gouraminnow

[gouraminnow]

A Sparrow at Sea (2/4)

MDNI

Whitebeard pirates/reader (fem? functionally gender-neutral)

I do not curate tag lists, but I reply to comments on each chapter when the next goes live.

Summary: Turned into a bird as part of a slave-smuggling operation, you get your revenge - and then your revenge gets you. Panicked and alone, you crash land on a very large, very famous ship full of very large and quite infamous men.

Warnings: mild body horror, technically kidnapping, reasonable fear of death

Master List

You blinked. You breathed. Your chest rose and fell much too quickly as you tried to determine if you were alright. Feathers on your chest fluttered in the stiff, ocean breeze, and the sensation carried down through the quills into your flesh.

It made you sick.

You weren’t sure you had the energy to roll over if you threw up, though. So best not.

Your vision was different. Without the mission, without the fear, rage, and adrenaline, you couldn’t help noticing just how wrong the world looked. There was too much, and your eyes didn’t focus the way you wanted them to. Your peripheral vision was overwhelming, and the narrow point of binocular crossover stabbed you with details you didn’t want or need. Bits of bird shit pressed in groves of the planks left from the last cleaning. An ant missing one leg. Scratches and dents where men stood on watch.

Aches clenched through unfamiliar muscles, and crackling agony radiated down toes that were too few and too long.

Your fucking teeth were gone.

And the exhaustion turned the glut of sensory information into a smokey haze, just like the fire you’d set. You wandered blind through your own thoughts, trying to find a plan, or some grounding sensation that didn’t horrify you the more you considered it.

Rest hovered out of reach, driven away by confusion and the human drive to fix all this before… before what? It stuck? You stayed a bird forever?

Fuck if you knew how that Devil Fruit worked.

Maybe you’d just pop back into your human skin, naked and unarmed on a strange ship at any second.

You stretched your feet. The tiny, useless talons flexed against the sky.

How long did sparrows usually live? Would this body follow bird rules that way, or would you live decade after decade trying to return to normal? If you survived the bigger birds. And the humans. And the weather. And cats.

Oh, shit.

You’d seen what cats did to birds. All blood and feathers. Hopefully this ship didn’t keep a mouser. Escaping the grasp of an owl to land in a kitty’s claws would be just your luck.

Freshly motivated to understand your surroundings, you craned your head back to get a better look at the sail billowing overhead. If it was anything but a private merchant or fishing vessel, it would fly some sort of colors. The Marines’ signature bird or a distinct Jolly Roger.

You caught sight of the colorful sketch on the sails, and your heart stopped dead in your chest.

Yeah. Your luck had not improved.

The Whitebeard Pirates controlled your stretch of the New World, and you’d seen their mark fly over every town, trading post, and port you’d ever visited. It grinned down at you now, larger than ever, and you strung the pieces of your fate together.

The whale figurehead.

The sheer size of the vessel.

The mustachioed Jolly Roger flying overhead.

The necklace of bad news beads clenched around your throat, and for a hot minute you went into shock.

No thoughts.

Only dead silence.

Waiting for the funeral bell to toll.

Because, while the Whitebeard crews didn’t go out of their way to cause trouble, they were still pirates, and if they figured out you were anything but a bird, they’d reasonably assume you were a spy. Or worse.

To make matters worse, their flagship carried an array of intensely gifted Haki users, and while you didn’t fully understand those abilities, observation was a big one. Someone was bound to notice a bird that didn’t act like a bird, or the Devil Fruit power may leave traces an observant fucker could spot.

There would be questions.

Unless you just stayed small. Stayed out of the way. Entirely avoided the entire crew until you could see land and fly off to your next fuck over. That was possible, right? If you stayed in your perch, or climbed higher into the rigging, you could just wait until something green, bumpy, and beautiful broke the horizon. Sparrows were tiny. And common. So long as you stayed away from prying eyes…

“I knew you weren’t a gull. Izou owes me a hundred Berri.”

