#shadows logbook

[superemeralds]

i love how shadow is like. “sonic, i need you to let me do this radical thing to save us all or else things go very bad.” and sonic manages to change his mind by power of friendship, and on paper, its actually really good for shadow to learn this lesson and go through this development.

and then sonic uses power of friendship a little TOO MUCH and everything goes to shit and shadow just. groaning in agony. i fucking told you. i knew i was always right. fuck you.

and it’s funny it happened twice

[sciralta]

I chose to recombine the two realms so that my human MC and Nia don’t die at fucking age 40 or something.

[suckxrpunched]

what's laras favorite song to sing?

[ OOOOO GREAT QUESTION 👀

[ it's a toss up between Gunna Get You Good by Shaina Twain and Last Hurrah by Bebe Rexha 🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭

[sapphim]

Monstrous Wardens Masterpost

A great big collection of text from the Dragon Age games and novels about darkspawn, Grey Wardens, and the Calling, to fuel everyone's monstrous wardens headcanons.

This has actually been sitting in my drafts for like half a year now bc I thought I really should scrounge around for more quotes from Last Flight, Awakening, and Legacy. That... didn't happen, and there's really no sense in holding off longer. If I ever do get around to it, I'll pull more quotes to add. But I consider this complete as is. enjoy~

—

The Song

The Old Gods will call to you, From their ancient prisons they will sing. Dragons with wicked eyes and wicked hearts, On blacken'd wings does deceit take flight, The First of My children, lost to night.

—Canticle of Silence 3:6, Dissonant Verse

     “The Old Gods beckon, as they always have.” The Architect turned and paced to the other side of the cell. The shadows cast on the walls by the glowstone danced ominously. “That is what you hear. To my people, it is a call that we cannot ignore. It whispers to our blood and compels us to seek the Old Gods out. We search and search for their prisons, and when we find one, we touch the face of perfection and thus desecrate it forever.”

—Dragon Age: The Calling, chapter 6

     So close. We nearly reached him. Made it down to what looked like a dwarven thaig where the song was actually audible, real and thrumming through the air, not just in our heads. It rattled through the lyrium pillars and shook the earth beneath our feet to its dreadful tempo.

—[DAI] Note: Ancient Warden Logbook

     There were creatures in that land. Dark things that lurked in the corners. Cole couldn’t see them, and didn’t want to. He worried that they could see him, however. […]      And worse, there was the music. He didn’t know what it was, but it seemed to come from far, far off. It called to him, but not in a pleasant way— it had an urgency that sped his heart and made his blood burn. The dark creatures, the lurkers, they listened to it. He didn’t know how he knew that, but he could feel them out there, craning their necks, raising taloned hands toward that call.

—Dragon Age: Asunder, chapter 9

     As the griffon began to climb through the clouds that followed the Blight, Isseya heard a faint, strange melody seep into her mind. She had no sense of it as actual sound; rather, it seemed to come from within, almost as if she were humming the tune to herself.      She could never have imagined such a song, though. It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever heard. Aching and ethereal, it seemed to pull her toward a memory of nostalgic bliss that she had somehow lost—but that she would do anything to recover. Anything at all. […]      “What was it?” the elf asked, shaken. […]      “The Archdemon.” […]      For the rest of their ride back to Antiva City, Isseya sat small and quiet on Blacktalon’s back, unable to reconcile the horrors of the darkspawn with the sweetness of their song.

—Dragon Age: Last Flight, chapter 3

The Chorus

     The faint sounds of movement ahead got more frequent, and along with them, they began to hear a strange humming. It was deep and alien, a reverberating sound that they felt in their chests and that made their skin crawl. […]      The deep humming was coming from [the creature. It] was moaning softly, almost chanting, and this moan built upon the sounds of many others behind it in the shadows. They hummed in unison, a hushed and deadly whisper the creatures spoke as one. […]      All of them walked as calmly as the first, shambling toward them while moaning and hissing softly. The sound was loud now, reverberating around them like a physical force. […]      They watched the darkspawn advance, their weapons held at the ready. Even with their prey cornered, the creatures did not accelerate. Their hum became louder, reached a hungry, fever pitch.

