handed him the elixir of eternal youth.

“This is… impressive,” he says, his voice soft with genuine surprise. “It’s incredibly hydrating, and the texture is—” He pauses, then flashes you a smile that’s so dazzling, it practically sparkles. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

And then, out of nowhere, he leans over and kisses you on the cheek.

You freeze.

Your brain flatlines.

“Wha—Did you just—?”

Vil pulls back, completely unfazed by the fact that he just KISSED YOU. “If you continue to make products of this quality, I may have to keep you around longer.”

Your heart is still trying to restart, but you manage to nod. “Yeah… yeah, sure. Skincare. I can do that.”

You stare at him, wondering if this is real life or if you’ve just died and gone to some bizarre, fairy-run skincare hell. Because if that’s what’s happening, it’s starting to feel weirdly okay. Especially with the way he’s smiling at you.

And as you walk away, still reeling, you catch yourself thinking, Is dropping out of the academy to become Vil’s personal skincare maker really such a bad idea?

Honestly? With a smile like that? You’re starting to think it’s the best idea.

You’ve finally survived—ahem mastered—the hell that was poisons and advanced magical theory under Vil’s terrifyingly perfect supervision. You can now confidently brew lethal concoctions and analyze obscure spells without mentally cursing out every deity you can name. That’s progress. But of course, your next subject is Magical Beasts, and because life apparently hates you, it’s your worst one yet.

When you express this to Vil, expecting some helpful advice or perhaps even a break (hah, wishful thinking), he just waves a hand dismissively.

“I’ll ask a friend for help,” he says simply.

And that’s how you end up in the presence of the most extra fairy you’ve ever seen in your life. (Okay, you’ve met a grand total of two fairies, but still.)

The fairy in question bursts into your study room in a whirlwind of sparkles and sheer chaos, trailing a cloud of rose petals and the distinct scent of overly expensive perfume. He’s tall and elegant, his wings shimmering with iridescent hues, and before you can so much as blink, he’s speaking a mile a minute in a mix of French and pure gibberish.

“Mon cher! Quelle horreur! This room is an insult to aesthetics! Non, non, I simply cannot work in these conditions!” he cries dramatically, gesturing wildly at your meticulously organized notes.

You blink. “…What?”

But he’s already prancing around, rearranging your books and scattering glitter like some kind of deranged fairy godmother. Then, with zero transition, Rook starts rambling about magical beasts and their habitats in a way that has your head spinning. One minute he’s critiquing your choice of ink color (“Black? How dull!”), and the next he’s rattling off obscure beast facts with the enthusiasm of a caffeinated professor.

“The Hippogriff prefers moonlight baths! Ah, and the Knarl must be serenaded with music, or it will—how you say?—stab you!” he chirps, waving his delicate hands around in a way that seems more dangerous than helpful.

You’re sitting there, bewildered and slightly concerned for your sanity. “Wait, wait, wait, so—hold up, what do I do if a Knarl shows up in the daytime?”

Rook stares at you like you’ve just asked if water is wet. “Why, you run, of course!” Then he bursts into laughter, as if this is the funniest joke he’s ever heard.

By the end of the afternoon, you’ve lost count of the number of strange and sometimes horrifying tidbits he’s thrown at you. You’re pretty sure you’ve somehow become an expert in magical beast theory without consciously realizing it, and the sheer absurdity of the situation is enough to make you feel like your brain’s been hijacked.

“And that,” the fairy declares with a dramatic twirl, “is how you tame a Chimaera!”

You blink, staring at your notes, which are now a colorful mess of drawings, beast diagrams, and snippets of what you hope are actual instructions and not just fashion advice. “…I feel like I’ve learned a lot. But also absolutely nothing.”

“Perfect!” he crows. “You have done magnifique!”

Before you can process what the heck just happened, you decide to thank him the only way you know how: by giving him a small, beautifully-packaged vial of a custom serum. You’ve worked hard on this formula, combining the best of alchemy and skincare magic, and as soon as you hand it to him, his eyes go wide.

“Pour moi? C’est incroyable!” He clutches it dramatically to his chest, as if you’ve just gifted him a crown jewel. Then, without warning, he’s leaning in way too close, inspecting your face with an intensity that borders on obsessive. “Mon Dieu, you are a true artiste! So beautiful! So—”

“Excuse me,” a low, frosty voice cuts in.

You turn just in time to see Vil gliding over, expression smooth but eyes narrowed. With the grace of a professional diplomat (or maybe a particularly possessive cat), he slips between the two of you, placing a firm hand on the other fairy’s shoulder and gently guiding him away from your personal space.

“Thank you for your assistance, Rook,” Vil says with a polite smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “We appreciate your expertise, but I believe that’s enough for today.”

Rook pouts but finally relents. He throws one last, longing glance at your serum and then at you, as if you’re both equally captivating. “Ah, c’est dommage… I shall return!” With that, he flits off, leaving you standing there, more confused than ever.