Startled into a scream that came out as a sharp, biting note of birdsong, you rolled onto blistered feet, getting low and facing the voice like you were a human with a knife or a gun who could do something about the pirate smiling over the edge of the crow’s nest.

His eyes, framed on the left by a crescent-shaped scar, widened at your reaction.

“Hey, easy, okay? This won’t take long.” A palm bigger than your entire body blocked out the sun. “I just need to show you to my brother and you can take off.”

Like.

Fuck.

No one else would be touching you today. Certainly not a killer who’d apparently escalated your situation over a dumbass bet (with another killer who had one hundred shiny reasons to end your feathered ass).

Hopping, fluttering, and cursing him out with words your beak couldn’t translate, you launched into the air. Balanced as he was at the top of the rope ladder to the outlook post, the pirate’s reach was limited, and you moved too fast for him to do anything without losing his balance.

“Whoa! Hey! Wait!”

Noping nope.

He was going to lose that bet. Maybe fall, too. You wished him an ill voyage to the deck, but you had better things to do than assist gravity – like fucking off to higher climes. It wasn’t easy, especially because your body hadn’t gotten the memo that nap time was over, and you had the aerial coordination of a hedgehog in a strong breeze.

You tumbled through the air. Sometimes up, but just as often sideways. Or downwards. Once you cleared the crow’s nest the wind hit you like a wall. You weren’t ready to really leave the ship, but the gusts powerful enough to move the massive ship demanded you grab on or get lost.

The pirate’s shouting alerted everyone at work in the rigging, and safe landing zones dwindled as you fought to keep any kind of control over your course.

From far behind you, your would-be kidnapper shouted, “Marco, grab it!”

“Relax, yoi.”

The blasé reply barely registered before a great, winged shadow fell over you. Talons framed your peripheral vision, and you squeaked, trying to fight harder against the gale as they closed in.

But you lacked grace, speed, and energy, so the battle was over before it had even begun – with you trapped in a grip that put the owl Zoan’s to shame.

And dropping toward the deck fast.

You screamed – or tried to – wriggling and fighting for your life as the planks neared. A fall like that would snap every bone in your body. If this new fiend didn’t just eat you. Or land on you. Death by squish. What a sound. What a mess.

Closing your eyes, you pulled your feet into your chest and huddled as far into your own feathers as you could, bracing for the end.

Then you were free, but still falling, and you watched blue flames wheel away as you dropped.

Certain birds killed their prey by dropping them. Or ramming them on spikes. You fell with your back to the ocean and your belly to the sky, well aware that it was too late to catch yourself, and you imagined a sword below, waiting to skewer you for further inspection. It would be convenient. And damn on brand for pirates.

You waited for the pain.

Instead, you collided with human flesh, and long, pale fingers closed around you, keeping your wings and feet pinned as a man with make-up skills beyond your ken lifted you for a better look. His delicate brows furrowed, lips pursing as he turned his wrist, examining your dazed face.

I swear I didn’t mean to land here, you tried to say. I know I’m not a bird. But it’s not my fault, and I’ll gladly fuck off as soon as there’s somewhere to go, so I’m not a spy, and I’m not a bird, and please don’t stab me, or crush me, or throw me to your mouser, because I’m really not ready to die. And…

The man clicked his tongue, lifting his free hand. You flinched as it approached, entirely unready to feel your neck snap in his delicate grip, but death didn’t come. A knuckle ran down your beak, and the man spoke in a low, disgruntled voice that wasn’t aimed at you at all.

“We’re too far from land for sparrows.”

Flickering blue alighted beside you, and you craned to look over your shoulder as Marco the Fucking Phoenix landed. The man from the crow’s nest jumped the last few feet from the rope ladder, and all three began a conversation you had no part in.

As your heartbeat returned to a mildly elevated tempo, you started putting more names to faces. Pirates were proud of their bounties, and Whitebeard’s crew was no exception. They welcomed the posters in their territories, and all three men surrounding you had appeared on many a wall and bulletin board.