—Dragon Age: The Stolen Throne, chapter 14

     Were they digging? He had the impression that the masses of them were all engaged in some sort of industry, all united in moving great portions of the rock out of the cavern and expanding it even further. Yet there were no sounds of tools crashing against stone, no hammering sounds or grunts of exertion. All he could hear was a rhythmic groan, a keening pitch that it seemed each of the darkspawn contributed to. The sound of it made his skin crawl, and he realized that the chorus in the distance responded to it. Like a cat that arched its back to meet a brushing hand it became ecstatic; it surged and almost overwhelmed his senses.

—Dragon Age: The Calling, chapter 6

The Senses

     They were more than simply skilled at fighting darkspawn; they knew them intimately. They sensed their presence, sometimes even gleaned their intent.

—Dragon Age: The Calling, chapter 4

     He could feel the darkspawn out there now. Genevieve was right. It just took some time to become acclimated. They were at the edge of his consciousness, lurking in the shadows far out of sight. It was that same feeling when someone was standing behind you, and you didn’t hear them or sense them in any way; you just knew.

—Dragon Age: The Calling, chapter 5

     Bregan closed his eyes and carefully reached out with his senses. There were darkspawn all around him. Not in the same room, perhaps, but nearby. He could feel them tickling at the edge of his mind. As always, the sensation came with a feeling of foulness, as if a poison had seeped under his skin.

—Dragon Age: The Calling, chapter 2

     “There is a taint that is within the darkspawn […] A darkness that pervades us, compels us, drives us to rail against the light. It is in our blood and corrupts the very world around us.” The creature gestured toward Bregan with a withered, taloned hand. “It is also within your blood. It is what makes you what you are, what you sense in us and we in you.”

—Dragon Age: The Calling, chapter 2

Anders: Hmm. Hawke: What's wrong? Anders: I think [the Grey Wardens are] nearby. Anders: Or it could be darkspawn.

—Dragon Age II

     The hunter had a sensitivity to the taint that went far beyond any tracking ability he might have learned during his time with the Ash Warriors. He was always the first to sense the approach of darkspawn, and he could discern between the various breeds by their scent alone. Some of the Grey Wardens even used to claim that Kell could do the same with them, sense who was who from afar just as if they were darkspawn. If so, the hunter never commented on it.

—Dragon Age: The Calling, chapter 11

     She felt Bregan out there, felt him just the same as she felt the darkspawn. Every now and again she would turn a corner in the tunnels and would feel her brother’s presence on the edge of her senses, almost as if his scent had been carried to her somehow on an invisible wind.

—Dragon Age: The Calling, chapter 15

The Dreams

Alistair: Oh… and then there were the nightmares. Duncan said it was part of how we sense the darkspawn. We tap into their… well, I don't know what you'd call it. Their “group mind.” Alistair: And when we sleep, it's even worse. You learn to block it out after a while, but at first it's hard. It's supposed to be worse for those who Join during a Blight. How is it for you? Warden: Nightmares… yes, I know what you mean. Alistair: Some people never have much trouble, but that's rare. Others have trouble sleeping their entire life. They're just more sensitive, I suppose. Alistair: Everyone ends up the same, though. Once you reach a certain age, the real nightmares come. That's how a Grey Warden knows his time has come.

