#spinning guild things

[needlesandnilbogs]

Anytime I talk to you I feel like I’m talking to a celebrity so when we have a fluent conversation in agreement I stop trying to be very respectful and not scare you off but like you’re very cool but I’m so nervous cuz like ur super respected and like ur a celebrity in my eyes and I’m a silly kid who wants to interact

-chaos

(Sending this to the three older I feel about this way: Jay ✅, Bardic [you] ✅, Mars …)

thank you for the compliment!

the thing is, I’m familiar with what it’s like to be a [community] young, both irl and online, and it’s still like this for me. The first time the choir folks in middle school treated 13 year old me (newly old enough to join the adult choir) as a peer, I think I freaked out to my mom in the car afterwards (and it *definitely* happened again when I was 17 and could finally make an in-person spinning guild meeting rather than zooming in every other Saturday, because I basically had a bunch of fiber thrust in my face by guild friends excited to share their love with me)

these multigenerational hobby spaces are important! Generally you’re joining without your parents, which means you get listened to and respected as a peer and not as a little kid, and you also get a lot of grace and advice from older folks who have already gone through similar stuff. And as you continue on in that community, you become an old friend while still being a young person

related personal anecdote: so there are a handful of people my age on the murderbot server who all joined about two and a bit years ago (four or five core folk, really, although technically there’s a few more. for the purposes of what I’m talking about, this is the crowd of then-teens who joined around summer 2022: me, @mercurialfeet , @just-a-lonelypenguin , and @ilovedthestars ). We’re all within a couple years of age, 4-5 years younger than the next youngest people, and probably 10 to 15 years younger than most of the other usual denizens of the hanging-out-talking-life-update channel.

We’re going to be the server babies forever. That’s not in question, apparently. We’re also valued and respected community members who make good points and contribute often and have friends both in and out of our age group, and who just happen to have different life experiences. Most of the time there are ZERO issues and really the only time age comes up is when we talk about college or when someone (cough cough @hbbisenieks and wolf cough cough cough) brings up things and they can’t believe we don’t know. (Also sometimes it comes up when server newbies get surprised by us being college students)

what I’m saying is, yes, you’re young. But that doesn’t make you unworthy to be a peer, or silly, or not deserving of the same respect, or someone who should be scared, or whatever. You’re learning to be a person just like everyone else your age (and beyond), and I’m honored to be a part of a community with you!

[ace-baker-rae]

Linen and wool aren't just opposite when made into a textile, they're opposed when spun as well. The easiest way to spin linen is to get you feeding hand wet regularly. When wetted, the fibers release a kind of mucus? gel? (I don't know what exactly it is, but it's what earned wet flax seeds the moniker "devils glitter" in my bakery days) that allows for a better spin. Linen also needs to be prepped on a distaff if you don't want to be driven insane. It tangles so easily as fiber, that you really only want the twist and water to bind it together. And once it's spun, to get it to something that you would want to have near your skin, it needs to be treated. At the most extreme, this is a caustic chemical bath, but I've known people to use hot/boiling water and just beating the crap out of it.

Every one of those things is terrible for spinning wool. Wet hands and/or fiber with wool? Nightmare. No cohesion except for the twist at the last second? When the best thing about wool is the micro-scales? Why would you do that. And treating wool yarn or fabric with a chemical bath or hot water and agitation? Congrats! you made felt.

At least where I am, they're also ready at different times of year. Linen is a after harvest thing (unless you have the dry storage needed to keep it over winter) and you shouldn't shear your sheep right before winter. But I'm not super familiar with sheep shearing patterns around the world.

Like, linen is an insane thing to spin just in general, it's notoriously difficult. Even getting the linen fibers from the flax plants is crazy. I can't imagine deciding to spin it with wool, which has a pretty low barrier for entry.

listen to me very very closely: the biblical prohibition against mixing linen and wool is the most SENSIBLE THING IN THE WORLD, do not write it off as silly, unreasonable, or unnecessary. g-d didn’t tell us not to mix linen and wool for no reason, g-d told us not to mix linen and wool together because mixing them is an affront to textiles

[nejackdaw]

morthal and markarth for the skyrim asks!

Ty for the ask! 💞

Morthal - Do you enjoy exploring dungeons and ruins? Why or why not?

Kinda depends tbh. Dungeons with multiple rooms absolutely FULL of enemies encourage a more stealthy approach, and while I'm a capable stealth archer, it's not my preferred play style, so it can be a bit unfun. The alternative, however, is the ENTIRE DUNGEON hearing me engage in melee and swarming me at once, which. Also isn't fun. Ultimately I guess the answer comes down to "depends on the number of guys in there" and "how likely is Marked For Death to solve the entire issue?" Skyrim is basically the only game where, when given a choice, I'll choose martial over caster or archer, but this can be a problem in packed dungeons. I like single or few guy brutal slugfests where we just beat the shit out of each other. Also then I can just take a break to throw up my shield and watch Celann materialize to OHKO them, which fills me with glee literally every time

Markarth - If you could rewrite one questline in Skyrim, which would it be? (This answer is sooooo long btw)

Hmm... I'm actually not too interested in a lot of them, but when it comes to being disappointed in one, it's the Civil War questline. The entire thing amounts to "use your main character powers about 5 times in a dungeon or something and then go fight the oppositional leader." You can't even fix Whiterun, a place you specifically took for its geographical, strategic, and mercantile advantage. You just leave it in ruins???

There are two quests in the entire line that aren't just "awkwardly storm this place with a couple guys,' and one of them is optional. Both sides have a "steal/plant enemy orders" quest, but the "gaining intel/blackmail" quest is in both cases entirely optional. There's one non-combative "sneak and find this document/gather intel" quest, and no "root out a traitor" or "disrupt a supply line" type quests (technically this one is awkwardly tacked onto the end of the optional quest.) The Dark Brotherhood, Dawnguard, and Thieves Guilds have similar respective quests that we can compare to the 1.5 non-combative Civil War quests: finding intel on Maro's son, the radiant "vampire advisor" quests, basically the entire beginning TG questline (Honningbrew, Goldenglow hives.)

Each of these questlines involve non-typical quests, aka quests where you have to approach it a little differently than the rest of your work: the Brotherhood stealing documents and planting false evidence like thieves, the Dawnguard committing assassinations and pickpocketing orders like both the Brotherhood AND the Guild, the Guild quest where you engage not only in open combat with Mercer, but kill him, like both the Dawnguard and, well, the Brotherhood Brynjolf insists you're not.

While those questlines are largely the same sort of quests on repeat, it's because they're, well, specialized guilds. Built entirely around doing those things. That's their entire function. When it comes to a war (which is very NOT a guild,) you'd expect a bit more than just a few skirmishes, especially considering the only thing that changes when you join is, well. There's one more guy in the skirmish. But magically this turns the tide and the entire war is won through brute force when previously there seemed no end in sight. The questline lacks variety, is incredibly, oddly short for what's supposed to be a war, and generally just... lacks impact. Nothing really happens afterwards. Faction camps are still sitting around, and you still can't even clear them. Hold guards are replaced by the faction that won and Whiterun is permanently in shambles. Can't even fix Whiterun ffs there's not even quests for that.

* After leaving this in the drafts for a few weeks and thinking about it some more, I think ultimately the problem IS the brevity. "Do four battles and suddenly we win" is absolutely insane. The Dawnguard DLC and the Thieves Guild, even the one single time I played it, have spoiled me rotten with the never ending radiant quests. It prevents the Companions feeling of "I joined three days ago and now I'm in charge and everyone does what I say" that throws everyone off. Not only can you keep accepting them, the mainline quests don't get in the way of accepting them (... like the Companions only telling you to go talk to Aela.) This means you can keep accepting radiant quests that provide a feeling of integration and contribution (in)to the guild, and also avoids the Companions and Civil War feeling of "I did three quests and it's over and everyone is bowing to me" by allowing you to do guild things in-between the main quests.

Not only that, but they offer a variety the main line might not provide, especially with the Dawnguard. For example, siding with the Volkihar includes a quest where you're given Dawnguard armor and told to go cause a scene, striking down some innocent civilian in the name of "vampire hunting" to sow public distrust. This quest is cool as fuck conceptually btw, why is a Volkihar radiant cooler than the entire CW line???

Ultimately I think if I could change one thing about the Civil War line specifically it would be adding TG/DG style radiant quests that can be done between main missions and also include "milestone" type quests that really bring home the feeling of growth and contribution. I think it would make it feel considerably less jarring and I'd even maybe consider playing it again if we could fix Whiterun.

[short-honey-badger]

Older Men

Pairing! Crocodile x Reader

Warnings! Drinking

Crocodile realizes that you need someone older to take care of you, not the boys that you seem to want.

Masterlist

You fast walk through the tall tents of Buggy Town, arms wrapped tight around yourself and head ducked low so that no one else could see the tears streaming down your face. You'd been rejected again, by the third man in less than three weeks. All you wanted was a little companionship, someone to hold you close at night. To kiss you good morning when you woke up. Was that so wrong to want from someone your own age?

You don't notice how close you've gotten to Crocodile's side of the town until you physically bump into the man himself. You grunt when you lose your balance, and you brace for a fall that never happens. Instead, you feel warm sand supporting your back and upper arms, gently setting you back on your feet, and dangerously close to the ex warlord.

���Pretty things like you should watch where they are going,” Crocodile grouches lowly, and you look up at him through wet lashes.

“Sorry, sir. I'll be more careful,” you murmur, and fresh tears spout up at the reprimand. Now look at what you've done. Gone and pissed off one of the leaders of the Cross Guild.