The man who made the bet and scared you out of your temporary shelter was Thatch.

He’d already mentioned Izou by name, and given a moment to breathe, you would’ve recognized his distinctive style without prompting.

Three division commanders. The best of the best among the strongest pirate crew in the world. You hadn’t been in a good position before, but somehow it had gotten worse. Nearly as bad as it could be.

Thatch swaggered up, bending down to look you in the eye and chuckle before swinging his attention to his comrade. “Not a gull, though.”

Izou sighed, closing his eyes with the put-upon air of a great martyr. “Not a gull.”

One hand reached into his robes as he handed you off to Marco, who didn’t give you time to even dream of escaping. Frowning, the First Division Commander turned you, checking from all angles as you imagined you were a statue. If you didn’t move, they may forget you were alive, and then they’d set you down so you could fly off into the sunset before they realized their mistake. There had to land somewhere, right?

“What’s got Thatch so happy?”

Another famous face strolled over, peeping around Marco.

Fire-Fist Ace.

Because it wasn’t hell until everything was on fire, right?

Marco raised a brow, lifting your itty-bitty talons with a finger to show the cost of setting fires without opposable digits.

“It’s hurt. Look at the feet, yoi.” He side-eyed Ace. “They’re burned.”

The bronze skin beneath the legion of freckles across the Second Division Commander’s face paled. He stepped back, waving his hands. “Don’t look at me! I’ve never seen it before.”

“It could explain why it’s so far beyond the usual range,” Izou mused, looking far too intently over your features with a knuckle resting on his chin. “But that only explains so much. This species isn’t native to the New World.”

Your heartbeat spiked again. Even if you still had a human’s lifespan, every minute in this body was shaving off years.

Grudgingly, you had to admit it made sense. Turning people into birds that weren’t local would make escapees easier to spot. It also validated carting so many around as merchandise.

It wasn’t your fault. Not that anyone would care whenever the effect wore off and you started screaming instead of chirping. Doomed, doomed, and more doomed.

Would it hurt less to die as a bird? Maybe you should be considering some long-term measures, like flying into a window before the torture started.

“Are you sure?” Thatch craned over you again, entirely too much in every sense. He smelled like a thousand spices and loomed tall as a lighthouse. “How do you tell sparrows apart?”

“No New World species has these marks.” A finger ran down the side of your head, following a stripe you couldn’t see. “A quirk of nature I learned studying Zoan-types. It pays to know when an animal is in the wrong part of the world.” The finger ran down the opposite side of your head, and you recommitted to your new life as a living statue. “No fruit creates a sparrow Zoan, though.”

Well, thank fuck for that. You may live to see sunset.

The men mumbled among themselves until Thatch asked, “What should we do with it? If it’s lost and hurt, I mean…”

They all fell silent. Something about the wording struck them dumb, and the vibe of the little huddle shifted. You couldn’t see all of their faces, but Ace had gone stone-still, wearing an expression far too serious for those damn freckles, and Thatch’s brows pinched, like he’d just gotten bad news from home. It wasn’t right for any of them to suffer such gravitas over a bird. Couldn’t they just let go and forget you, for fuck’s sake?

Marco adjusted his grip. “First thing’s first.”

The blue fire returned, and instinct threw you headlong into fight or flight. Since your wings were pinned, you tore at the nearest flesh with your beak, twisting and clawing aimlessly with your maimed feet. The flame rose, engulfing you. It would roast you, turn you to ash, and you wouldn’t even get a burial because there wasn’t much of you as it was; there wouldn’t be enough to sweep up after a cremation. Turquoise tongues licked up, and up, eating your sanity.

And then it was gone.

You panted, dizzy with fear even as you flexed your toes without pain.

Healing fire. Phoenix fire. Right.

And so, so, so wrong.

Ace whistled. “Little fighter, huh?”

Marco snorted. “Didn’t even draw blood.”

“Sure tried, though.” Thatch’s eyebrows reached for his pompadour.