—Dragon Age: Origins

     The dream, when it came, was similar to the hundreds of dreams Fiona had suffered since she’d become a Grey Warden. Before, however, it had always felt as if she was looking on the dream from afar, hazy and easy to forget. Now it was crystal clear.      Fiona stood on a battlefield littered with dead men. All of them were soldiers in heavy armor, knights wearing the griffon standard of the order. Each had been brutally slaughtered. The smell of blood and decay hung thick and cloying in the air, the buzzing sound of flies nipping at her senses.      Overhead, the sky filled with an endless, roiling black cloud. It looked like ink spreading slowly in water, a great stain that blotted out the horizon. She had been told about this. The first sign of the Blight, said the Grey Wardens, is found in the clouds. When the mighty dragon rises, its corruption touches the world and spreads.      She was alone on that field of corpses. All alone. The wind picked up, a sickly breeze that carried with it the stench of carrion. A gloom fell upon her, and she stumbled as she watched something rise from out of the field of bodies nearby. It was enormous. A great, black thing that was as cold and terrible as anything she could have imagined.      Fear pulsed through her. Her heart raced, and she looked away. She didn’t want to see it. She threw her hands up in front of her eyes not to see it. Yet still she felt it coming. Her foot caught between two corpses and made her fall back on top of them. Dead flesh pressed against her and still she covered her eyes. Still she felt the darkness surging ever closer to her.      It was coming. And it was coming for her.

—Dragon Age: The Calling, chapter 14

The Calling

Hawke: You don't look well, Bethany. Are you injured? Bethany: Injured? I have the darkspawn taint forever in my veins, barely held in check by the Wardens' rituals. Bethany: I will never be well again.

—Dragon Age II

     At first, it was just a whisper. A creak in the door hinge I could put off oiling. But soon, all I could hear was the music. It was there when I swung my staff and wiped the sweat from my brow. It lingered in Lyam's laughter and stalked my dreams. I can't explain the sound—the song—but I knew. It's a poison that grows in the mind, then consumes the body.

—[DAI: The Descent] Codex Entry: Warden Ailsa's Diary

     It scratches at my thoughts, the music almost a voice, at once unearthly and beautiful. I found myself humming it aloud a few days past. Where once it intruded, it now feels a natural part of my mind's course. It coils around memories I hold dear—training with Ser Keller, riding in the moonlight, my mother's face the last time I saw her—and inserts itself into them, so that I could almost swear that music, that sense of a presence watching and calling, had always been a part of what I remember.

—[DAI] Codex Entry: Regarding the Calling

     She had seen enough of the corruption to last a lifetime, and somewhere off in the far distance was that strange sound, the beautiful whispering.      She didn’t want to listen to it, but couldn’t help herself. She closed her eyes and tried to pick out what the whisper was saying. Was it a song? Was it a name? It almost seemed that it was calling out to her, stroking her soul ever so softly. . . .

—Dragon Age: The Calling, chapter 14

     The humming sound, however, was stronger even than before. It was no longer something muted and distant; it was everywhere. It was behind the walls and under the floor; it filled the shadows and caressed his skin. There was a terrible beauty to it now, an awful yearning that pulsated within the sound, a tugging that pulled at the edge of his consciousness and yet frightened and nauseated him at the same time.      The humming had eclipsed any sense he had of the darkspawn. Any attempt he made to reach out with his mind to sense where the creatures were found only a wall of beautiful sound instead. Like a weed, it had insinuated itself into his consciousness, blocking out anything useful.

—Dragon Age: The Calling, chapter 6

     The far-off chorus had become a powerful symphony, a great swell of beautiful music that no longer pounded to get inside his head but instead tickled at the edges of his thoughts. It was far easier to ignore, but now he found it distracting. He found himself losing his train of thought whenever he listened.

—Dragon Age: The Calling, chapter 10

     The taint fogged her thoughts a little more with each passing morning. Her diary, once a detailed chronicle of every day’s thoughts, went neglected for weeks, sometimes months. She was losing her mind.      She wasn’t the only one, of course. It had gotten harder to tell the reality of the Blight from the horrors of her dreams. Sometimes she wasn’t sure which one she walked through, or which one she fought in. The elf had learned to recognize the confusion that sometimes passed over other senior Wardens’ faces. They, too, heard the Archdemon’s song echoing through their heads, a trifle louder every night. They, too, fought to block it out and to hide the signs from their comrades…

—Dragon Age: Last Flight, chapter 21

     My body is breaking down. The fingernails were the first to go. I started to itch all over, and when I scratched, they peeled back. Clumps of hair fell away. Then clumps of flesh.      I hear a song in my head. It's deafening. The most beautiful thing I've ever heard. But I don't hear it with my ears. It's in my brain. A blissful sound. This must be the call for which the darkspawn yearn, what causes them to dig so feverishly.      I'd still rather die. Suppose that's something.