Crocodile looks down at you, looking rather unimpressed with the thick cigar clenched between his teeth. He recognizes you and has seen your walk of shame back to his side of town each time your little date didn't go as planned. He didn't understand why you would want to waste your time on pip squeaks like them when he has been here this whole time.

The devil fruit user comes to the conclusion quickly and spins on his heel, “Come with me.”

You blink at his retreating back and jump to follow after him when he glances over his shoulder with an expectant look. You follow him to the edge of the town, and he steps to the side to allow you inside his personal tent first. You're just a little nervous being in here. You've known Crocodile for a while, after all.

He breezes past you, stopping at his desk to pour two glasses of dark liquor. He pushes one glass to the edge, an obvious offer that you are hesitant to accept. However, it's never a wise choice to not accept anything that the towering man offered.

The liquor burns as it goes down, but you find yourself relaxing because of it. You watch as Crocodile hums in satisfaction and sits back in his chair, mouth going a bit dry at the way he spreads his legs and rests his dangerous hook on his thigh.

“Why do you bother with those boys?”

You jump at the unexpected timbre and whip around to give him a look of confusion. He scowls at you, rolling his purple eyes skyward.

“Don't play ignorant. I've watched you each time you come crying back home. Why do you keep trying with them?”

You sink into yourself a little. You don't understand why it matters to Crocodile, but you couldn't not answer your boss.

“I um. I should be with someone my own age, right?” You say carefully. You've never really thought too much about the why of it.

“ku- ha ha, Who told you that?” He demands and his voice drips with condescension, clearly thinking you an idiot. You blush and embarrassed tears well up.

“No one? I just thought that's how it's supposed to go.”

Crocodile lets out a soft hmm, and then sets his now empty glass away. He eyes you, looking all cute and pathetic.

“Come here, Doll,” he murmurs and pats his lap, “Those boys out there will never know how to treat a beautiful woman. You need someone to take charge, someone who knows what they're doing. Someone a little older.”

Your face feels like it's on fire, but you can't help but hang on to every word that the gator says, his tone soft and beckoning. You step closer, clearly nervous, but Crocodile makes your decision for you when the ground under your feet becomes less stable and you fall forward, catching yourself on his broad shoulders.

Crocodile rumbles another laugh and tugs you into his lap properly, tucking you close to his chest. His hand finds your face, and the ex warlord is gentle in the way that he wipes your spilled tears away. His eyes soften, and you look on in wonder as he leans in and presses his lips to the top of your head.

“You've got me now, _, so don't think for a second that I'll send you away.”

[rain-day-today]

One thing that really rots my brain is the idea of the guild during the og baby fairytail members time and the domesticity of it. Cause like no way was gramps letting a bunch of super powered ( and incredibly destructive) 7-14year olds out of his sight.

Just imagine:

Little Natsu and emo teen Laxus having breakfast while very quietly whispering about their respective hoards collections of cat theme things ( I KNOW LAXUS IS A SECRET CAT LOVER I JUST KNOW IT)

Tiny Gray having an emo phase. Mira (a punk 14 year old) helping him out (after teasing him of course). The two spending many hours and lots of jewel to find and look through dozens of fashion magazines. Eventually falling asleep sprawled on the floor in a nest of semi-laminated paper.

Tween Lissana and levy giggling over the kissy scenes in books and Erza overhearing them. Spitting out her cake into Laxus’s face which makes them burst out into full on cackling.

Little Cana teaching natsu to make card pyramids for 3 hours and when he finally gets it, Elfman knocks it over. Every one thinks Natsu is going to punch someone, but he doesn’t, instead he starts full on bawling. Nobody knows what to do. Little Natsu cannot be comforted. Levy shuts him up by shoving candy into his mouth while cana really quickly rebuilds the pyramid.

Erza and Mira having a dance off on some of the tables ( mira breaks 3 of them in half with her stomping, Erza somehow stabs one). This is how everyone finds out to never take either of them to parties cause they dance like the deaf baby of giraffes and a buffalo.

Gray and climbing a tree to the very top and forgetting that he doesn’t know how to get down? He stays there till the next morning and seethes for the next week cause LISSANA had to carry him down.

Natsu following Gray around like a lost puppy his first week cause “he’s friend sized” and what else was he supposed to do? He knows nothing! Dudes not even from this time period. At least if he follows loud stripper he knows he wont get run over by a car. Gray not noticing or caring that he is being followed cause little guy has his own problems to deal with and “as long as he doesn’t take my food or breath on me.”

Cana having a plague doctor mask that elfman bought for her 13th birthday. She wears it to scare the shit out of everyone at the sleepovers.

Weekly “sleepovers” in the guildhall because it’s easier to do gramps weekly count of them when they are all lined up in their my little pony sleeping bags (yes this includes laxus and mira)

When Romeo is born they have a guild wide contest on whose name he says first (the answer is his own cause the little dude is a true fairytail wizard)

Levy managing to give everyone a heart attack after casually admitting that she hasn’t slept or ate anything but crackers and coffee cause she was trying to teach herself the equivalent of ancient greek.

Laxus and gray not knowing how to hold a baby (romeo)

Natsu “teething” on Erza. Everyone stares in shock cause there’s just Erza sitting there stone faced in full armor while Natsu chops down on her arm like he has rabies. ( he still bites her even when they’re older if he’s really stressed)

Everyone having a default crush on laxus or Mira

The guild kids try to make homemade shaved ice with grays ice and end up covering the entire town with really weird ice sculptures

Mira scaring the shit out of kids with her demon souls during Halloween

Someone stealing Mira or Natsu’s food and ending up with a burn on their tounge followed by natsu trying to “kiss it better”

Levy dozing off on the rafters and falling down onto poor elfman

Spin the bottle but instead of kissing you fight (grays idea)

Laxus has a spray bottle filled with water mixed with really bad smelling cologne that he uses to spray people when they’re bad, like cats.

No one in the guild knew how to swim until they turned 16 Lissana still can’t swim.

Its really really common to see elfman or gray duck-taped to the wall (its levy who does it)

Dont fall asleep around teen Mira she will draw titties on your face. (Where do you think natsu got it from?)

They all took a living 101 class when lissana was 13. It failed miserably. Laxus ended up being the grandfather to 6 rats and 3 hamsters

Laxus takes Lissana and Elfman out for brunch once a month because it pisses mira off to no end.

Levy, Lissana, and Laxus accidentally forming an L name club and plan their “meetings” within earshot of Mira and Erza to make them jealous.

“We should get cookies!”-levy

“And ice cream!”- lissana

“(Super smug face) im craving strawberry cake.”-laxus

*sounds of Erza bursting into flames of jealousy*

[commanderyes]

The Commander Says Goodbye

I’m not going to lie, I’m extremely anxious as i’m writing this, out of what these news could mean to a lot of people, and my heart feels heavy enough it could drop down my ribcage any minute from now and squish all my other organs. But I’ve been dancing around this topic for a long time now, and I think i’ve finally reached a point where i can’t ignore it anymore, for my own sake.

I hereby announce Commander Yes has come to an end.

As I’ve mentioned plenty of times before, here and to many other people, when I began this comic all the way back in 2018 I was in a really bad, really low place in my life in every sense of the word, and it was a spur-of-the moment decision to cheer myself up, because Path of Fire had just released and my enjoyment of the game had reached fever pitch and I had been playing Guild Wars 2 alone since as far as launch, and none of my other friends had ever really gotten into it. I guess I just, dunno, cried out into the big maelstrom of the community, one voice amidst millions, because i wanted SOMEBODY to look at what i did and revel in the nerdery with me.

And somehow the snowball began to roll and people wanted more and more of what I could do, and I was being actively reached out to, and, well, some time after that I landed my first ever job, I discovered a lot of things about myself, and I found myself in communities that welcomed me with open arms, and many of the people in there have since become among the best friends I could’ve possibly encountered, kindred souls who i’ve shared joys and sorrows for many years and who I can’t imagine living without anymore.

And all the while I kept making the comics, and with every entry posted every week I’d keep having people stopping to comment on them, and whether they were dumb jokes or personal takes on the story, they’d all share how much what I do kept hitting them in the kokoro, and to this day whenever I play anywhere in the game I still get people who recognize me and thank me for doing what I do. It was wonderful, it IS wonderful, and seeing that response motivated me to keep going, because what did still mattered to people, out there.

But I did always say I planned to keep doing these comics until I ran out of energy for them, and I think i’ve finally reached that point.

Because ever since I actually landed that job I’m exhausted and sleep-deprived every other day, so much so that I only have time to work on the comic on saturdays and sundays, and it gets harder and harder to just sit and draw, and at that point it was just more work, and while I still enjoy and play Guild Wars 2 a lot, it no longer consumes my time and attention like I’ve used to and i’ve been having fun with more personal projects, and honestly the direction the story is taking these days does not sit right with me and it’s hard to find inspiration in that, and this might be borderline selfish but every year I find people care less and less about the comics and it really takes a hit to you motivation when hardly anybody responds after you’ve spent a whole weekend trying to squeeze a five-page comic out.

And, well, I have been doing these for six years straight, and I think that’s a good run. I’m tired, and ready to move on, at long last. Let it be someone else’s turn.

But that’s the beautiful thing about this community, isn’t it? Even if I’m hanging up the hat, there are a whole lot of fantastic artists out there, as we speak, still cranking out works of art, deserving of all the attention they can get. And think of all the artists yet to come! For every story that ends, another story is just about to begin!

The world keeps on spinning, one way or another.

I’ll be closing my patreon shortly after this, but the reddit archives and tumblr blog shall remain for people to browse whenever they feel like (or until they both go in flames, i guess, what social media isn’t about to these days)

I still don’t think I ever was that much of a big deal, but all the same, to everyone who’s ever supported me and helped me be the person I am right now, to everyone who’s been there from the beginning, to all the devs of this game that has captured us for nearly a decade now, to all my fellow players and artists out there

Thank you.