The First Division Commander ignored Thatch, checking your feet for damage. You didn’t even pretend to resist. You couldn’t. It was like your crash landing in the crow’s nest all over again. All you could do was breathe and hope you’d be okay when you reunited with your body. If you were human, you’d call it a panic attack.

Did birds have panic attacks? What about people turned into birds? Surely, they deserved the right to flip their shit. You couldn’t think of a better reason to have a meltdown.

Besides being hunted by an owl.

And getting lost at sea.

Or winding up in the hands of the strongest pirates alive.

“Why’re you all so worried about it?”

Another enormous man lumbered over. His face rang a very distant bell, but he was no commander. Only a small part of a massive band. But he swaggered up to the others like they were the best of friends and no one batted an eye. Except for you. You blinked frantically, trying to keep up with the conversation that would determine if you lived or died. And how you’d do either, because the troop of commanders seemed very invested in keeping you in-hand.

Literally.

“Just a dumb animal.” The way the big-bellied newcomer grinned down at you did not put you at ease. It reminded you of an old nursery rhyme about a king who ate birds stuffed in pies. “Leave it to the gulls, or put it out of its misery now if you’re feeling merciful.”

Izou tsked, but Thatch grinned at the latest addition to the sparrow’s tribunal.

“Never have a pet, Teach?”

The stranger, Teach, laughed, putting a hand on his stomach as it bounced with his mirth. “Nah. Only belly I worry about filling is my own.”

As those two casually discussed your murder, Ace chewed on the inside of his cheek. His jaw twitched and the flesh pulled tight between his teeth. You could only hope he was considering how important it was to let wild things be free, not how your bones might crunch after a good roasting.

“We could keep it,” he mused. “Pops has a dog, so it’s not like pets are off limits, right?”

A future spent behind bars, forced to shit in your own space and peck at whatever a gang of man-children thought would be good for a bird to eat added fuel to your frustration. You fought to free yourself again, pleas falling on deaf ears.

You don’t have to do that. Please don’t do that. Why the fuck would you keep a sparrow, anyway?

“Not against the rules, but not encouraged.” Marco squinted at you again, like he was trying to read the future in the stripes that caught his brother’s eye. “This isn’t a regular situation, though. And it’s not like a bird would take up much space.”

I’ll take up even less space if I’m not here.

Your mad chirping didn’t convince any of them to let you go, and Marco turned on his heel, heading towards a door you assumed led below.

“I’ll keep it in my office until Pops makes a decision. We’ll figure things out from there.”

If he’d just open his hand and let you go, they could have all of this figured out here and now. But no one took your insight seriously. Your distressed chatter seemed to work against you, actually, and you took note of several of the men eying you with amusement and a possessive hint of care.

Like a little girl who found a stray kitten raiding the trash and dragged it to her parents for permission to name and collar.

“Remember,” Thatch called, “I technically saw it first!”

“I hear you, yoi,” Marco mumbled, clearly thinking about other things.

He stepped out of the sunshine, into the ship’s belly, and you wondered how the hell you’d landed in a worse situation than you started with.

[gouraminnow]

A Sparrow at Sea 1/?

MDNI

Whitebeard pirates/reader (fem)

Summary: Turned into a bird as part of a slave-smuggling operation, you get your revenge - and then your revenge gets you. Panicked and alone, you crash land on a very large, very famous ship full of very large and quite infamous men.

I promised myself I wouldn't post another incomplete one-shot, but here we are! Dealing with a bit of burnout and could use the interaction, buddies. Aiming for maybe two more 'chapters.'

Enjoy!

Master List

The bastards turned you into a bird.

So, you set their fucking warehouse on fire.

You sat – perched – several rooftops away, watching the little flames you’d gathered work into the prepared kindling.

Satisfaction glowed warm in hollow bones.

It hadn’t been easy. You’d labored for hours, too angry to rest after escaping the Devil Fruit user’s sweaty hands as he tried to shake your shrunken body out of your clothes and into a cage. You’d pecked his hands bloody and taken off through a broken shutter.