You turn to Vil, raising an eyebrow. “Uh… thanks?”

But Vil isn’t looking at you like a savior. No, he’s looking at you like you’ve just betrayed his entire bloodline.

“Excuse me,” you ask, blinking in confusion. “Did… did I do something wrong?”

“You,” Vil says slowly, his voice dangerously soft, “are my skincare human.”

You stare at him. “Um. What?”

“Mine.” Vil’s gaze flickers pointedly between you and the direction Rook flew off in, his lips pressed into a thin line. “I did not agree to share your talents with anyone else.”

Oh. Oh.

“Vil,” you say, a grin spreading across your face despite yourself. “Are you… jealous?”

The way his expression shifts from imperious to indignant would almost be funny if it weren’t so incredibly satisfying. “Jealous?” he scoffs, tossing his hair back with a haughty flick. “Don’t be absurd.”

You glance pointedly at the pink tips of his ears, which are steadily darkening into a bright red.

“Riiight,” you say slowly. “Totally not jealous at all. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I’m not,” he insists, crossing his arms, but his voice is just a fraction too defensive.

“Sure, sure,” you say with a mock-serious nod, fighting to keep a straight face. “It’s just that, you know, your ears are kind of giving you away.”

Vil sputters, shooting you a glare that could melt glass. “You—!”

“I’m just saying!” you chirp, smirking as you lean back. “I’m your skincare human. Got it, boss.”

He narrows his eyes, but the flush on his ears betrays him. “Remember it,” he huffs, turning sharply on his heel. “And don’t you dare give away my products to anyone else without consulting me first.”

You watch him stalk off, your grin widening. Maybe studying under Vil isn’t so bad after all.

Finally, your last subject: Offensive Magic. You’re almost at the finish line, but there’s one little problem. Apparently, dueling Vil or Rook is a fast track to the afterlife, and you aren’t too keen on becoming a cautionary tale.

That’s how you find yourself facing off against the youngest of the bunch—a fairy named Epel. He looks as thrilled to be there as you are, which is to say, not at all.

“Vil made me do this,” he mutters under his breath, glaring at nothing in particular.

You quickly realize that Epel’s main emotion is mild resentment, which honestly? Relatable.

The duel begins, and you’re expecting something simple—maybe some low-level spells, something to pad out your barely passing grades. But then Epel smirks, lifts his hand, and suddenly, half the field explodes in a brilliant display of magic that has you rethinking your life choices. Like, seriously reconsidering everything that led you to this exact moment.

You’re left standing there, jaw practically on the floor as bits of dirt rain down around you. “Holy shit,” you breathe. “You’re so cool.”

Epel freezes. His eyes dart to you, clearly shocked by the praise, and he suddenly looks a lot less surly. “...Really?”

“Yeah! That was amazing! I didn’t even know you could do that!”

He rubs the back of his neck, trying to hide a smile. “Well, I’ve been practicing…”

And just like that, you’re friends. Bonded over the mutual understanding that Offensive Magic is both terrifying and awesome when Epel’s involved.

Later that day, after a lesson where you actually didn’t almost explode yourself (personal growth!), you, Vil, and Epel are lounging in the forest. Rook’s off doing...whatever mysterious thing he does, leaving you all in relative peace. You’re casually chatting about the lessons when Epel, totally offhandedly, drops the biggest bomb of the century.

“Yeah, well, you’re pretty lucky the king of the fairies decided to help you out.”

You blink. “The what?”

Epel gives you a look like you’ve just asked if the moon was real. “The king of the fairies. You know, Vil.”

You almost choke. “Vil’s the king of the fairies?” Your voice cracks like you’ve hit puberty again.

Vil, lounging nearby, doesn’t even flinch. “Didn’t I mention that?”

“NO. YOU DIDN’T.”

“Well, now you know.”

You stare at him, mind reeling. “I’ve been—wait—what in the Sevens—you’re the king of the fairies? And you just—casually tutor people? Like it’s no big deal?!”

Vil sighs, flipping through a book as if this is the most normal thing in the world. “I thought it was obvious.”

“It was not obvious!” You’re flailing at this point, and Epel is snickering behind his hand, clearly enjoying your existential crisis.

Vil’s still cool as a cucumber, but when you stammer, “No wonder you’re the most beautiful fairy I’ve ever seen,” you catch the faintest flicker of a smirk on his face. He straightens up just a little bit, clearly preening at the compliment.

Rook suddenly appears out of nowhere, laughing like he’s just witnessed the funniest thing in his life. “Ah! How charming! Our humble little mage finally sees the light!”

“Yeah, yeah,” you grumble, feeling your face heat up. “This is too much. My brain can’t handle this.”

The lesson ends, and you decide to thank Vil the only way you know how—by crafting him a night cream as a parting gift. You’ve gotten pretty good at making skincare, and you can tell he’s been eyeing this particular blend.