—[DAI] Codex Entry: To Be Corrupted

     His skin itched terribly underneath those bandages, but he resisted the urge to peel them off. The pain throughout his body was dull but insistent, as if his body protested against this unfamiliar movement. The sluggishness made him wary. There was a thickness to his blood, a deliberateness to his heartbeat that made him feel like something alien was crawling inside of him and sapping his strength.      […His arms] were half covered in dark blotches. At first, he wondered if that was some kind of injury, or perhaps a bloodstain. But then he noticed the texture of the skin within those discolored areas: rough and withered, just as darkspawn flesh was. […]      Every part of his skin that wasn’t covered by the greyed cloth bandages was corrupted. It was like a network of black mold working its way across his entire body, and everywhere it touched he could feel a hot buzzing underneath the flesh. It was difficult to look at.

—Dragon Age: The Calling, chapter 6

     The Architect stared into Utha’s eyes and nothing happened at first. Then black veins began to appear along her hand where the darkspawn touched her. They became darker and darker, the veins branching until her entire hand was criss-crossed with them. […]      Her flesh withered and curled, the air filling with the foul stench of decay. […]      The stain on her skin spread, crawling up her neck and covering her face. Her coppery hair began to grey, and then it became white. Her long braid twisted and curled behind her, like a match that was burning itself into a cinder. Her eyes shot open, blood red, and she opened her mouth in a soundless scream... and what wisps remained of her hair simply fell out.      And then it was done.

—Dragon Age: The Calling, chapter 16

Bonus entry that made me go "hey what the fuck"

     What I remember most is its tongue flapping against a row of spiky teeth. I'd heard emissaries possessed the ability to speak, but the words were unnatural. They twisted and lurched as they left the creature's mouth, accompanied with a spray of saliva.      "Have you ever experienced living flesh ground between your teeth?" it asked Mila before biting through her throat.

—[DAI: The Descent] Codex Entry: Darkspawn Emissary

[firefirefruit]

Steel in Her Veins, Chapter: Twelve

Read On: AO3 | Table of Contents | Next Chapter

Characters: Fem!Reader x Roronoa Zoro

Chapter Twelve: Read Me, But Don't Weep

“Raya? Are you there?”

The clock ticks in the empty studio, wooden floors untouched by the sound of footsteps for days.

“We’re really worried, Raya. Please let me see you.”

Gramps used to be walking around the studio at this time of day. He’d have a steaming cup in hand as he’d trail past your empty workbench, a proud smile curling on his lips. He’d pick your blades up when he thought you weren’t watching and run his finger on their sharp edges.

“Sanji’s here with a meal for you.”

If his finger bled, he’d smile to himself with an approving sip of tea. If it didn’t, he would’ve peeled a post it note from the large stack you’d keep on your table.

“She still isn’t responding. I…I don’t know what to do…”

“Give her time, Nami-san. Look there.” A clinking of plates. The faint silhouette of a cigarette in hand. “She’s finished another bowl. That’s progress.”

He’d draw an arrow across the note using his non-dominant hand, balancing the cup in his other. He’d tack it on the metal, recap the pen, and sit outside with his journal.

The shadow of a small figure props up on his shoulder. “But her wounds, Sanji. If they don’t get tended to, I won’t sleep at night…”

An inhale of smoke. “I have an idea.”

“Look at me!” it would say. Very vague, very non-descriptive. But you’d instantly know what you needed to refine.

When he’d go to sleep, you’d snag the same scrawled-on note from your workspace, scrawl a goofy animal bowing, saying, ‘thank you, old man!’ underneath his text, and quickly slip it into his logbook.