The kidnappers’ second Devil Fruit user, a Zoan type, slammed into the wood behind you, the owl too big to fit through the same crack a sparrow could. He’d hooted in rage, and you went scrambling over rooftiles and windowsills, trying to understand how to grab things with your feet.

Adrenaline fed into growing anger, and your little heart pumped hard with outsized emotions. Hiding was easy when you were so small. Plenty of merchants threw covers over their market stalls at night, and every building had nooks and crannies you could hop inside. Away from the men, their fingers, and their talons.

Once the owl’s shadow stopped circling and the night lost its edge to the blue hour, you set about your revenge.

Flying was more or less intuitive (a few painful experiments aside). Figuring out what you could and couldn’t lift took longer. You’d hoped to wrap some coals to drop on your target, but they were too heavy and dangerous to manage without hands. You took to setting twigs and scraps alight in torches and open lanterns. The flames caught you more than once, but only your poor little feet. If you lost your feathers, you’d have new problems, and you’d rather struggle to stand than fail to fly. At least in your current shape.

Which you’d have to do something about.

At some point.

If it didn’t wear off.

Which was a level of horror you weren’t ready to face yet. You’d contemplate your future as you took a dust bath in the ashes.

What would’ve taken less than an hour in your human body took until daybreak as a sparrow.

You panted as you watched the fruit of your labor ignite like a second sun. Straw and twigs fed the blaze until it clawed past the shingles and into the beams, growing fast and hungry down the walls and into the great room below. You hoped their smuggled goods would go up in smoke. You hoped the man who’d taken your hand to seal a deal for a few pounds of fenced sea stone would lose skin, limb, or life.

Damned slave trader.

It had all been too well-rehearsed to be their first attempt, and the cage was old and well-used. It wasn’t a bad plan, practically speaking. None of the Yonkos liked having people from their territories poached, even if they participated in the trade themselves, and sneaking a whole person out of a busy port was no easy task, let alone a profitable number of whole persons. A cage full of sparrows, though? No one would look twice.

If you were bigger, you’d lock the doors so they could all burn together.

But maybe they would anyway. The first shouts didn’t rise until the roof had collapsed, and you imagined a room full of sleeping men slapped awake with fire and falling beams.

The flesh on your feet cracked as you adjusted your grip on the roof’s edge, but you took the pain with pride. You’d done this. They thought they stripped your power from you with your sturdy bones and your opposable thumbs, but they were all wrong. Dead wrong. Fuckers.

The smoke hung low over the town, blending with the dense fog rolling in from the sea. Leaping flames illuminated the haze and cast writhing shadows on the streets below. Just as the neighborhood woke to the smell and distant screams, and the first calls for water and aid rang out, a winged shadow launched through the hole that used to be the warehouse’s roof.

The owl looked more like a demon from your diminished perspective, and you hunkered low on instinct, hoping he wouldn’t see you – the one animal lacking common sense – lingering within blocks of the mounting inferno.

But sharp, predatory eyes locked on you, and he dove with a shriek that promised murder. He could disembowel you in the public square and no one would even know they were witness to your execution. The owl was built to stab, and rip, and tear flimsy little things like you apart.

His wings spread wide, and his talons flashed gold as they came to bear.

You flung yourself from the roof, flapping wildly to catch the air as you fell away from danger. The blades on the monster’s feet scratched into the wood where you’d just been, and your heart stuttered.

He wanted you dead as much as you wanted him to burn.

As the owl gathered himself, peering into the dark for his target, you managed to find your balance in the air. Fluttering low and fast, you took the first corner. Your hunter’s wings were silent, and you only knew how close he came when an unnatural breeze cur over your back.

Too close.

No matter how small and quick you were, so long as he kept you in sight, he was always a breath from drawing blood. He knew his shape, and you did not. Sooner or later, you’d run out of corners, out of obstacles to keep between you.

And then you would die.