See you out there, fellow commanders. Still the stars find their way.

[bharv]

“Magister Pavus.”

“Inquisitor Cadash.”

You look old, she wants to tell him, but she’s sure she looks older. She settles on something else instead.

“Your hair is ridiculous.”

“It’s all the fashion, my dear. Not that you’d know what it’s like to be a la mode.”

“If it’s Orlesian, I don’t want it.”

“Oh, but I’ve missed you.”

He sits with her and takes her hand for just a moment, and she could almost cry at the feeling of the callouses from his staff, still there even though he is softer now. 

“Is Bull joining us?”

“It’s not a good time,” Dorian says quietly. She knows that tremble at the edge of his voice. He is afraid. “Besides. I wanted you all to myself.”

“Well. You’ve got me. Now what?”

Things in Kirkwall were… less than optimal. The guild wanted her to make her play against the acting Viscount, eager as always to spin gold from shit. All she wanted was to bring his body home, back to the city that he loved, that he never wanted to leave. She had promised Bianca she would try.

“I think you should meet her,” Dorian says, and she can feel her jaw tense.

“I don’t have anything to say to her.”

“You know what I’m going to say-”

“Don’t-”

“Varric would want you to.”

She breathes through her nose as the servers bring more wine and pour it. A hearty red, the sort you could only get in this part of the world for the price. Dorian smiles at the boy, a handsome sort, and pushes an extra gold into his hand.

“So this is a trap,” she murmurs as she raises her glass to her lips, and he laughs.

“Maker forbid. It’s an… invitation, is all.”

“She’s already coming, isn’t she?”

“Well. She’s Tevene. Likelihood was she was already here. You know how it is.”

She’s heard of this child, this Rook. Barely out in society before Varric swooped in to recruit her, with a letter of recommendation from Maevaris Tilani herself. But it was all nepotism, of course it was. That was how the Kalna dwarves worked. Thorold had been instrumental in placing the girl with a surface family when Bartrand was lost to the madness, and the resemblance to her uncle was clear as a blue sky.

“I know exactly how it is.”

“Come now. The girl is all of eighteen. She’s lost. Well. We’ve all suffered a great loss. She could use…”

“What? An inspiration? A mentor? A hug?”

“Even you were a child once.”

Not aged eighteen, she wants to say, but she says nothing. She knows it is not this poor girl’s fault that she was saved from being sold to the carta, or worse. It was all luck, all one good or bad decision.

Or somebody advocating for you.

“Fine,” she says, draining the last of her glass. “I’ll speak to her. I’ll listen. I’ll be the sage elder dwarf, the blasted ancestor. But if you think-”

“Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I have a room upstairs, and I thought we could relax.”

She laughs. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Kaffas. I mean that we can have a little more to drink. Perhaps smoke. There’s no great rush.”

“Just the end of the world.”

She looks at him again. He’s always had that edge of earnestness behind the bluster, and after all these years she can still read him like a youth.

“So the plan is to get me lightly toasted so I won’t be so…” she struggles to find the world, but she raises her hand before he can protest. “Who put you up to it? Did Thom write to you?”

“Josephine,” he confesses sheepishly, and she can’t help but laugh. He joins in, and for a moment she is ten years younger, and it all seems so different and yet in so many ways the same.

“Well, I trust she knows how to avoid incident. Far be it for me to disobey the boss.”

“It is, as they say, the good stuff. I’ve been assured.”

“I didn’t take you for a smoker, Dorian.”

“I can’t say it’s a regular pastime. You’ll have to look after me.”

“If you get paranoid, I’m calling in reinforcements.”

“Just make sure they’re handsome.”

“Deal.”

[bumblebeehug]

How do you feel about Hiro M. continuing the story after 100YQ?

Murdery horribly and terribly.

No, that’s a lie, because it isn’t all that bad, but it’s my initial reaction.

Like in my opinion it’s a sign that he doesn’t like, or knows the public won’t like how the hyq is going or how it will end. Which worries me, yk?

When the hyq was the only thing that was left of the Fairy Tail franchise, I could lay my trust in Mashima making nalu canon: it’s the only missing cornerstone for a great story. But now? For all we know Mashima might scrap that.

I’m not saying that there’s only bad things to come out of a situation like this: I LOVE fairy tail, and continuing the story makes the fandom stay alive as well. But my problem is how Mashima’s gonna treat nalu again. Because, though I’m aware of the amazing writing we could be subjected for, I’m also painfully aware that Mashima won’t write it.

I love the hyq, but it’s kinda mid. Mashima doesn’t realise that he focuses too much on developing new characters and complicated plot elements for no reason — the characters he already has are plenty to work from (I’m talking about how he could write stuff for the FT guild, not just team Natsu, for sabertooth, for oracion seis, crime sorcerière, literally you name it). And I’m saying this out of love, because the original series shows us how great he can write — his character developments CAN be out of this world!!

Look at Erza when she goes from scary-evil-cruel-strict-boring to a loving, emotional, quirky friend who spreads more love than fear. Or look at Gray (and here I gotta give cred to Mashima for his writing in the hyq) bc he goes from angry, emo, snarky, nonchalant, rejects all signs of happiness to someone who can finally stand beside his friends and allow them to love him.

I could go on about character developments (like Laxus, Jellal, there’s so many) but this post is getting so long already so I’ll keep my point clear:

Mashima could focus on characters and write the best spin-off ever. But he won’t. And that’s the problem.

Mashima can’t write characters in a relationship to save his own life: look at how gajevy and elfever is treated (though these are kinda mild examples imo — a better example would be Shiki and Rebecca, how their relationship both developed and ended up: Shiki gave us like one (1) moment where he showed the readers his feelings, while Rebecca had to take the many many many other hints of them being a thing… not unlike how Lucy’s the one who has to set the status on her and Natsu’s relationship, and never Natsu.)

So since there’s a 0.001% chance that Mashima can write nalu in an active relationship (in EZ he solves that conundrum by killing the pair/avoid writing scenes with the pair/end the whole story, same with FT: keeping the love interest away most of the time to avoid having to write emotional scenes — jellal, juvia. Oh and he kills Mavis and Zeref. And he keeps away from writing elfever, well, ever, and he only writes what he deems absolutely necessary for gajevy. Even the whole Edolas thing was easy for him, bc he only had to write silly aftermath instead of actual emotional connection between two characters.)

This became SO long I’m so sorry. But my main worry really lies with the fact that nalu might be even further postponed, and I’m not really sure I can take another 20 years of this, yk?

[fans4wga]

[September 1] Don’t Fall For Hollywood Bosses’ New PR Spin

'Today marks the 122nd day of the Writers Guild of America (WGA) strike and 48th day of the Screen Actors Guild and American Federation of Television and Radio Artists (SAG-AFTRA) strike. The dual work stoppages have brought Hollywood to a standstill, with production halted on films and television programs, and premieres and other promotional events either scaled back or canceled. Both guilds are striking over demands that are more than reasonable, particularly given studio executives’ record pay. These demands include fair compensation for streaming media (particularly better residuals, which currently pale in comparison to what they are for network and cable broadcasts), robust studio support for health and retirement funds, and safeguards around the use of artificial intelligence. (For more on why WGA and SAG-AFTRA are on strike, read the excellent reporting of Jacobin’s Alex Press). 

In a move that has shocked…pretty much no one, Hollywood bosses don’t want to share their earnings with the very storytellers responsible for generating them. At the same time, they’re happy to make workers pay the cost for their own miscalculations about streaming.

The major Tinseltown studios – organized under the Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers (AMPTP) trade association – remain stubbornly opposed to striking a fair deal with either guild. Under the leadership of AMPTP president Carol Lombardini, studios have employed brutal tactics to bust the strike, including threatening to drag things out until writers lose their homes and using management-friendly trade publications to pressure the guilds into accepting lowball offers. These tactics have backfired spectacularly: not only have they failed to end either strike, but they’ve also turned the public overwhelmingly against the AMPTP. A new Gallup poll finds that Americans back the WGA over the AMPTP by 72% to 19%, and SAG-AFTRA over AMPTP by 64% to 24%.

Aware of their reputational damage (but willfully ignorant of the anti-worker attitude that caused it), the AMPTP announced a “reset” to its approach this week – not by negotiating in good faith or meeting the guilds’ demands, but by hiring a pricey crisis-management PR firm to revamp its image! According to Deadline, the AMPTP has hired The Levinson Group – a D.C.-based PR shop best known for representing the U.S. Women’s  National Soccer Team in its campaign for pay equity – to “reframe the big picture for studio and streamer CEOs who have been characterized as greedy, imperious and out of touch.”

If you’re feeling like you’ve seen this movie before, you’re not wrong. During the last WGA strike 15 years ago, studio bosses hired former Clinton comms strategists Mark Fabiani and Chris Lehane to revive the AMPTP’s flagging public image. The revolving-door duo were paid a jaw-dropping $100,000 per month by the AMPTP to strike-bust, deploying campaign-style spin attacks designed to break the WGA’s resolve. 

As I wrote for The American Prospect in May:

“Fabiani and Lehane created a website with a live tally of the millions of dollars in income that guild members and on-set crew had purportedly lost by striking. They urged studio CEOs to publicly refer to WGA representatives as “organizers” rather than “negotiators” because the former “sound[ed] more Commie.” Lehane even told the press at one point that striking writers were “making more than doctors and pilots,” cynically arguing that the strike was harming “real working-class people” like below-the-line workers who had lost income from struck late-night talk shows […] Fabiani and Lehane were [also] the brains behind a “strongly worded and downright menacing” AMPTP press release breaking off negotiations with the WGA in December 2007. This move allowed the studios, which cited a protracted strike as an “unforeseeable event,” to invoke force majeure contract clauses and cancel multiple writer-producer deals worth tens of millions of dollars, severely demoralizing the WGA’s rank-and-file members.”