You haven’t slept for days. It’s the anxiety - the sudden twang of loneliness that pulls in your chest when you’re in your bed; the light flickers, your eyes search for the time, and suddenly it hits you that Suki isn’t going to come into your room to wish you goodnight anymore.

The clock's unforgiving chime echoes at five in the morning. Your workshop, usually a sanctuary, feels stifling as you pace anxiously. A tumult of possibilities, questions, and thoughts overwhelms you, each one intensifying the tight knot in your chest, and frankly...

Well, frankly, when you close your eyes, you’re haunted by the image of those eyeballs.

One purple, one grey. One purple, one grey. One that makes you scream, the other that makes you cry.

Today’s the day you finally decide to go through his journal. Always meticulously placed on his favourite stool, its edges torn, and pages thickly bound with a multitude of Gramps-esque thoughts, it lays there from a distance as a heavy reminder of him.

When you open its contents, your fingers tracing through each page, a flurry of multicoloured papers roll out like a snowstorm, covering the floor with hundreds of small post-it notes.

“FLATTEN ME HERE >” one note says.

Below his instruction is your response, a drawing depicting a bear clasping its hands together, saying,

“Thanks, Gramps!”

A blue post-it note, this time:

“Good job. Very sharp.” Smudged traces of blood adorn the top of its corner.

“Need a plaster?” you respond, presenting a very detailed drawing of a smug human smile slapped on a cat’s face.

And you can’t help it. Tears seem to be pooling up in your eyes as you crouch to the floor, fingers gently going through each note in silence. You miss him. You feel out of control. You’re just…lost.

Gently, a soft rapping interrupts the stillness at the front door. Your attention sharply redirects to the source, and with a swift, almost instinctive motion, you vigorously swipe your face with the rough fabric of your sleeve as if trying to erase all emotion on your face.

“Good morning, Raya-san. I’ve put your breakfast outside the door…”

His figure lingers in the crook of the opaque door. He pulls a cigarette to his mouth, a hand tucked into his pockets, and he waits. Only for a second. Waiting to see if maybe this time, you’ll open the door.

True to expectations, there's no response from you. You're crouched on the floor, surrounded by a kaleidoscope of notes, observing his figure as it remains a mere blur. He exists as an elusive presence, unable to connect with you on any level beyond the provision of sustenance.

He fidgets slightly, pressing his legs away from the door.

“…Hey, just…please don’t forget to hydrate.”

As the echoes of his departing footsteps fade, you gradually unfurl from your crouched position. Moving with deliberate quietness, you approach the door, fingertips grazing its surface before grasping the knob. With a gentle turn, you lean in to peer through the peephole, confirming the emptiness beyond.

He's gone.

A sigh of relief escapes you as the door swings open. Your gaze drifts downward, and an overwhelming tide of gratitude and warmth floods your being. The remnants of his kindness linger in the air, a subtle yet tangible embrace. He tends to you, a guardian of care, even in the silence you offer, even when your words remain unspoken.

It’s the usual loving, simple breakfast that graces the front of your door.

Hot tea, no milk or sugar. Sliced apples and oranges adorn the plate like a bunch of blooming flowers - ripe to eat and fragrant to the nose - with a bowl of hand-made yoghurt resting by its side. Surprised, you cock your head at the meal - it's just the way you like it. You suppose that after a few days of testing out different meals with you, Sanji’s been closely observing what you have and haven’t been touching on your plate.

This time, however. you notice that there’s something obscure being propped in the corner of your eye; right next to the plate, there’s a big red box with a medic sign neatly painted across its lid.

“Chopper..." you mutter to yourself, running your fingers over the white medical bandages from within the box.

You feel so guilty – for all of it. You don’t deserve this level of kindness, this thoughtfulness that these members are showering you with. How ungrateful you are to not even open the door to thank them, to show them your face, to offer a smile and let them know that you’re going to be okay.

And still, without expecting anything in return, they still tend to you; Sanji feeds you, Nami sits in front of your door every day and obnoxiously talks to herself out loud, Chopper constantly worries for your physical health… All the while, you haven’t offered a reassuring word through the gap of your door.