But then, in a rare moment of what can only be described as vulnerability, Vil hands you the jar and says, “Could you…apply it for me?”

You freeze. “Huh?”

He’s holding it out to you, but he’s not meeting your eyes, and—wait, are his hands shaking? You squint. Is he nervous?

Nah. Can’t be. Vil doesn’t do nervous.

“Sure,” you say, trying not to overthink it. You take the jar and start gently massaging the cream into his flawless skin. Vil closes his eyes, and for a moment, it’s almost…peaceful.

“You’re really good at this,” he murmurs.

You smile to yourself, oblivious to the emotional storm brewing inside him. “Thanks! I’ve been practicing.”

What you don’t realize is that this was your last lesson. Vil knows this. And for some reason, it’s hitting him hard. He’s spent all this time tutoring you, teaching you everything he knows, and now…you won’t need him anymore. You won’t come back. You’ll pass your exams and move on with your life, leaving him behind. And the thought of that—it stings more than he wants to admit.

Meanwhile, you’re completely unaware of his inner turmoil, humming to yourself as you finish applying the cream. “There you go. All set!”

You stretch, packing up your things, already mentally planning your next skincare batch for him. “Well, I’ll see you around, okay?”

“Wait.” Vil’s voice is soft, almost hesitant. You blink as he suddenly pulls you into a hug, catching you completely off guard.

“Uh…Vil?”

He’s holding you tightly, and when he speaks, his voice is a little sad. “Good luck.”

You frown, confused. “Why do you sound so sad? I'll pass my exams for sure after all your help.”

He doesn’t respond. You shrug and hug him back, giving him a gentle squeeze. “Alright, see you later, drama king.”

And with that, you stroll off, leaving Vil standing there, still holding on to the weight of his unspoken feelings.

Rook, watching from a distance, smiles knowingly. “Ah, how bittersweet…”

Epel just rolls his eyes. “Man, this is like watching a soap opera.”

You passed your exams. Scratch that—you topped them. You’re basically an academic legend now, leaving everyone wondering what kind of ancient god you made a pact with. The professors are whispering your name like you’re some ancient prodigy who’s been secretly acing exams since the dawn of time.

Naturally, you’ve decided to celebrate by making your magnum opus: the most legendary lip balm the world has ever seen. The kind of balm that could revive a dying star, or, more realistically, soothe the chapped lips of a certain fussy fairy.

With your glorious lip balm in hand, you set off to the forest to see Vil. The path is familiar, and yet, today something feels... off. The trees look droopy, the flowers are wilting—like someone forgot to water this whole section of the forest.

“Oh, great,” you mutter, stepping over a vine that looks like it’s given up on life. “Did everyone just forget what hydration is?”

When you reach Vil’s cottage, your gut instinct kicks into overdrive.

Something’s wrong. Really wrong. Your heart is racing. You knock once. Twice. Still nothing. Panic sets in, and before you know it, you’re knocking the door clean off its hinges in your haste.

“Oops,” you whisper, but there’s no time to dwell on it because you see someone on the bed. It’s Vil, and he’s looking about as far from his usual flawless self as you’ve ever seen. He’s feverish, pale, and frankly, it kind of looks like he's dying.

“Vil!” you rush over, shaking him gently. He opens his eyes, squinting at you like you’re an overly bright light in the middle of his fever dream.

“I didn’t know hallucinations could be so vivid,” he mumbles, his voice hoarse.

“What hallucinations? I’m real!” You’re practically crying now, shaking him harder. He just smiles faintly, completely convinced that you’re some fever-induced mirage.

Fantastic. Not only is he sick, but he also thinks you’re a figment of his imagination.

Frantically, you start brewing a cooling potion, your hands shaking as you mix the ingredients. Vil just watches you with a dazed, slightly amused expression, like he’s impressed that his hallucination has such a good grasp on potion-making.

“I’m real,” you repeat, as you pour the potion down his throat. He gives a tiny nod before slipping back into unconsciousness.

Cue full-on panic mode. You don’t know what’s happening or why Vil’s like this, so you do the only thing you can think of—you send a carrier pigeon to Rook, because of course fairies don’t have phones.

Rook shows up in record time, practically gliding into the cottage like some kind of majestic hunting bird. He takes one look at the pitiful scene—Vil feverish and weak, you hovering like an anxious mother hen—and smiles.

“Oh, he’s heartbroken,” Rook declares, as if that explains everything.

“Heartbroken?!” you echo, disbelief dripping from every syllable. “I saw him two days ago, and he was fine. How could he be heartbroken in two days?!”

“Ah,” Rook says, his eyes twinkling with dramatic flair, “fairies can only fall in love once, and when they do, they fall hard. He thought you wouldn’t return after your exams. He was suffering in silence, believing you’d move on without him.”

You stare at Rook, dumbfounded. “Is he blind?!” You throw your hands in the air. “I’ve been horrendously in love with him since day one! How could he not notice?”