The parallels between 2008 and today are striking. Like Fabiani and Lehane (who have worked for scandal-plagued clients like Gray Davis, Bill O’Reilly, Lance Armstrong, and Goldman Sachs) the Levinson Group has no qualms about representing greedy and unsavory characters. Over the years, Levinson has done PR for predatory student lender Better Future Forward, reviled monopolist Live Nation/Ticketmaster, a talc mining company linked to the Johnson & Johnson baby powder cancer scandal, and Theranos fraudster Elizabeth Holmes. 

And just like the ex-Clinton spin doctors, the Levinson Group boasts close revolving-door ties to powerful politicians and the news media. The firm currently represents President Biden’s personal attorney Bob Bauer and previously represented John Podesta’s family lobbying firm. Levinson partners have previously worked for an array of influential politicians, including former President Bill Clinton, Senators Jon Tester and Amy Klobuchar, Representatives Maxine Waters and Ted Lieu, and former and current Los Angeles Mayors Eric Garcetti and Karen Bass. The firm’s founder and CEO Molly Levinson spent eight years working for CNN and CBS, while two of the Levinson Group’s top managing directors are alumni of CNBC and The Wall Street Journal. With a web of strong connections to power players in the entertainment industry’s twin capitals of LA and New York, along with the nation’s capital, Levinson could help the AMPTP tilt the regulatory and media scales back in the bosses’ favor. 

Though this may sound demoralizing, striking writers and actors shouldn’t lose hope. For one, consider a surprisingly uplifting parallel between 2008 and 2023. Fifteen years ago, after Fabiani and Lehane took the AMPTP’s contract, the SEIU and other unions that had previously worked with the duo severed ties with them for trying to bust the writers’ strike. Fast forward to this week: the U.S. Women’s National Soccer Team Players Association (Levinson’s star client!) publicly rebuked the firm for doing the AMPTP’s dirty work and voiced support for the dual WGA and SAG-AFTRA strikes. If history is any indication, it’s only a matter of time until other pro-union Levinson clients – like the majority SEIU-owned Amalgamated Bank – follow suit and sever ties with the firm. 

There is also one crucial way in which 2023 is thankfully not like 2008: The Levinson Group is bad at their jobs. 

Consider an August 27th New York Times article about AMPTP President Carol Lombardini*, which was almost certainly pitched or otherwise molded by Levinson flacks. The article goes to ridiculous lengths to rehabilitate Lombardini’s image:

The article passively describes Lombardini’s tenure as “marked by labor peace until now” (a peace that she has now broken) and shifts blame for her unpopular decisions to anonymous AMPTP members (how convenient!).

Article co-authors Brooks Barnes and John Koblin quote a 2014 email from then-WarnerMedia CEO Kevin Tsujihara praising Lombardini’s negotiation skills and recommending she receive a $365,000 bonus. Curiously absent from the article is any mention of Tsujihara’s high-profile 2019 resignation from WarnerMedia for pressuring actresses into non-consensual sex.

Barnes and Koblin attempt to paint a “she’s just like us” picture of Lombardini (who reportedly earns a $3 million annual salary), mentioning her upbringing in a “working-class town outside Boston” and love for Red Sox and Dodgers games.

Barnes and Koblin paint a rosy picture of the AMPTP’s “sweetened proposal” (their words) to the WGA, describing the studios’ August counteroffer as “including higher wages, a pledge to share some viewership data and additional protections around the use of artificial intelligence.” Barnes & Koblin never quote the WGA’s well-founded reasons for turning down this lowball offer, saying only that the WGA is “holding firm to demands related to staffing minimums and transparency into streaming-service viewership.”

Bizarrely, the core issue of underpaid streaming residuals (the main reason writers are demanding greater streaming transparency) is never mentioned in the article.

Barnes and Koblin frequently imply that criticism of Lombardini is unfair, describing her as an “easy target” for the “grievances of striking workers” and singling out a tweet purportedly “mocking [Lombardini] as a fuddy-duddy who hangs out at chain restaurants”.

Barnes and Koblin quote a pre-strike September 2022 Deadline interview with Teamsters organizer Lindsay Dougherty to claim that Lombardini has the “grudging respect” of union leaders who see her as a “fair individual.” They did not quote more recent statements from Dougherty, who last month tweeted that the “greedy” AMPTP had “declared war on Hollywood Labor” by refusing to negotiate in good faith with WGA and SAG-AFTRA.

In one unintentionally eyebrow-raising line, Barnes and Koblin state that Lombardini was “inspired to become a lawyer by reading articles about F. Lee Bailey.” Neither Bailey’s sordid clients (like OJ Simpson) nor his multiple disbarments are mentioned in the article.

And it’s not just me who finds the Levinson Group’s efforts laughable. Discussions of the NYT story on Reddit and Twitter are dominated by comments tying the story’s blatant reputation laundering for Lombardini to the AMPTP’s concurrent hiring of Levinson. A recent New Yorker puff piece on Warner CEO David Zaslav has been met with similar ridicule – with many commenters also pointing to Levinson’s potential influence. So too have recent stories from management-friendly trades like Deadline – all of which have failed to make a dent in strong public support for WGA and SAG-AFTRA. This is a good sign: not only is the public more inclined to side with striking workers than it was in 2008 – it’s also seemingly more attuned to the role of corporate PR flacks in shaping the media narrative. If studio bosses think they can remake the same movie and end another strike with flashy spin-doctors, they’re sorely mistaken. 

So here’s my advice to the AMPTP (and it won’t cost you six figures per month to hear it): the way to fix your reputation problem is to end the strike by giving writers and actors what they want. No strike-busting comms team can rescue you from the hole you’ve dug yourself into. 

As the LA Times’ Mary McNamara recently put it, “You’ve lost the war. The best thing to do now is negotiate the terms of surrender.”'

[animatedglittergraphics-n-more]

RIP, AIM: Remembering how we used to talk on the internet

A eulogy for AOL Instant Messenger, and how it changed the way we talk about games and everything else By Luke Winkie published December 15, 2017

Do you remember all the souls you've lost to the internet? Those incidental friendships, forged in IRC clients, Newgrounds forums, 40-man Ragnaros wipes, scattered across the globe when the web was young? They came into your life and played Fall Out Boy over Ventrilo. They came into your life and disappeared forever. Do you remember when snapping a selfie required a frustrating tangle of mechanical coercion, but it was worth it to show them your face? When real-life names were rarefied information shared exclusively through digital blood pacts? AIM shut down today, and the only thing I can think about is how all of those people still exist somewhere, perhaps exploring the same pit in their stomach that I am.

AIM belongs to all of us. As a pioneering force of internet communication, anyone born in the early '90s or late '80s has spent some time on the platform. As a 26-year old, I'm crucially aware that my appreciation for the prodigal instant messenger is colored by a nostalgia that has nothing to do with the service itself. It was simply the medium of choice to grouse about homework, The Decemberists, girls I liked, and the rest of my random bullshit. 

But I do believe that there's a special union between AIM and people who grew up playing games, or at least came of age on the internet with people who played games. The early millennium revolutions in online multiplayer pitted us together and asked us to collaborate, so of course we carried those early internet accords to their logical extremes—talking all night in lonely chat boxes about what's cool, what sucks, and how easy it is to relate. In 2017, the web feels less like something I approach for those connections, and more like an overwhelming ennui that I'm constantly trying to outrun. Boston's Kyle Seeley nailed that feeling perfectly with 2015's Emily is Away, and this year's sequel Emily is Away Too—both of which transport you back to the spongy leather office chairs of your parents' computer room.

"AIM was primarily for one-on-one conversations between teenagers. That's how I used AIM, to have a very intimate conversation with another person. Now we have texting and Facebook messenger, but you can use those wherever you are," he says. "You can use those at a concert or while driving. But when you were using AIM, you were sitting down at a computer to talk to people. You had their undivided attention." 

Emily is Away tributes AIM in the only way anyone can—spinning a yarn of disentranced high-school drama that eventually mounts into something deeply sad. The way Seeley presents an old Windows XP desktop, with the hilariously temperamental tastes of your idiot friends revealing themselves in their bios and away messages (until one day they stop logging on entirely) is immediately resonant. We've all had our Emilys. "When you have a conversation on the phone, you spend 10 minutes making small talk," says Seeley. "On AIM you talk to someone for hours. Like eight hours, 10 hours straight. You get all the small talk out of the way in the first hour, and then you're talking about these big teenager questions. Who am I? Who do I want to be? I think AIM was really good at that."

It was always difficult for me to articulate the intimacy I felt with my internet friends to my parents. There were the obvious, mechanical mistranslations; I begged my mother for early exits from countless family dinners that consistently managed to interfere with my guild's crucial Molten Core attempts. But beyond that, there was a certain shame in feeling loved and valued by people I only knew by username. A latent fear that those who did not understand might consider that affection to be false, or even sinister. That's different now, as social media has flattened out our offline/online dichotomy, but if you were on AIM, you probably remember how once upon a time those bonds felt illegal.

Years ago Nina Freeman, level designer at Fullbright and one of the foremost thinkers on love and technology, launched a flat-out covert campaign to get close with one of those friends. She spent months locked in the holy matrimony of Final Fantasy XI and nightly AIM treatises with a boy named Glenn from New York City. Eventually they met, but not before Freeman satisfied her aunt, (who she was staying with) with a fabricated narrative—Glenn was no longer a dude from the internet, now he was just an old family friend who happened to move east. "I was still in high school," says Freeman. "We made up that whole story."