Besides receiving it from Gramps, you haven’t experienced much unconditional love in your life - and that scares you. All of this scares you. Their love. It just...feels weird.

You find yourself perched on the floor, grappling with the swirling thoughts in your mind.

“What would you do if you were in my place?” Leaning in, you whisper to Suki's journal, your eyes carrying a silent plea for guidance. You feel the journal's roughened leather cover beneath your palm, your fingertips explore the edges of papers slightly unhinged from its binding.

Then, mid-bite, you pause. Your attention shifts as your fingers discover a loose piece of paper. It's strategically placed, almost as if meant for your eyes alone. Reading the words scrawled across its outer corner, you momentarily forget the apple in your hand, drawn into the unseen musings between the pages.

Raya. Read me.

Your heart pounds in your throat, immediately pulling the sheet out from its bound home.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Raya,

In the best-case scenario, I naturally left you as I gave you my parting words.

In the worst, I probably pretended not to know you.

All in all, I hope that as you read this, you start snapping the way you always do whenever I’m trying to get a rise out of you…

Raya, if I have passed, please let my body rest in Wano. After that, I want you to immediately get the hell out of that place and start living your life.

If I am alive - and this is incredibly imperative - do not look for me. I want you to imagine me as having passed, to immediately get the hell out of my workshop, and to start living your life.

There’s much I haven’t told you. Some say I’m better at writing words than speaking them, and I must wholeheartedly agree; I suppose that’s why I began writing in the first place. You still have a part of me within these entries. Words never die, but the memories of them do.

I’m very much aware that I hadn’t said this enough to you – perhaps out of my ‘Wano-esque’ pride, as you call it – but I am incredibly proud of you.

I’m glad that my granddaughter was the catalyst for kicking me out of my home country - because if it had never happened, I would have been a thankless old man, doing thankless things in the comfort of my own home. And that’s why…

I decided to join the Straw Hats behind your back.

I know you’re probably incredibly furious with me right now. But please hear me out before you do anything.

I’m sorry for doing this without you knowing, but I‘d somehow known that I wouldn’t have enough time to kick your ass out of my workshop before I’d be gone.

Raya, even if I’m too old for adventure, I want my spirit to watch over and follow yours. I joined so that you would simply have no other choice but to follow me.

Become the greatest blacksmith of your generation. Hell, become a pirate. Join me on the Sunny.

Kozuki Sukiyaki

 --------------------------------------------------------------

The paper in your hand aggressively shudders, your gaze drifting to the door in front of you. You shove down the sob rising in your throat, fingernails digging into your skin.

He did what?

You’re seething. What the fuck? This actual hardass planned this all from the beginning. He knew. He knew something was going to happen and instead of informing you, he joined a fucking pirate crew.

Gramps would smile every time he’d open his journal, looking forward to every morning when he’d be able to read another new message.

You barge out the door, letter firmly grasped in your claws.

You’d stay in the workshop, pretending to be refining your blades, but in the corner of your eye, you’d be secretly watching, waiting for him to open his leather cover, and be met with your love.

The sunlight splinters through into your weakened eyes, the heat in your legs increasing as you begin charging towards the cave, towards the coastline, towards the fucking Sunny.

It was something so little, something so insignificant. But between you two, it was an earth-bending way of expressing your love, your gratitude to one another.

You leap onto the Sunny, standing straight in front of a knotted Luffy, his body stringing over the mast like a broken flag.

His eyes widen immensely as he sees you, breathing in a considerable amount of air, before screaming,

“RAYAAA-“

You throw your hand into the air, gaining more and more speed as your fingers plunge forward, and you strike at Luffy’s cheek.

You slap him. You slap Luffy with Gramps’ letter. Hard.

“Raya!” Usopp shrieks, running to restrain you. “What’s going on?”

“What did I do now?!” Luffy moans, wringing his arms around the mast.

“You let my old man join your crew?” You scream at Luffy, Usopp struggling to restrain you.