Rook just beams at you, like you’ve confirmed his favorite romantic theory. “Ah, l’amour. So tragic, yet so beautiful.”

At this point, you’re ready to throw your hands up in frustration. How does Vil not notice? You’ve been making him skincare products, practically living in his cottage, and hovering over him like a lovesick puppy. Could he really think you were just going to leave? But of course, Vil—being Vil—had assumed you’d outgrow him and move on to something better, leaving him behind like a discarded serum bottle.

With renewed determination, you take care of Vil, nursing him back to health with potions and plenty of water. You even manage to coax him to eat something other than the fairy equivalent of air-dried kale. Slowly, he starts looking more like himself, his fever fading and his color returning. But when he finally wakes up, fully lucid, his eyes widen in shock.

“You... you’re real?” he whispers, staring at you like you’re some miraculous vision.

“Yes, I’m real,” you huff, crossing your arms. “And I made this.” You pull out the lip balm you’ve been working on, your prized creation. You swipe some on your lips and then lean down to kiss him.

Vil blinks, stunned into silence. After a moment, a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “That’s... a surprisingly effective balm.”

You grin, feeling the tension melt away. “Maybe you should test it again.”

Vil wastes no time, pulling you in for another kiss, his lips soft and cool from the balm. He kisses you a second time, then a third—because, well, it’s important to make sure the balm has long-lasting effects, right?

But then, you pull back slightly, the grin slipping from your face. “Vil, I... I passed all my exams. I even got an offer to move to the capital.”

Vil’s entire body tenses. His hands, still resting on your waist, tighten slightly as his eyes flicker with something you can’t quite place—fear? Dread? Whatever it is, it’s like a storm cloud settling over him.

“Oh.” His voice is soft, but there’s a weight to it, like he’s bracing himself for the inevitable. “I see.”

You can feel the tension in his body, the way he’s holding himself so carefully, as if preparing for you to tell him you’re leaving. That you’re going to take the offer and disappear from his life, just like he feared. He’s already trying to let you go, even as his hands tremble slightly against your waist. It hits you all at once—how terrified he must have been, thinking you’d leave him behind.

For a moment, you just watch him, your heart aching at the sight of his barely concealed distress. And then, finally, you say, “I declined the offer.”

Vil’s breath catches. His eyes snap up to yours, wide with disbelief. “You... you what?”

You smile, leaning in closer. “I declined. I’m not going anywhere, Vil. In fact...” You take a deep breath, your grin widening. “I’m opening a skincare shop right here, on the edge of the forest. And I’m going to live here. With you. No arguments.”

For a moment, Vil just stares at you, as if he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. Then, slowly, the tension in his body dissolves, replaced by pure, unfiltered relief. His hands, which had been shaking moments ago, steady as they pull you closer, wrapping you in a tight embrace.

“You’re staying?” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

“I’m staying,” you confirm, your heart swelling at the way he’s holding you, like he’s afraid to let go.

Vil presses his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as he takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I love you,” he murmurs, his voice so soft, you almost miss it.

Your heart skips a beat. You smile, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I love you too, drama king.”

Vil huffs out a small, breathy laugh, pulling you down into the bed with him, his arms wrapped securely around you. For a moment, everything is still, peaceful, as you lie there together, tangled in each other’s arms. Neither of you says a word, content just to hold each other, the weight of the past few days finally lifting.

And as you drift off to sleep, you can’t help but feel a sense of warmth, knowing that you’re exactly where you’re meant to be—by Vil’s side, where you’ve always belonged.

I'm so deeply in love with this man it's kinda embarrassing

Masterlist

[pinchraccoon]

Pinch complains about Castlevania art direction

how the fuck did konami go from this excellent Ayami Kojima classic box art

to THIS.

They did my boy so fuckin dirty, Soma and every character from Aria deserved to look better.

"oh, ayami didn't work on the DS games, she was working on the consle ones!" THERE WERE TWO OF THEM!!!!! Granted, yes! Those games *did* require character design work, and took a lot of time, but I feel like at MINIMUM, Dawn could have had A COVER produced by her?

What's worse, is that it's not like they flattened out the entirety of Dawn, in fact that game, whenever you don't see one of those "would be dubbed by 4kids" ass fuckin character sprites, looks GREAT!

Ayami Kojima (and Masaki Hirooka)'s style(s) best represent the sense of adventure and the poetry of the series' larger narrative. The intricate character designs, androgyny, and intense rendering style all served to really capture that feeling of "vampires and tragedy!"

I would even go so far as to argue that some of the traits from the more "Frazetta-esque" early games ARE reflected naturally in the progression from Rondo of Blood forward. A similar type of high contrast, gender celebratory, art that highlights that sense of Adventure.

And, to touch on Rondo of Blood, which is FAMOUSLY known for being far more "anime" in it's aesthetics than ANY other game in the series until four years later in symphony. THIS GAME plays it straight! It has charming, limited cutscenes that use the assets wisely.