That secrecy is immediately familiar to me. AIM was surreptitious, clandestine. A service that belonged to teenagers, sequestered from leering ears and concerned authority figures. As Freeman notes, a screen name was one of the few commodities a young person could fully own. A domain, an aesthetic, a communication channel you could control. It was rare to feel fully untethered from your parents, so you guarded that sliver of liberty with your life.

"I wouldn't hand out [my username] lightly," explains Freeman. "I'd only really do it with people I felt close enough with. It seems sort intimate. It was a 'thing' to add someone on AIM. The expectation would be that if we're adding each other, we're going to chat regularly.… It had a weight to it."

Cecilia D'Anastasio, senior reporter at Kotaku (and a friend of mine) went a step further. As an 11-year-old, she was already griefing in the multiplayer Flash games she shared with her friends over AIM. I don't think anything sums up the juvenile euphoria of instant messaging quite like using that power to cheat in stakes-free freeware.

"One of the Flash games I discovered was basically Pictionary, but online and with a chat room. One player would etch out an image in a Microsoft Paint-like interface while the chat would dutifully guess at what it could possibly be. It was very wholesome," says D'Anastasio. "That's why my friend June and I were passionate about cheating. We'd join a game on the same team. Over AIM, we'd tell each other what we were assigned to draw, instructing whoever was guessing to wait a solid ten seconds before revealing the answer. It was a riot. We always won."

Over the past decade or so AIM has slowly been replaced with services that de-emphasize traditional internet patois. Gchat and Twitter are all full of real names and faces instead of coded handles and custom-colored text, and logging in to most platforms scarcely takes more than a click on a Facebook icon. For the most part, this is a good thing. Anonymity is one of the scourges of online culture—a de facto institution that continues to cause a lot of people pain. Personally though, I can't help but feel like we've lost something along the way. There was a certain sublimity in typing from behind the guise of a username. It gave way to a feeling that your AIM conversations existed in some sort of permissive, alternative reality, the ideal spot to work up the nerve for swollen 3 am confessions. In 2017 there is no such thing as "IRL" anymore; your internet presence is permanently married to your day-to-day existence. Everyone on earth spends their waking hours waging wars and making peace with strangers they will never meet. It is overwhelming and insoluble, and there are moments where I wish I could get outside again.

I'm not the only person that feels this way, and there are some people working to restore the parts of the mid-aughts internet that worked. When I interviewed Jason Citron, CEO of Discord, earlier this year, he affirmed a deep appreciation for AIM, and believed that perhaps the online infrastructure might soon swing back in that direction. "When you zoom out and think about the internet and how communication is trending, there's definitely a trend to more live experiences," he said. "The internet has done so much to connect people asynchronously, so I think there's something more macro happening that Discord is taking part in. It's like we're bringing it back to how it used to be."

He's right. One of the things that's made Discord successful is how separated it feels from the rest of the internet. When you join an ultra-specific channel—for niche Hearthstone formats or fan-favorite Persona characters—it's like you're uncovering a league of obsessives that are ready to welcome you with open arms. The true solidarity of dorkiness. It's funny, but by holding back on cosmopolitan design choices (like Facebook integration or a required photo-reel), Cintron stumbled into a scheme that evokes the furtive splendor that made AIM special. This is something Nina Freeman found when she started up a Discord channel to support her growing Twitch following. "It quickly became a community, and now I have a bunch of newer online friends. I'm already cracking up at myself as I'm wondering what they look like, or what they do in real life," says Freeman. "It definitely has a similar appeal." 

If Discord doesn't quite meet your personal instant messaging standards, Citron tells me that, if enough people in the community request it, he'd consider implementing the low-res AIM chimes into the service. You know, door creak, door slam, those disruptive MIDI twinkles. "To this day, that sound still triggers my desire to hop online," he says.  

Kyle Seeley is doing something similar. Yesterday he released a piece of DLC for Emily is Away Too that reskins Steam Chat to look exactly like AIM circa 2006. He spared no expense; you can change your text color, drop in vintage, blocky emoticons, and create your own custom profile so you can tell the world that Warped Tour will never die. "It's a farewell to AIM," he says. As one gaming's foremost nostalgia artists, it'd be wrong if he didn't say goodbye.

Now the AIM generation is old enough to both intellectualize their wistfulness, and use the lessons they learned from the service to create for the today's teenagers. To facilitate affection and respect on the internet, to show them what it looks like. We were the first to taste love on the web, at a time when those feelings had no context or guidance, and I hope that AIM helped create a baseline for young people and the midnight communion with those across the screen. The liberation that comes with knowing that the internet friendships you cherish are just as valid and wonderful as you think they are—these stories matter, because they help light that path. Lord knows I needed it, and I'm sure you did too.

Luke Winkie

Contributing Writer

Luke Winkie is a freelance journalist and contributor to many publications, including PC Gamer, The New York Times, Gawker, Slate, and Mel Magazine. In between bouts of writing about Hearthstone, World of Warcraft and Twitch culture here on PC Gamer, Luke also publishes the newsletter On Posting. As a self-described "chronic poster," Luke has "spent hours deep-scrolling through surreptitious Likes tabs to uncover the root of intra-publication beef and broken down quote-tweet animosity like it’s Super Bowl tape." When he graduated from journalism school, he had no idea how bad it was going to get.

[lollydolly676]

One thing I want to do is rewrite fairy tail because some of these characters are done dirty by Mashima or life in general.

Ideas include:

- Juvia gets more character development outside of her relationship to Gray. Yes, her relationship to Gray is so important, but I want the energy from the battle of fairy tail arc where she sacrificed herself for Cana and acted like a normal human being with Gray, while still showcasing her crush.

- Freed development! He was such an interesting character when he was introduced! He even shaved his hair after the battle to show his remorse! He was flirting with Mira! Then he turns into a Laxus fanboy?? On the same level as Juvia. Actually he doesn't have a steady character, it's like Mashima spins a wheel to decide how he's portrayed.

- Break Jellal out of the possession early! This is just because I love him and don't want him to suffer, but the implications of this are awesome. You have Ultear who lost her pawn, so now she has to decide whether to reveal herself or keep acting like a manipulated patsy. This could end up with Jellal chasing this woman to the ends of the earth and declaring war on Grimore Heart. Simon also lives! And discovers his identity as a bi man torn between Jellal and Erza. They end up as a codependent group and no one can tell whose romantically involved. (Is it Simom and Erza, Erza and Jellal, Jellal and Simon?? Who knows?)

- NaLu will they won't they relationship, but from the guilds point of view. Are they dating? Natsu just broke into her house and cuddled with her, and Lucy just dragged Natsu to a restaurant and went on a walk after where they were holding hands the entire way! Meanwhile, Lucy goes around moaning about hows she's single forever, while Natsu goes around telling people he has a girlfriend. Everyone is confused because they didn't think Natsu knew what dating was. (This one is basically canon already).

[mdhwrites]

THE. HERTA.

The writers from the Intelligentsia Guild wanted to give me an extra title. Something like "Herta Prime" to separate me from my puppets. How banal. Are the puppets not "me" as well? So, I gave them a suggestion — if they dared to write that, then I would call myself THE Herta. It's short, simple, straight to the point, and elegant.

Esteemed member #83 of the Genius Society, human, female, young, beautiful, attractive. It's said that she lives in the far edge of the Cosmos, almost never leaving. Sounds like her appearance this time... must be to deal with an issue that has to be handled herself, right?

Image and above text taken from Hoyo's English account on Twitter.

OH MY GOD I'M HYPED! And just this alone already feels right. I'll admit when I first saw her I went "Teen Lisa" at the design... But it's a teenager which is kind of major to me. Framing her that young fits exceptionally well with who she has been throughout the entire game. Hear me out:

When we first meet her, she's a petulant, uncaring brat who just wants to play with her toys and hardly cares for people who don't make her life more fun. A bad ending to Star Rail's beginning is sticking around and Herta losing interest in you because of the lack of change. All she cares about is her simulated universe.

By the time Ruan Mei is there though, she's spent a lot more time at the Space Station than she ever has before. She now has a group of peers she has been working with for a long while, something implied she hasn't done really, much like Ruan Mei. But instead of just taking charge and telling the others what geniuses they'll recruit, she's asking for input, wanting their thoughts, stuff like that. She is learning her game is more fun with more players.

A sidequest in Penacony pushes her the next step where she is given a heavy weight. A weapon used to destroy entire star systems. She doesn't mock the scientist, the gift or the weapon like she might have at the start. She treats the Stellaron in us as just a weapon to be played with after all. No, she solemnly tucks it away for later, respectful of the wish that someone who can maybe use it for good have it. It's a responsibility that she must accept, properly, with no one like Asta to shirk it off to. Instead of trying to ignore it though, she treats it with respect.

Finally, we have the Unknown Domain which has a LOT to it about Herta potentially opening up due to it being about something so critical to who she is... But the one I want to zoom in on is the ending. For someone who saw themselves as so high and mighty, who theoretically treats the universe as a curiosity to be replicated, who can only be interested in the strange and unknowable, the curiosities of existence... She gives a mundanite comfort. Thanks someone who could never approach her understanding for giving her the first step into being who she is. She knows it's a simulation but she feels that weight enough to feel the need to thank the simulation regardless.

And now she deems something so important that she comes herself? What could that possibly mean? She needs to kiss Ruan Mei? I can't even begin to properly guess but I am excited to put it mildly because we have gotten to see this teenager, some loli bait doll, become a young woman and now we'll get a physical manifestation of it and I LOVE IT.