As a fucking bird.

Overhead, the fog thickened as you neared the water. The smoke wasn’t so heavy, but plenty of people lost themselves in weather like this. Maybe you could lose an owl.

You pushed into the damp, white cloud, serpentining to keep the owl from diving at you again. A discontented rumble of a hoot broke the silence in your wake, and you raced on, chasing the sound of waves and the densest cover.

As the sun rose, the water vapor glowed, catching and holding the light. You hoped it blinded the predator. At least convince him the chase wasn’t worth it.

But you couldn’t hear him. Couldn’t see him. So, you kept on flying like you were being hunted. Just because you were clever didn’t mean you were the smartest one in the room. You’d learned that lesson the hard way many times over, and it rubbed itself into your fresh wounds all over again with the salty sea spray.

There was always someone quicker, someone sharper, someone stronger. Someone with better connections and greater wealth. And no one had the decency to lay their traps in the open with a warning signs for casual passersby.

Over confidence wouldn’t get you this time. You’d fly forever if meant escaping the Zoan-user.

It felt like you did fly forever.

The sun rose, the fog thinned, and you started circling to look above, below, and behind for the shadow of another, larger bird. Besides a few seagulls, though, nothing appeared. Which was a relief until the fog cleared away and nothing but ocean spread below you.

You nearly fell out of the sky when you realized you couldn’t see land. Not even a lump on the horizon. You’d thought the fog would be gone by midmorning, but you realized the sun was too high and too low at the same time, like it had already crested and started heading down.

You were lost.

Worse, you were tired.

Sparrows weren’t seabirds. They couldn’t soar through empty skies to far-flung islands without many rest points in between.

You had flown far. And you saw no rest points. Not even a rock or a breaching chunk of coral.

Panic drained into a reserve, fueling a mindless fugue state that pulled you away from your growing distress. Your wings burned, but you shouldn’t have them at all. Dangerous thoughts. If felt like you were still carrying fire in your fragile claws, and you shuddered as your legs tucked too close to your body. Wrong feet, wrong legs, wrong body.

You shouldn’t be a bird at all, and you were going to die as one because you picked a fight with many someones much bigger than you without any kind of escape plan or preparation. An idiot in feathers with a small brain and burnt toes.

How much longer could you stay aloft? If not for the strong wind, you thought you might’ve already dropped low enough for the higher waves to catch your wings. And then you’d be doomed. Death by drowning or a hungry shark. Maybe even pecked to death by the gulls loitering in your periphery.

What a way to go.

And then you saw a shape in the distance. Tall and broad. That was all you could make out. It could’ve been a sea king for all you cared, so long as it stayed above the surface and let you rest.

The thing had a whale’s face, but not a whale’s shape. A whale island? No. No, you realized those square clouds were sails. Those holes were for cannons, not little caves in a cliff. Even as a human, you distantly understood, the ship – because it could only be that – was enormous. The whale at the head made sense. Good gods, it might as well be a floating island. Or an island whale.

People milled around the deck, so you fluttered up, calling on the last of your energy and determination to find a safe roost. The top of an empty crow’s nest was just what you needed. You crashed into the platform, rolling into the mast, where you sprawled – legs up – under the crushing weight of survival.

[gouraminnow]

If ANY of yall EVER do this shit to me, im deleting every single fic out of spite.

If I ever catch one of yall doing this to another author and I know youre a follower of my work I will block you personally on every platform

None of yall are the fic police. I DESPISE genai. I think its an insult to art, humanity, and the planet itself. But aint not a single fucking person here qualified to pick apart a strangers fic looking for a gotcha moment to make yourselves feel superior. If you think something is ai you can ask the author (most are proud of the ai use and will just tell you straight up) if they say yes you have your answer and can warn people. If they say no and you dont believe them you block and quietly keep it between you and maybe a close group of friends. Spreading misinformation is DANGEROUS. And NONE of you doing this shit are anywhere near qualified to do it.

THIS GOES DOUBLY FOR ARTISTS.