It comes off as far more natural due to this game's incredible attention to detail in it's pixel art everywhere else. Because of the fact that this game's aesthetics are *rooted* where they're meant to be, and are trying to honestly convey events in greater detail it manages to be much more favorable in it's anime aesthetic.

Returning to Dawn of Sorrow, the only explanation, and the one that's been admitted to, is marketability. This aesthetic was selected because the Mid-00s saw the rise of a much flatter style of anime that could be more easily replicated, and the aim for quantity of art over quality of that art was clearly placed in high regard. It's anime slop because at the time, anime slop sold well, regardless of how it would age.

anyway, I'm streaming this game tonight

[raccoonfallsharder]

why. are all your rockets. so cute

i need to put him in my shirt pocket and keep him there forever. he can sleep on the pillow next to mine

government mandated summer fun

[sanjisleggy]

i just need more time to be loved by you (zoro x reader)

req: Could you please do a Zoro x reader (fem or gn)  where the reader is trying to plan a surprise thing for him and has been hanging around Sanji more to help get stuff prepared and in the process accidentally is ignoring Zoro. Zoro starts to worry that he isn't romantic or affectionate enough like Sanji and will loose the reader to him. Maybe Zoro even starts purposefully avoiding the reader like the mindset of 'if we don't talk I can't be broken up with'. Idk hurt comfort please make me cry but end nice 🩷

a/n: ngl i rubbed my hands together like a raccoon or smth when i was brainstorming for this req bc i’m just a sucker for hurt/comfort that isn’t dramatic hehe anyway thanks for 100 followers! :D i’ve been having a great time writing for one piece these past few weeks, everyone has been so kind :3c

contents: some suggestive content (16+ only ty!), insecure! jealous!Zoro, suspicions of cheating (but no actual cheating ofc), miscommunication, hurt/comfort and reverse comfort, angst to fluff

wc. 3.9k

wanna be on my taglist?

i. 

for the first time in over a year, Zoro wakes up in an empty bed.

the absence of a familiar weight resting on his chest nearly startles him awake, his brain skipping over the initial first few minutes of grogginess most feel when they’ve just woken up. he runs his hands over your side of the mattress before crawling over it just enough to check if you’re on the floor. 

it dawns on him, in that moment, that this is the first time you’ve gotten up and left before him since you began seeing each other. usually Zoro would be the one waking up at the break of dawn to get some early morning training in, always carefully taking a few minutes to lift your sleeping form off his body and place you back on your assigned end of the bed without waking you. it never seems to matter if you went to bed cuddling or not, somehow, throughout the night, you always find your way on top of him.

setting aside the foreign feeling in his stomach, Zoro decides to go look for you–he tells himself he’s just curious about the reason for your absence but the part he won’t admit is that he just misses seeing you first thing in the morning. 

it doesn’t take him long to find you, catching a glimpse of your back when he’s walking past the open kitchen door. before he can decide to get your attention, however, Zoro realises you’re not alone.

in front of a counter upon which is laid half-used utensils and uncooked ingredients stands you and the crew’s one and only chef. you’re both deeply engaged in a conversation spoken in a volume low enough that the swordsman can barely make out any of the words. he does, however, notice that you’re wearing Sanji’s favourite apron–it’s a tad too long for someone of your height, or maybe the stupid chef just has freakishly long legs, who knows? –and it causes his heart to stir in a way he struggles to describe to even himself.

if Zoro had to choose a past feeling that comes the closest to comparing, it would have to be when he’d challenged Dracule Mihawk to a duel and lost.

“oh, no, my sweet,” Sanji finally says something loud enough for Zoro to hear from behind the two of you. “you’d want to pinch it more than just squish it,” he continues before repositioning himself behind you to demonstrate. it’s hard to see exactly what the two of you are doing but it’s clear to the swordsman that the pervert chef’s most likely cupping your hands in his to guide your movement with whatever dish you’re seemingly making together.

Zoro isn’t surprised that you don’t try to push Sanji away in any capacity, not due to any lack of trust between him and you but because you’ve always been a very physically affectionate person. it was one of his first impressions of you when you joined the crew at the behest of Luffy. it was common on the Merry–and still is on the Sunny–to see you hugging, holding the hands or even kissing the cheeks of your companions in the most platonic sense. it’s just the way you show your happiness.

although every bone in Zoro’s body is screaming at him to storm in and tear Sanji away from you, a sudden realisation washing over him roots his feet to the ground.

is this what you actually need from me? if i touch you more, would you need it less from the others?

the swordsman can’t help but recall how just last night you’d kept bugging him for pre-sleep cuddles but he pushed your needy hands away every time.

“it’s too hot and humid tonight for that,” he grumbled after you frowned at his rejection.

“you’ve been saying that for the past two weeks,” you whined, wiggling around your side of the bed in protest.

“well, too bad the weather’s just been too hot. it’s not my fault.” he shrugged. when your frown only deepened, he decided to give you a few forehead kisses as compensation. “now stop being a brat and go to sleep.” 