Also, just a shout out to the description perfectly explaining why she's Ice Erudition again. "The puppets are me." So why would she be anything other than just a refined, perfected version of the puppets? Also she uses a keyblade/staff which makes the Kingdom Hearts fan in me happy and I'm just SO curious what we're going to see with her. A Herta who summons other Hertas? Does she spin with the key? Is the portal cat an actual thing to her? GIVE ME MORE INFORMATION STAR RAIL!

But for now, I am just excited to let my mind expand thanks to this first turn of her key to let us see who she will be. I just hope it's as exciting when she opens the door properly. See you next tale.

======+++++======

A reminder my asks are open and I'd love questions about Star Rail or even story ideas! I struggle more with concepts to write about for Star Rail far more than I wish I did and I'd love to hear your all's thoughts for a font of inspiration.

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

A Twitter you can follow too

And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.

[wordy-little-witch]

Silly goofy cross guild idea that will not leave my head, but hear me out

Buggy being the mafia wife archetype is well and good, it is one of the best, hottest takes on the PLANET and I'll die on that hill. But we also need to touch base on the blending of cultures and tastes here where I am currently FROTHING over.

Crocodile being Alabastan and taking over his once-home in a bid for control and for reasons that haven't been touched upon. Why Alabasta? Is it the 'wanis? Are fruitwani native there? If so, if Alabasta ISN'T his homeland, what made him choose there? What started his love of fruitwani? What lead to a mafia instead of a pirate and what does that mean for his character??? ((Middle Eastern and maybe smth English, German or Russian, smth about that scratches a brain itch for Croc, might be the languages-))

And Mihawk. My silly spooky little swordsman is full of mysteries and I am ROTATING him. Mach speed. Full 360 tail spin in my frontal lobe. Is he human? If he is, what was his upbringing like? What was his childhood? His parents? His homeland? Does he speak other languages? ((I love the idea of Mihawk being the One Piece equivalent of French)).

Buggy's heritage is Unknown (jazz hands), but he was raised by Roger who has Big Gaelic Energy, no I will not explain, it's RIGHT THERE. On that note though, Buggy grew up on a pirate crew, a bunch of headstrong fellas from all sorts of places, with all sorts of lives. Buggy's a little melting pot, a drifter, and while some things are poignantly Roger's in his words, actions or beliefs, he's all over the place with a wide palette.

Now the three of them learning and picking things up from each other. They wind up leaving marks on each other.

Mihawk sings quietly to himself sometimes in French, usually while gardening or cooking. Buggy and Crocodile learn the songs by osmosis.

Crocodile sometimes calls the others by certain pet names or gives orders in his own mother tongue, or he'll organize things a certain way, set up smth in a specific manner, idek, my brain is fried but the vibe, the VIBE is there.

Buggy shares dances or recipes from his childhood. Just... yes. Them bleeding into each other's spaces. Them leaving marks on one another metaphorically.

((Also them slowly incorporating bits of each other in apparel. Buggy opting for richer or darker colors or cuts. Crocodile incorporating lace and pops of red. Mihawk adding textures to his eyeliner and updating his harness with more crisscrosses.))

[argisthebulwark]

'I'd Kill For You' vs 'I'd Die For You'

summary: who would fight and who would lay down their life in place of yours? gn reader, no pronouns or y/n used. feat: Brynjolf, Farkas, Cicero, Rune, Mercer, Miraak, Teldryn, Erik warnings: canon typical non-graphic blood/injury/death

Brynjolf would die for you. He can’t bring himself to take a life - Gallus never mixed words when teaching Brynjolf that lesson. But he would gladly die in your place. He begs you to leave him and save yourself, to get as far away as you can before Mercer’s Frenzy spell. His knuckles are white as he struggles to keep the blade pointed away from you despite the magicka taking hold of his mind. "Please, you have to get away. Let me handle this traitor. If there is love for me in your heart then you need to run and not look back."

Farkas would kill for you. He would lay waste to an entire camp if you asked. Silver Hand or run of the mill bandits it makes no difference to Farkas - he’d cut down anyone threatening your life.  "You're not getting away from me that easy. I'm not burying you 'til I drink you under the table one more time."

Cicero would kill for you in a heartbeat. He’s been waiting. Please ask him to kill for you. Daggers are in hand awaiting your word. He’s already mapping out the order in which he’ll take down anyone who looks at you wrong. You are his Listener, after all. It is his duty to keep you safe from harm.  "Loyal Cicero strikes at your command, dearest Listener. Just say the word."

Rune would die for you without thinking. He’d jump in front of the killing blow meant for you. He would let you cry into his armor, would wipe your tears when you demand to know why he would do such a thing. He would tell you that you still have so much work to do, the rest of the Guild relies on you too much to let you die. "The rest of them, they need you. Go on and make me proud, yeah?"

Mercer would begrudgingly kill for you. He’d try to spin it so you don’t think it has anything to do with you but there’s no mistaking it - he saved you. He’d grumble something about you being more useful alive than dead but you both know. Even if he refuses to admit it he’d kill almost anyone to keep you safe.  "Don't let it go to your head. The moment you stop bein' useful I'm tossing you back to the wolves."

Miraak would only die for you. When it comes down to it, when his sole hope for survival is ending your life he can’t bring himself to do it. He lets you kill him because he knows what you mean to the rest of the world. He’s realized that even if his life stretched on for another millennia it would be worthless without you. "I cannot face it without you, Mal Dov. I have wasted enough lifetimes to mourn the one I might have lived with you."

Teldryn would kill for you. The moment he spots you in trouble, surrounded on all sides and outnumbered by bandits all the memories would come flooding back. The grief of losing a close friend and patron. He couldn’t lose you. He’d rush in without a thought, fending off swords and arrows at your side. "Can't have you dying and ruining my fine reputation. I am Morrowind's finest bladesman, you're not dying on my watch."

Erik would die for you. He’d do anything for you. After all you’ve done for him - reigniting his dreams of becoming an adventurer, helping him escape the family farm, seeing the world at his side, he will not allow you to die. Laying in your arms he reminds you that he’s loved every moment spent in your company. "I wanted to grow old with you. I wanted to see everything with you."

[short-honey-badger]

Forgetful Valentine's

The long awaited fic! I do hope you all enjoy what I've whipped up!

Everyone have an amazing Valentine's Day! ❤️❤️❤️

Pairings!: Sir Crocodile x AFAB Reader.

Quick summary : Crocodile is hard at work trying to get the Cross Guild up and running and accidentally forgets that it's Valentine's Day.

4.3k words

Masterlist

Buggy Town was lively as usual. Almost Everyone here belonged to the cowardly clown’s crew, but a few select members had elected to stay loyal to Crocodile. The ex-warlord strolled through the tall tents toward the middle of town where real construction had begun. He had a hand in each building, deciding what and where needed to be built first. Mihawk was uninterested in this side of running the guild, and Buggy was far too incompetent to use a hammer, much less direct a building crew made out of pirates.

Crocodile made his way to the largest building, a hotel slash bar of sorts that housed him and the other leaders of the Cross Guild. It'd been a couple of days since the devil fruit user had been able to rest his head, and he was thrilled at the thought of getting to see you, his wife. The two of you have been together since his relocation to Alabasta, been married for around eight years now. Impel Down and Marineford had been life-changing for both of you, but things were beginning to look up with the formation of the Cross Guild.

Only the people Crocodile thought worthy enough to see him with his walls down knew that he was a bit of a romantic at heart. You were obviously one of them, and he couldn't wait to get back to their personal room, curl his huge frame around you, and go to sleep.

However, Crocodile couldn't help but think that he was forgetting something important- he just couldn't figure out what. He sighs heavily and pushes open the door to the hotel, and his cigar would have fallen out of his mouth if he had not clenched his teeth.

The entire lobby has been decorated in PINK. There are paper hearts and streamers everywhere, and someone has even made cupcakes with cutesy designs. There is a massive banner that spans across the bar, where Buggy and his crew sit at the bar, drinking and having a swell time, and Crocodile feels his heart drop. It's Valentine's Day, and he forgot.

Crocodile has nothing ready, nothing prepared for you. He's been far too busy dealing with the new shipment of crops and lumber coming in. The ex-warlord swears under his breath and spins on his heel, mind working quickly to try and find a solution.

Any other year, Crocodile has gone all out for you. Back in Alabasta, he'd wake you with flowers and a sweet breakfast, keeping the day open just for the two of you. Then he would take you out for an extravagant date, only to bring you back to the casino to feed you expensive fruits and worship you from head to toe. Before the night was over, he would run the two of you a bath, making sure it suited you perfectly before gently cleaning his love of the day's events.

All that changed after Straw Hat came and wreaked all of his plans, but right now, none of that mattered. Crocodile needed to find something - anything to give you. He's already wasted the majority of the day and cursed himself for not realizing what today was again. He could only hope that you would be forgiving.

Crocodile flies out of the hotel, dropping into sand and scattering out through Buggy Town. He comes back together when he finds Mihawk, knowing that the other man would have some fancy, expensive wine lying around somewhere.

The swordsman cocks a brow at him, looking thoroughly unimpressed at Crocodile's sudden entrance. Mihawk takes in the older man's rather erratic appearance.

“Can I help you?”

Crocodile smooths his hair back, settling back into nonchalance. He doesn't want the haunty man's help, but he doesn't have many options at the moment.

“I need a favor, a bottle of wine - strawberry, your most expensive brand.”

Mihawk shifts his weight, crossing his arms and leaning back against the crates behind him. It's not every day that Crocodile of all people comes asking for a favor.

“Why?”