[gouraminnow]

The City of Atlanta Georgia has decided to demolish the research and conservation center of the Amphibian Foundation. This organization works tirelessly to conserve the Frogs, Toads, Salamanders, Newts, and other amphibians in the United States. In addition, they provide key education for herpetologists on the care, conservation, and preservation of reptiles and amphibians.

This emergency need is compounded by the government mass firing of conservation officials and the pulling of funds from many of the country's conservation organizations.

If you can help please donate here:

Key points from the Amphibian Foundation.

Our building will be demolished in 2026, and we need to identify a new location (or locations) for 7 labs and over 1,000 animals, many of which are endangered and part of critical conservation programs.

We've identified a new location for most of AF, but not our research and conservation programs. We have an amazing lead, but it's not confirmed yet.

Our first fundraising project is the AF Emergency Fund as the minimum cost estimates to move this many labs and animals safely is $50,000. (It costs about 50 USD per animal to move them)

If you can't donate.. please share... here.. and everywhere else.

[gouraminnow]

1023

[gouraminnow]

its kind of crazy that all it took for self shipping to become a recognizable trend in certain spaces was using a japanese word for it instead

[gouraminnow]

Y'know not to be commie on main or whatever but I keep seeing that post that says fanfic is exempt from the whole "there is no ethical consumption under capitalism" thing, with people even going so far as to say that fanfiction exists outside of capitalism. While I get what they're trying to say this statement just reveals that most of the people on that post only have a surface level understanding of what that phrase even means to begin with. Like yeah, it's one person doing something of their own volition without being exploited by agencies/publishers/industries etc. and that's cool! But capitalism is bigger than that. It's every step of the process. It's the entire machine. To be online in the first place, you and your fanbase are using devices made by underpaid factory workers. They're probably powered by batteries made from lithium mined via slave and/or child labor. The media that serves as the source for your fanfiction is also very often made unethically. Can you vouch for the treatment of every single storyboarder, writer, VFX artist, actor, voice actor, etc. etc. into infinity? What websites do you post on, how do they treat their workers and userbase, and how do they make money? Who's your internet service provider and what's up with them? Do you rely on google services for anything? Nothing exists outside of capitalism and that is by design. If you exist within society, everything you do is tied to it in some way. Also obligatory disclaimer, I'm not saying fanfic enjoyers/writers are stupid or bad people for engaging with fanfic(hopefully this is obvious, we all know what type of blog this is lmao) nor am I trying to get on my high horse over semantics. I'm not even trying to tell people they shouldn't use/enjoy any of these things because the entire point of "there is no ethical consumption under capitalism" is exactly that: it's inescapable. I just think if you talk about something through the lens of a specific political statement/ideology, you should probably learn a bit more about how those politics work in the first place. The takeaway from that post is just objectively incorrect.

[gouraminnow]

Small general update

My dad is doing good. I'm getting surgery later this month and also preparing for college. This blog is unofficially suspended, but I won't be deleting anything. I'm okay but busy, I would like to return to fic writing soon but can't promise anything rn.

Thank you to my followers I really appreciate you all <3

[gouraminnow]

art tutorials / books i like masterpost

ppl ask me for advice and while i always have a lot of Thoughts about art that i like to share. maybe being told "just have fun and be yourself" can be frustrating when you want actionable advice so:

these are books i love that have taught me a lot, i own physical copies and still reference them all the time. (these arent expensive or hard to find but i'll include pdfs anyway)

Dynamic Figure Drawing by Burn Hogarthe (pdf)

The Art of Animal Drawing by Ken Hultgren (pdf)

Exploring Color by Nita Leland (pdf)

and i am being completely dead serious when i say you should try the tutorials from ed emberley's books. yes even if you're a whole adult who has gone to art school. (everybody who tells me "your art is so shaped" this is where i get that shit from !!! he knew what he was talking about!!) this one is my favorite

also these books that i've learned a lot from that aren't literally "how to draw" books:

and i say this all the time but imo just doing a lot of observational drawing / drawing from life is the thing that will level you up the fastest. it's an awesome thing to be inspired by the art you love but if that's all you do you will never get out of the trap of comparing yourself to others. most importantly be gay and never give up