Zoro walks away from the kitchen, opting to leave you and the chef alone; and wonders if you would’ve been in bed this morning when he woke up had he caved in and given you the cuddles you so wanted just last night.

he only sees you again when the sun’s started to set and all of the Straw Hats begin to gather for dinner. instead of taking your usual seat beside him, you end up serving him a plate of onigiri with a wide grin on your face instead.

“here’s your serving, my love,” you say with a satisfied hum that only serves to confuse the man. surely these are just the usual onigiri Sanji occasionally makes for meals, right? “how does it taste?” you ask after he takes a bite.

it tastes richer today and the rice is fluffier.

“it tastes the same as always.” the swordsman shrugs, physically incapable of praising anything remotely made by the crew’s dedicated cook. “why?” he adds when he catches the way your smile falters at his reply.

“nothing, it’s nothing.” you lean over to kiss his temple. his heart has been so deprived of your affection for the entire day that the simple gesture is enough to make him forget about your faltering smile from just mere seconds ago.

ii.

the next morning, after the Thousand Sunny has docked at a new island, Zoro wakes up yet again to an empty bed. this time, though, he wastes no time getting up and jumping into the shower after remembering a specific conversation from a week ago.

“we should go out on a date when we reach the next island,” you’d said, your bare sweaty chest sticking to his as you rested on top of him after an eventful night together.

“whatever you want,” he’d hummed in agreement as he rubbed your sides and back in an attempt to soothe the parts of your skin he’d been a bit too rough with. “we can even go right after we dock.”

rushing out the door of your shared quarters, green locks still dripping with water, Zoro makes it out just in time to catch you alighting the Sunny with two of your fellow Straw Hats: Chopper and, much to his dismay, Sanji. the three of you walk towards the bustling town together with the reindeer in between you and the chef with one hoof holding your right hand as his other holds Sanji’s left. 

Zoro feels the same stirring sensation from yesterday in his chest, except this time its intensity has increased tenfold. a bitterness forms in the back of his throat when he realises, if he wasn’t really paying attention, how much the three of you look like a family: a mother, a father and their child.

for a split second he imagines the kind of future you could have with someone like Sanji–someone who could provide for you and your children in a more meaningful way than a swordsman can. after all, what’s the point of teaching your kid how to wield a sword if you can’t even feed them properly, right?

a part of Zoro considers catching up to your little group and grabbing the basket from your other hand to replace it with his own. it would be a foreign experience to him, not usually being one to initiate even something as simple as hand-holding—aside from the times when your lives were being threatened and he needed to make sure you escaped safely with him.

the swordsman feels his face heat up at the thought of holding your hand for no reason other than the action itself. he tries to recall the last time you wormed your hand into his, intertwining your fingers with his calloused digits. Zoro remembers how soft your skin felt, how cold your hand initially was before it was engulfed in his warmer palm, and his heart skips a beat. 

by the time he snaps himself out of his reverie, he realises you’re nowhere to be seen.

”what’s bothering you, swordsman?” a familiar voice speaks from behind him. without turning around, Zoro simply shrugs in response.

”i don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

he hears Robin chuckle before he feels her hands sprouting from his shoulders to gently turn him around. though he really doesn’t want to talk about his feelings to the archeologist, he decides it’s better to comply than to fight it.

her arms are crossed as she looks at him with a smile. Zoro can’t help but compare her expression to that of a person seeing a pitiful baby animal struggling with eating solid foods for the first time—they know the only thing they can really do is watch.

”i think you should talk to her. you won’t know what she’s thinking unless you ask.”

Zoro curses under his breath. had he really been that obvious with his pining? how pathetic he must look to the rest of his crewmates.

how pathetic.

still, he can’t deny that she’s right—Robin always is, most of the time. he knows he’s been making a lot of assumptions lately and it’s not fair to either of you; and yet when he thinks about sitting you down to hear your actual feelings, he fears that not only will he be unable to offer you what you need, you would realise it as well.

would it really be the end of the world? if we go back to just being friends? 

Zoro’s lived his entire life up to this point without any romance, having deluded himself into thinking that any relationship—platonic or romantic—wouldn’t serve his goal of being the best swordsman. if anything, it would only be a distraction. he’d made it far in life with this belief and then, of course, he had to meet Luffy and subsequently: you.

he realises then that he can’t remember what it’s like not being your partner; to not have the privilege of being the one who sleeps beside you every night, to touch and hold and kiss you in ways only appropriate behind closed doors. when he thinks about his future as the world’s greatest swordsman, he can only imagine it with you by his side. it wouldn’t be the same otherwise.

maybe… if we just never talk about this, i can be yours for a little while longer. with a bit more time, maybe i can convince you to keep loving me.

iii.

a few days later, on the morning of the day you’ve been anxiously preparing for for a week now, you wake up, once again, to an empty bed and your heart sinks lower than it did yesterday.