A synchronous “What?!” from the entire crew resounds on the Sunny, everyone momentarily forgetting their activities.

“Is it true, Luffy?” Chopper’s eyes are practically bulging.

“Oh, that!” Luffy scratches his head, a goofy grin plastered across his face, seemingly oblivious to the storm brewing in your eyes. “Yeah, I did!”

"What do you mean, 'Yeah, I did'?" Sanji interjects, cigarette dangling from his lips. His usual calm demeanour cracks, revealing a hint of irritation.

Luffy shrugs, "He asked if he could join, and I said sure. He's a cool oldie."

Usopp struggles to hold you back as you seethe with anger, the letter crumpled in your grip. "Cool oldie? Luffy, he’s gone! He didn’t intend to actually join; he's trying to make me join. Do you understand?” Luffy, still clueless about the emotional turmoil he's caused, scratches his head again. “No?”

You find your voice, the anger giving way to a desperate plea. "Luffy, he did this because he knew he was going to be taken away, and he didn't want me to be left all alone. He wants me to join, to continue his legacy.”

Luffy's grin fades as he looks at you, the weight of the situation dawning on him. "Ohhhh…”

Zoro, who's been leaning against the mast with closed eyes, finally speaks up, "Luffy, you should've at least informed her. We don't know what she's been through."

You snap your head up, glaring straight at the fucking marimo.

“What did you just say?” You hiss.

Zoro, leaning against the mast with his eye still closed, seems undisturbed by your sharp retort. His posture remains relaxed, but there's a subtle tension in the air, an unspoken challenge between you and the swordsman.

Your glare, fuelled by frustration and betrayal, meets Zoro's closed eye. It's as if he can sense the storm of emotions within you, yet he remains unfazed.

With a slow, deliberate movement, Zoro opens his eye, revealing a keen gaze that pierces through the charged atmosphere. The intensity in his expression matches yours, a silent acknowledgment of the clash between two strong-willed spirits.

As you lock eyes with him, there's an unspoken understanding that goes beyond the immediate conflict. It's a recognition of shared defiance, a stubbornness that transcends words. Zoro doesn't look away; instead, he meets your gaze head-on, challenging you to confront the emotions bubbling beneath the surface.

Usopp, sensing the escalating tension, takes a step back, observing the interaction between you and Zoro with a raised eyebrow.

You take a step forward, still seething with anger, and Zoro, in response, pushes himself off the mast. The distance between you two narrows, and the air crackles with the unresolved energy of conflicting emotions.

“Don’t act like you understand anything,” you hiss, your voice laced with bitterness. “You’re the one who let him get taken.”

Zoro's eyes narrow at your accusation, a flicker of irritation breaking through his calm exterior. The crew, still frozen in the wake of your outburst, watches the confrontation unfold with a mixture of surprise and concern.

"I didn't let him get anything," Zoro retorts, his voice low and steady. "Your old man made his own choice. Don't put that on me."

Your fists clench at your sides, the pain and anger surging through you. The words you exchanged with Suki's journal replay in your mind, intensifying the overwhelming emotions. You take another step forward, closing the gap between you and Zoro, your eyes locked in a battle of wills.

"He joined the crew to protect you," Zoro continues, his gaze unwavering. "He wanted you to live freely, without being tied down to whatever he’s hiding."

"He didn't need to join a crew of pirates for that," you shoot back, your voice shaking with rage and sorrow. "He could've told me. He could’ve let me choose my own choices."

Zoro's jaw tightens, and a rare hint of emotion flashes in his eyes.

Franky and Chopper, still on edge, watch the intense exchange between you and Zoro.

You tear your gaze away from Zoro, the anger subsiding into a heavy sadness. Your shoulders slump, and the weight of the recent events presses down on you; everyone watches, unsure of how to comfort you in your moment of vulnerability.

Luffy's expression turns more serious as he looks at you, "He said not to tell you…He wanted it to be a surprise."

You hold the paper in your hand like grasping at the last remnants of your grandfather. "Luffy, do you have any idea what he wrote in this letter?"