The taller man flicks the ash from his cigar, eyes flickering to the darkening sky. He inhales deeply, lungs filling with smoke and then leaking up into the air. Fuck. This was embarrassing.

“I forgot it was Valentine's Day. I can't show up empty-handed,” Crocodile grumbles and huffs in annoyance when he sees the amused smirk on Mihawk’s face.

“You? Why celebrate such an unnecessary holiday?” Hawkeye inquires, but his eyes shine in mischief. Mihawk knows exactly the reason, but he can't help but want to pick on the other man.

Patience running thin, Crocodile glares down at the pompous bird who looks too smug for his own good.

“Because I don't take the one I love for granted,” he snarls down at Mihawk and revels in the look of anger that flashes across his face before it disappears. They glare at one another before the swordsman ultimately sighs and rolls his eyes as he is being asked to do the most unfortunate thing in the world.

“Fine,” Mihawk drawls and turns on to march back to the hotel, “Only because your wife deserves to have a nice Valentine's.”

Wine now in hand, Crocodile stalks to the back and into the kitchens. He demands the cooks whip up a platter of fine fruits and cheeses, simple things that he knows that you like. As he steps back into the lobby, he catches sight of the rack of cupcakes that sit far too close to Buggy for his liking. He sighs as he steps over to the figurehead of the Cross Guild, clearing his throat and smirking around his cigar at the way the clown shrieks and breaks into pieces.

Crocodile snatches up a cupcake, transferring the bottle of wine to a helpful pile of sand that he summons without a thought, “Who made these?”

Buggy looks about to die in his spot when he raises his hand, cheeks coloring bright red in embarrassment as he admits to baking the cupcakes. Crocodile scoffs at the goofball of a man who somehow became an emperor of the sea.

“Of course you did,” he sneers before turning on his heel and loping upstairs, leaving behind a befuddled and terrified Buggy.

The gator is uncharacteristically nervous when he arrives in front of his door. He can hear soft music playing from within, and his scar pulls tight around his nose when a wince crosses his face. The song is slow and crooning, one that he recognizes as one of the few that you play when you are feeling upset with him. Shit.

I’ve lost all ambition

For worldly acclaim

I just want to be the one you love

Crocodile steps through the door, brows pulling up at the sight of soft lighting and delicate decorations that are just a bit tacky. He cracks a tiny grin, and stubs out his cigar in the nearest ashtray, though the effort you’ve put in here just makes the ex-warlord feel guilty. On he goes, passed the living room, and out to the small balcony where he can still hear the slow tune of the song.

And with your admission

That you feel the same

I’ll have reached the goal I’m dreaming of

You sit in one of the chairs that have been set outside, blanket wrapped tight around your body, and turn when you hear the door slide open. Crocodile catches your eyes, and his shoulders slump in relief when you reward him with a soft smile full of love. You stand, dropping your blanket, and come to his side, simply happy that your husband has made it home before the end of the day.

Crocodile drapes himself over you, setting the wine bottle and cupcake away and then curling his arm around you tightly. He lifts you, tucking his hooked arm under your legs, and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling yourself in so that you can seal your lips to his, sighing in relief at feeling the man you loved close again. You know that he is busy, and you try not to let how much his absence hurts, but you hadn’t thought that Crocodile would have forgotten Valentine's Day.

You rest your brow against his own when the ex-warlord parts from you, letting out a quiet giggle when he presses a smattering of kisses to your cheeks and nose, though when he stops, you can see the regret still shimmering in his purple eyes.

“Forgive me, doll,” Crocodile rumbles against your lips, “Getting the guild up and running has taken too much of my attention away from you.”

You smile at him, a soft quirk of your lips that Crocodile had fallen in love with over time. He once thought you were mocking him with that easy expression, but now it is one that he cherishes above all else.

“There is nothing you need to apologize for, baby,” you coo softly and smooth a hand along his jaw, feeling the days-old stubble there. You trace the scar that runs along his nose and cheekbones, “I know that you’ve got a lot on your plate.”

Crocodile huffs, leaning into the hold you have on him, “That’s no excuse. You deserve better than this. If I’d remembered, we wouldn’t be spending this evening in the hotel surrounded by fools.”

“It's not very nice to speak about your co-workers like that,” you tease your husband, and the gator just rolls his eyes skyward.

“As if either of them contribute to the guild,” Crocodile grouches and shrugs out of his heavy overcoat and settles into the chair, situating you into a more comfortable position in his lap. Below the chair, sand shifts and slides back inside and to the cellarette. He retrieves two wine glasses and his hand reforms with the stems tucked between his fingers.

“Impressive as always,” you quip and take the glasses, resting them beside the wine and cupcake that you are just now noticing. Your smile turns into a delighted grin, and you snatch up the bottle, reading the label, “You got my favorite!”

Crocodile gives you a smug smirk, feeling proud of himself for doing at least something right tonight, “Thank Mihawk later. He’s the one who had it lying around.”

He disintegrates the cork of the dark bottle and pours them both a generous amount of the pale pink wine, handing you your glass first and then taking up his own, “The cooks are making you that little snack tray you like so much. Always eating like a little mouse.”

You snort at the old nickname, “Not my fault that fruit, cheese, and bread go so well together.”

Crocodile keeps a steady hand on your hip when you lean back over and pick up the cupcake, examining the bright pink icing and chocolate cake, “Who made this?”

The sigh Crocodile disperses is earth-shattering, and you raise a brow at his dramatics, only to smirk when he hisses, “Buggy.”

“See, your business partners are good for something, right?” You point out and take an obvious sip of your wine, then examine the cupcake, wondering which angle to go in at to create the least mess.

Crocodile snatches the cupcake from your hand, setting it back on the table. He didn’t trust you not to get crumbs everywhere, “Enough, you’ve made your point. Be grateful, hmm?”

You scoff at his audacity to think that you would ever be ungrateful for anything the devil fruit user got for you. You quickly decide to show your husband just how grateful you can be by being obnoxious, of course.

You drape yourself over Crocodile’s chest with a dramatic sigh, shifting to cradle his face in both of your hands to press your lips to his in a lip-smacking kiss, “Thank you so much for the wine and snacks to come my sweet, dear husband! What would I ever do without you?”

“Be wineless and snackless,” Crocodile rumbles and snickers at your dramatic display. Seas does he love his wife, so opposite to him, but with a unique outlook on life that he has always admired.

You laugh, catching him in another kiss before settling back down. Crocodile pours you another glass, and you sip it with a suspicious look, “Are you trying to get me drunk, Sir Crocodile?”

The grin that you receive is dastardly, and you are tugged impossibly closer, almost spilling your drink if not for the grip you had on the delicate stim. You shiver when that dangerous hook finds the edge of your dress, and send Crocodile a soft glare when you hear it begin to rip. Cool air meets your thighs when he rips it further, and he leans in, lips brushing against yours as he speaks.

“If I recall, you quite like it when I take advantage of you, Doll,” He rumbles, and his flesh hand smooths up your thigh, thumb dipping in between the juncture of your legs and stroking the soft skin there. Crocodile longs to feel your plush thighs wrapped around his waist or his head. The ex-warlord wasn’t picky. He presses his cheek to his wife’s, breathing you in and leaving a lingering kiss to your ear, “Or am I remembering incorrectly?”

A breathy laugh escapes you, and you turn your face, lips finding his stubbled cheek, “No, you remember correctly.”

You think about teasing him about the fact that he had forgotten what today was but cast the thought away when you lean back and catch sight of the dark circles under his eyes. Your husband looks tired, and your tipsy, lust-filled mind is swiftly reminded that this is the first time that Crocodile has been back to the hotel in days.

The gator raises a brow when he catches the change in your expression, and he sighs as he is subjugated to your concerned fretting until a knock on the door grabs his attention. Crocodile sets you on your feet, hands off his glass to you, and suggests you gather the wine and join him inside.

By the time you make it inside, Crocodile is shutting the door and lopes over to the sitting area where you’ve sat your bounty on the center table. The tray of snacks joins the wine and sweet treat, and Crocodile presses a quick kiss to the top of your head, “Get ready for me while I change, Dear.”

Crocodile smirks at the way you flush at the husk of his voice, and satisfaction curls hot in his chest at still being able to make you blush like a virgin even after all these years.

“Yes, Sir,” You breathe, and his cock twitches in interest. Crocodile leaves before he can say fuck it and go straight to the main course.

With your husband gone, you take in a deep breath and set to “getting ready” as he ordered you to do, which surmounted to waiting for him to get back so that he could manhandle you how he wanted. You help yourself to another glass and pick at the charcuterie board - eating the cupcake too while you’re at it - you’ve already eaten, but you were never one to turn away food.

The sight of your husband dressed down in black sleep pants with a cigar hanging from between his teeth - he’s even taken off his golden hook for the night - makes you smile, affection, and love for the dangerous man who used to infuriate you at every turn. Now, only you had the honor of seeing the suna suna user like this, all soft and intimate, and all for you, his wife.

Crocodile sighs as he settles on the floor where you’ve strewn out pillows and thick blankets, making a cozy pallet for the two of you. He rests his back on the couch, extending his hookless arm along the cushions and taking up his filled glass. He watches you pick over to the record player and switch songs, smirking when the husky voice of the female artist fills the room. You settle back in his lap, and he wraps his left arm securely around your waist.

Your fingers find his scared wrist and trace gentle patterns there. You rest against him and quietly ask him about how the last couple of days have been. You listen to your husband grouch about the incompetent fools he works with a fond grin, occasionally rising to pick at the snack board and feed your overworked ex-warlord just to get him to pause in his rants. You chime in here and there and offer one last time if he wants your help, but Crocodile denies you like every other time.