Zoro has been waking up earlier these past few days and you’re unable to find out why. anytime you try to look for him during his usual training hours, you struggle to even find him, let alone spend time with him. for some reason that even the others are unsure of, he’s been training in odd places around the Thousand Sunny, seemingly forgoing the crow’s nest altogether. on the off chance you do manage to run into him, he’ll give you some random excuse for why he “can’t talk right now”.

”Luffy needs me to run some errands.”

”i have an appointment with the local blacksmith.”

”i think i see Chopper drowning.”

clenching your fists in your lap, you stay sitting in bed for a while longer, your heart pounding faster and faster no matter how hard you try to calm it down. you feel your eyes begin to burn with tears as you come to the realisation that maybe Zoro isn’t interested in you anymore. 

under your breath, you curse at whatever god is listening for their horrific timing. you’d spent the past week with Sanji and Chopper meticulously planning for tonight’s surprise birthday picnic and now you’re not sure if you’ll be able to convince your boyfriend to even look at you.

mind racing, you try to recall if you’d done anything to remotely upset him lately but you draw a blank. if anything, you’ve been spending more time away from Zoro in order to maintain the secrecy of your plans but surely that’s not what he’s upset over, right? wouldn’t he have welcomed the me-time with open arms?

finally deciding that it’s really not the time to be overthinking about this, you wipe away your tears and get ready to freshen up for the day. you and the others have put in too much effort into tonight to just throw it all away so you decide that no matter what, you will see it through, even if it ends up being the last time you spend with him as his partner.

iv. 

Zoro’s on the verge of falling asleep whilst sitting upright in bed when the door to your shared quarters bursts open and startles him awake. before he can beat the crap out of whoever it is, Nami’s frantic shouting freezes him in place.

”(Y/N)’s been taken!” his throat tightens as he feels his heart drop and his skin go cold. “quick you need to hurry!” the navigator yells. instinctively he grabs his three swords and leaps out of bed towards the door, more of the Straw Hats coming into view as he exits the room.

”you fucking dumbass mosshead!” Sanji shouts, furious, “sweet (Y/N)’s been kidnapped and you’ve been asleep this whole time?!”

”i-i last saw her being taken away towards the southmost cliff,” Chopper sobs, words muffled by his hooves as he frantically rubs away his never ending tears.

”remember, Zoro,” Sanji grabs the swordsman’s shoulders firmly, “southmost. SOUTH. it’s literally the closest cliff to the dock.”

it does cross Zoro’s mind that the chef’s acting fucking weird but right now isn’t the time for that. without a word, he takes off, running as fast as his legs can carry him toward what he hopes is the right direction. once he’s out of earshot, the Straw Hats let out a collective sigh.

”do you think he’ll make it?” Nami asks no one in particular.

”seeing as he really thinks (Y/N)’s in danger, i’d say so,” Robin replies.

”well, at least we have Usopp keeping an eye on him,” Sanji adds, “if mosshead really gets lost, we can at least rely on Usopp to get him back on the right track.”

a moment of silence passes as they all watch Zoro gradually disappear from view—all except for the sound of Chopper’s sobbing.

”he’s not here anymore, you don’t need to keep crying, Chopper,” Nami says to the doctor. he sniffles as he pulls his hooves away from his face, revealing a mess of snot and tears. 

“i-i know,” he chokes, reaching out to hug Robin’s leg, “i was faking it at first but now i’m scared something will happen and they really do break up.” Chopper lets out another cry, smooshing his face into the archeologist’s pants as he wonders if this is what children feel like when their parents get divorced.

“don’t be silly,” Nami leans down to pat his head, “i’m pretty sure hell would freeze over first before they decide to break up. besides, once Zoro sees all the stuff (Y/N)’s prepared, i think that’ll be the last thing on his mind.” 

v.

the swordsman barely thinks about where he’s going as he makes his way to you, his legs carrying him through twists and turns as though they have a mind of their own. all he can really focus on right now is the sound of his scabbards clicking against one another and the way you’ve been looking at him these past few days.

how your smile would melt away when he gave you another half-assed excuse to leave. how he felt you lingering a distance behind him so many times before your presence disappeared without saying a word. how just last night it seemed like you wanted to ask him something before going to bed, your mouth opening and closing as you laid down beside him, head turned just enough for your eyes to meet his. he’d almost asked you what’s wrong but before he could, you simply shook your head and turned around to go to sleep with your back facing his way.

i’m sorry. i’m sorry i kept avoiding you. i’m sorry i hurt your feelings.