[gouraminnow]

bangs (hope it's the right word....) really suit her

[gouraminnow]

Putting all tabletop players into a college level ethics class and forcing them to turn in a paper on moral philosophy before buying a new book

[gouraminnow]

One Piece Gakuen volume 10 cover:

Thoughts:

1. Why is Akainu behind Ace? I need him to stay at least 10 feet away from my boy.

2. I hope Akainu suffers in his barista work. It's what he deserves.

3. Ace centric cover, my beloved!

4. Luffy with his swimsuit looks so cute.

[gouraminnow]

How are you doing?

Also stay hydrated 🫡

I'm doing alright, thank you for checking in haha :') things are going mostly okay. Could be better, could be a whole lot worse. Hope you're doing good too.

And will do lol lord knows I need the reminder

[gouraminnow]

lol this is so true. and also really cool in a way i could never explain to anyone who isn't Like This

[gouraminnow]

im talking about this here because i need to let this off my chest. but i went into a trade program for lower incomes. and today, without any warning, we were cut off. the entire program was shutdown NATIONWIDE. leaving so many people without some sort of income, or homeless, or forced to return home to abusive households that they were trying to escape. there are so many people who lost so much in ONE DAY. please understand that so many people are now left with nothing. this was a trade program for people who wanted to LEAVE POVERTY AND ENTER FIELDS WHERE THEY HAD A CHANCE!! and today it was STOLEN. and then to add insult to injury. staff members who are going to LOSE THEIR JOBS. are still stuck there for two more weeks while being forced to find something else in such a short notice. no one. and i mean NO ONE. was given a proper fair warning. please dont leave us to be forgotten.

[gouraminnow]

hey there, you've arrived at a Tumblr checkpoint!

are you thirty? have a sip!

are you hungry? have a spack!

have you been snitting in the sale proclation? mack your tabbers!.

are you stick? purt your indies!

do you need to prot a buntle? go! now!

are you tired? break your togs!

do a quick snat of your vitals. are you fond? do you need to reduct your plandles? if you have a trick, tog it. if you need to sitch, go so.

are you grod or too trinking? if you need to break off a grint or mend the bontle, go to that now!

I hope this helps! and I hope your tunderfal day :-)

[gouraminnow]

hot artists don't gatekeep

I've been resource gathering for YEARS so now I am going to share my dragons hoard

Floorplanner. Design and furnish a house for you to use for having a consistent background in your comic or anything! Free, you need an account, easy to use, and you can save multiple houses.

Comparing Heights. Input the heights of characters to see what the different is between them. Great for keeping consistency. Free.

Magma. Draw online with friends in real time. Great for practice or hanging out. Free, paid plan available, account preferred.

Smithsonian Open Access. Loads of free images. Free.

SketchDaily. Lots of pose references, massive library, is set on a timer so you can practice quick figure drawing. Free.

SculptGL. A sculpting tool which I am yet to master, but you should be able to make whatever 3d object you like with it. free.

Pexels. Free stock images. And the search engine is actually pretty good at pulling up what you want.

Figurosity. Great pose references, diverse body types, lots of "how to draw" videos directly on the site, the models are 3d and you can rotate the angle, but you can't make custom poses or edit body proportions. Free, account option, paid plans available.

Line of Action. More drawing references, this one also has a focus on expressions, hands/feet, animals, landscapes. Free.

Animal Photo. You pose a 3d skull model and select an animal species, and they give you a bunch of photo references for that animal at that angle. Super handy. Free.

Height Weight Chart. You ever see an OC listed as having a certain weight but then they look Wildly different than the number suggests? Well here's a site to avoid that! It shows real people at different weights and heights to give you a better idea of what these abstract numbers all look like. Free to use.