“I won’t have you out there around those heathens when I can’t be there to protect you. Mr. 3 and Daz are the only two I trust around here,” Crocodile grumbles and pushes away the cracker and cheese combination you offer him. He smirks as he watches you shrug and eat it for yourself.

“Once I get a more stable network, then we can talk about getting you back out there.”

You huff, but agree for now, not willing to argue with the stubborn man right now. You blink when your world suddenly spins, and the next thing you know, your husband is looming over you, scar scrunching up as he grins meanly down at you.

“Enough about work, Doll. I’ve held myself back for your sake, but I’m done being patient,” Crocodile rumbles and stabilizes himself with his left elbow, trailing his flesh hand up your knee and pushing your dress up and around your hips. Saliva pools in his mouth at the sight of smooth thighs, your panties hugging your mound and leaving little to the imagination. He wants to mark you up like his personal canvas and paint you with bites and hickies so that everyone would know who you belong to.

He leans back just enough to tug your dress up and over your head, tossing it behind him the moment it leaves your head. Crocodile hums, pleased at the sight of your bare breasts, though he would have liked to have seen you nice and dolled up for him, “What have I told you about wearing the lingerie I bought you?”

You blush and shake your head, “It just gets in the way.”

“Ku ha-hah, If you would give it a chance, then maybe you would change your mind,” Crocodile grumbles at you and then leans down to mouth at your collar bone, nipping at the delicate skin there. His hand splays across your side, and he slides it down your hip to hook into your underwear. He tugs them down, growing impatient when his cock throbs in his pants.

Any thoughts of arguing about lingerie are whipped from your mind when those sharp teeth of his find one of your nipples and bites. You curse, one hand gripping his shoulder and the other sliding into his hair, nails biting sharply into his olive skin. The tip of his tongue curls around your nipple, sucking gently to ease the sharp pain.

With your underwear out of the way, Crocodile hooks his fingers around your thigh and tugs your legs open, hooking your left one over his hip. The tips of his fingers dig into your inner thigh, and you moan when he nips your nub before releasing the abused flesh and lean your head back to expose your throat when he noses forward. He sucks dark marks into your skin, leaving behind a painting that only your husband would have the pleasure of viewing.

Crocodile drags his hand down your thigh, growling low in his throat when you dig your nails into his scalp again. The tips of his fingers find your cunt, and he slides his middle finger through your folds, smirking against your skin when he feels how wet you are for him. He leans up and sucks his finger into his mouth for half a second, soaking it thoroughly before sliding it back down and finding your entrance with practiced ease.

“Fuck,” you hiss, and your hips jerk at the sudden stretch. Crocodile was a large man, bigger than the average at the least, and that meant everything on him matched his height. His fingers, usually decorated with rings, were long and thick, and the gator knew how to use them to bring you over the edge until you were begging for his cock.

“Too much?” Crocodile grunts out from where he has leaned back to lave his tongue along your throat, sharp teeth nipping, “But you can take it even if it was, couldn’t you, sweetheart?”

You jerk your head in a nod, deliriously with wanton lust, “Of course, Sir. Whatever you wanted from me.”

He laughs against your skin, and then he is moving up to shove his tongue past your lips, groaning at the mixed taste of you and sweet strawberry wine. You suck on the thick muscle that fills your mouth, jaw aching at the way Crocodile doesn't let up. Your thighs shake when he adds another finger, the pace brutal and impatient.

“C-croc, please,” you plead when he pulls away, lips red and smeared with spit, “You're not the only one who's been waiting.”

Crocodile gives you a smirk, not needing to be told twice. You unwrap your arms from his neck, and he sits back on his knees, thumb hooking into the elastic of his pants, pulling them down, and you watch his impressive length spring free. Your mouth fills with saliva, and if you didn't want your husband inside you so badly, you would demand he sit back so you could suck him off.

Instead, you reach out and wrap your hand around the thick base, smirking when you feel him pulse in your hand. You squeeze gently, eyes landing on the thick precum that leaks from his tip. Crocodile rumbles above you, sounding like the animal that he is named after, and the sound sends shocks straight to your core.

Done with your playing, you sit back and tighten your legs around his waist, causing the big man to rock forward.

“Fuck me, Crocodile. Make it up to me for almost missing Valentine's.”

Crocodile's grin is nasty and mean, sharp teeth pearly and on display, “As my wife demands.”

With those words, Crocodile bats your hand away from his cock and takes himself in hand. He guides himself forward, hissing at how tight of a fit you are, swallowing him down until his hips pressed flush against your own. Crocodile lingers for half a second before he is pulling out, dragging along your walls before slamming back in.

You shout, head falling back to the pillows below as Crocodile sets a back breaking pace. You hold on to his shoulders to dear life, his hand tight around your hip to keep you still as he fucks into your cunt. He shifts his knees under you, arm moving to wrap around your waist, keeping you close as he moves to kneel on the ground. This position pushes him impossibly deeper, and you lean forward to rest your sweaty brow against his chest.

Crocodile bounces you on his cock, bodily moving you up and down, and you feel that hot coil of pleasure snap inside of you when your clit grinds wonderfully against his pelvis. He doesn't stop, growling as you clench tight around him and snapping his hips up, dragging his length against your sweet spot.

“You should see yourself,” Crocodile snarls above you, and bends, pressing his cheek to yours, “Stuffed so full with my cock. You like it when I'm rough, don't you baby?”

You nod eagerly, teeth clenched tightly when your husband tightens his grip in your waist and holds you down while he grinds up. You come quickly after that, hands tight around his shoulders and nails digging into Crocodile’s back.

His pace becomes erratic, and Crocodile can feel himself starting to get close. His wife feels too good, and he doesn't fight it when that heat snaps, pulling you down and shoving in to fill you up to the brim. You watch him, taking in the blissed out way, his brows furrowed and his sharp teeth clench. He paints you from the inside, and the two of you look down at where you are connected to see a mix of slick and semean leak out and stain your thighs.

The two of you stay like that until Crocodile grows soft and he slips out of your fucked out pussy with a quiet groan. You stay draped over him, unwilling to move, and feeling exhausted. The gator huffs at you, though he can't pick when Crocodile lets out a jaw cracking yawn. He stands with a heavy sigh, unbothered by the mess left behind as he lopes to the bathroom.

Crocodile switches arms, tucking his handless arm under your ass to keep you help up while he flicks on the tub. It's too hot for him when he steps into the huge tub, but he knows that you wouldn't tolerate anything cooler than molten lava. He adjusts you so that you are mostly submerged, big frame relaxing against the edge of the tub.

He smooths your hair away from your face, a soft smile playing on his lips when he catches your eyes. He leans in and presses his lips to your brow, “I love you, Doll.”

You grin, eyes falling shut, and you press yourself as close as you can to your husband, lips grazing his chest, “I love you too, Crocodile.”

The ex-warlord hums low, a smirk appearing, but you can still see the slight discontent in his eyes. Today isn't how he would have liked it to go, and you both know it. He tucks you close, head leaning back.

“I won't forget next year.”

[fanaticsnail]

Snail,,,,,

It's been a low swing so I haven't been interacting as much but know that I love you and you bring joy everytime you appear on my dash

I did get a creative burst recently so have some domestic / acts of love headcanons for *spins wheel* Dracula Mihawk!

Receiving:

- shaving his beard

- the greatest swordsman knows how to wield blades but let's you do it anyway

- he likes the intimacy and trust of allowing you to hold a blade so close to his throat

- he also thinks you're hot when you hold blades, something he has sculpted himself to be the master of

- some kind of almost submission where he gets aroused by being a master swordsman, having spent his whole life sculpting his body to wield blades with the utmost pinnacle of precision and power, and sitting beneath you as he lets you (less skilled) wield a blade against him. Especially as he watches you improve; steadier, more confident and precise as time passes. But he would dare admit an arousal he can't put a name to or explain

- he gets to stare at your concentrated face without being too weird/overt. (Usually it's "Mihawk what do you think of these earrings?" 👁️ 👁️)

Giving:

- buying you souvenirs from his travels

- he personally doesn't like knick knacks or novelties, but he likes to let you know he's thinking of you in every moment

- and it's a way to keep you in his thoughts, bringing you with him for his sake and yours on his trying journeys

- oh the cross guild meeting gave him a preemptive hangover? At least he gets to spend an hour picking something out for his darling

- even if you don't like touristy things, he takes notice of what it is you do like and gets you that (e.g, perfume, jewellery, foods)

- the act of knowing you is another one of his love languages

Reciprocated:

- pouring eachothers wine/drink

- it's literally the same amount of effort for him to pour yours and you to pour his as it would be to do it yourselves, perhaps even more

- but he just loves it

- it's the small act of service without the pressure of grandeur that he revels in. He would level ships if you asked. You would freeze hell over so he didn't sweat in his jacket when he went down there. But you both don't have to go to those lengths to appreciate each other and know/feel appreciated

- coordinating outfits

- he gets to show you off while still staking a claim

- ties into bringing you things he thinks you'll like, he gets to show off how well he knows his partner by getting them something tailor-made with the right measurements and style

OH MY GOSH ITS SNAIL!!! HI!!!

Oh, I missed you so, so much. I am glad you're back, my love.

That image of Mihawk's yellow eyes lovingly falling half-lidded as he submits to the handle of his lover's blade has me in a choke hold. I am obsessed with this. Beautiful analysis of shared love languages. You're amazing, and you always come through when I need you, Snail.

Literally today, my sister was bullying me into the final chapter of Sapsorrow and I needed a little shove more to get me there. I will be looking at this whimsically while I fixate on it 🖤.

Thank you for sharing your creative burst with me 🖤🖤