Zoro takes a sharp left turn before he’s halted in his tracks when an entire tree branch falls just a few steps in front of him. before he can manoeuvre his way around the unexpected obstacle, he realises he’s going the wrong way; so he turns around.

i just needed more time to think. i just wanted a bit more time to figure out how to fix myself for you.

through the darkness of the night, his eyes catch a glimpse of light as he nears the edge of the forest that leads to the southmost cliff of the island. heart pounding rapidly in his chest as he continues to run, Zoro readies himself for a fight, to shed as much blood as necessary to bring you home without so much as a scratch on your skin. 

please be okay. this can’t be how it ends for us. i need to tell you that i—

he comes to a sudden stop, the inertia from running at top speed causing him to nearly stumble forwards. still panting heavily as he holds his unsheathed swords by his sides, Zoro simply stands there wordlessly as his eyes take in the sight before him.

you’re by yourself, sitting cross-legged on a large picnic blanket with a large array of food and bottles of alcohol surrounding you. you’re wearing a dress he’s never seen before but it fits you perfectly and he wonders if you’d gotten it just for tonight. you simply smile at Zoro as you wait a good while for the truth to fully dawn on him; to be honest you didn’t expect him to show up so frazzled and upset.

”happy birthday?” you eventually say, unsure yourself why the phrase comes out sounding like a question. still donning a look of shock on his face, Zoro sinks to his knees, dropping his swords onto the grass. he furrows his eyebrows, clearly deep in thought and your own eyes widen when you realise— “did you forget today’s your birthday?”

”i…” he murmurs, “… yeah, i forgot.” he swallows thickly. “is this all for me?”

”of course it is,” you can’t help but laugh a little as you reply, still unable to wrap your head around the fact that he truly did not see this coming at all. “i spent the whole week getting ready for this.”

Zoro feels a pang in his chest.

”you’re not breaking up with me?” he asks, stunning you into silence. for a second you think he’s trying to make some kind of sick joke but you know him well enough to tell from the way he’s staring at you so intensely that he’s being completely honest. “i thought…” the swordsman steadies his voice as best as he can, unable to help the words he’s been keeping hidden from spilling out of his lips, “you’d fallen out of love with me. i thought you just didn’t want to be around me anymore.”

you feel your eyes burn with tears as you hear your own thoughts being spoken aloud in his voice. your bottom lip quivers as you feel an odd mix of relief and sadness wash over you. upon seeing you cry, Zoro scrambles towards you until he’s within arm’s reach.

”no, no,” he clumsily wipes away your tears with the pads of his thumbs as he cups your face in between his hands gently, “please don’t cry. don’t be sad.” you place your own hands over his, keeping them held to your face as you give him a wobbly smile.

”i’m not sad, you silly man,” you reply with fresh tears still running down your face. “i’m so relieved. this whole time i thought you were going to break up with me.”

”what made you think that?” Zoro can’t help but speak with a hint of indignance in his voice.

”you’ve been avoiding me the past few days,” you sniffle, the sound alone twisting his heart even further. “i thought you’d gotten sick of me or something but i didn’t wanna waste all the effort me and the others put into tonight so i thought we could at least have one last date together before you break up with me.” you feel his hands tense up as you speak before a frown spreads across his handsome face once you finish saying your piece.

”i could never,” he responds resolutely, as though offended by the mere idea of ever falling out of love with you. Zoro admits he’d been dodging you in order to avoid being broken up with. “i just thought,” he says, face turning red as he realises how dumb it all sounds now that he’s saying it out loud, “that if i didn’t give you the chance to leave me, i’d have more time to fix myself… to have more time being yours.”

”what’s there to fix?” you can’t help but ask, turning your head ever so slightly to press a kiss against the palm of his right hand. you smile when you notice Zoro’s already blushing face turning a deeper shade of red. “i already love every part of you. don’t you ever dare think again you need to change.”

you let out a squeak of surprise when Zoro lunges towards you without warning, tackling you into a tight hug. his hand reaches out to cushion the back of your head as you fall backwards onto your back with him laying on top of you. running his fingers through your hair, the swordsman gazes down at you warmly as he just now registers the smell of onigiri and sashimi.

”you made all this for me?” he asks in a soft voice, his breath brushing against your face. you nod, smile growing even wider when he leans down to kiss the tip of your nose. “is that why you were hanging around the shitty chef so much?” 

you hum affirmative in response, unable to help the racing of your heart as you bask in the sudden display of physical intimacy he rarely shows you outside of the bedroom. you wonder if he can feel your rapid heartbeat from how closely his chest is pressed against yours.

”the onigiri from earlier this week was my first attempt at making it,” you share before you feel Zoro start to pepper kisses all over your face.

”i lied when i said they tasted the same,” he admits, the occasional syllable muffling from when his lips make contact with your skin. “they tasted really good. i just thought the shitty cook made them so i lied.”

”oh really?” you chuckle as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. “i hope you like the ones i made today then.” Zoro brushes the tip of his nose against yours.

”i’d love anything you make for me,” he mumbles before capturing your lips with his own, pulling away only when his lungs begin to scream for air. “thank you for the surprise, (Y/N). i love you.”

”love you, too.” 

—

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[keeganjeannotte23]

What a great summer trip for you guys!

[frogtablestudios]

Pinch happy to see Peanut (PB&J Otter)