The crew falls silent, awaiting your response. You take a deep breath, trying to steady your emotions before speaking.

"He said if he's alive, I shouldn't look for him. Pretend he’s dead. Continue living my life as if nothing ever happened. I’m sick of him telling me what to do, Luffy. I’m sick of the secrets and the surprises and...and...."

The weight of those words hangs in the air, a heavy silence settling over the tumbling waves. Nami places a warm hand on your shoulder, squeezing you in comfort.

“Something bad’s happening,” you say, looking at each and everyone in the eye. “I can just feel it. And there’s no chance that I’m going to just… let my old man...”

“Then, join us,” Luffy intervenes, crossing his arms.

You stare at him, taken aback by his bluntness. “Did you not listen to anything I just said?"

“I did,” Luffy affirms with a nod. He steps towards you, placing a hand on the other side of your shoulder, and offers you a slight smile. “No hard feelings, Swords, but we’re gonna grab Gramps with or without you being a part of our crew. And this time, it’s your choice. Not Gramps. Not anybody’s. Yours. You choose.”

"I..." You pause, unsure of what to say. "I mean..."

Luffy cocks his head at you, beaming.

"Well? What's it gonna be?"

[focsle]

Here I am with one of my uneven little phone recordings. My Drowning Ballad. Lyrics:

On a fated voyage I shipped off & here is my final song The lives of men so sadly lost A tale of all gone wrong A cursed ship the old ones would always say Misfortune in her planks imbued But we were not so easily swayed Signed on in the highest mood Set out upon the sea to roam And I will never go back home The fog rolled in across the pier Wreathing mists around our mast We boarded her with all our gear & then we shoved off fast Our good ship groans as she’s set free Check the sails & check the lines We sail out to the endless sea & the dock shrinks behind. chorus

In a briny wind the rigging stirs Shadows run across the deck Mother Carey’s messenger Passing wings outstretched But what did we care of such things? Folk tales told to us as babes It’s unfounded fear superstition brings Our truth is wind and waves

chorus

But bad luck still upon us falls Spoiled food & foul disease From broken pumps & angry squalls To flat winds and dead seas We argue all amongst ourselves Looking for someone to blame The culprit is the ship itself A curse within a name

chorus On our logbook her old name stands Our careless captain left it there Bad luck will plague all our plans I fear how we will fare We learned she was once called Anne Marie A name Neptune would not forget Writ in his Ledger of the Deep The wrath of god upset

chorus

For all the coins we cast to sea & wine libations that we poured The four winds we could not appease Our fate won’t be ignored One fearful night the wind picked up Rain pelting down upon our heads Thunder rolled & lightning struck Sea churned with the dead

chorus It send us to the ragged rocks Treacherous teeth of blackened stone Our sorry hull they found and struck & all we men were thrown The ship turned with a dangerous list Water frothing cross our deck Will we men be missed Drowned down among our wreck?

chorus The petrel warned of storms to come The shrinking tide left of our days A pity I should go so young Beneath the black glass waves The water takes all of me Fills my lungs & fills them deep Replace me with the rising sea The ocean for to keep

[transmascswagpolls]

Transmasc Swag Polls- PRELIMINARIES

Propaganda and other info under the cut. Michael Afton art by @askerror87

Why are these characters in the prelims?

It's genuinely up for debate whether these are the same man or not. In my personal opinion, they are reflections of each other and this is backed up with the FNaF movie taking elements of both the games (where Michael Afton is the protagonist) and the books (where Michael Afton arguably doesn't exist). I will be upfront and say I would like to have both in the actual polls if possible. However, it didn't sit right with me to run these two in the same poll without having a second pass for this.

Canonicity Levels-

Because I Said So

Media?

FNaF series

Mike Schmidt Propaganda-

My transmasc friend (with abundant amounts of tboy swag) was trying to figure out what charmed him about Michael in the fnaf movie until he finally had a lightbulb moment and yelled “OH HES A TRANS BOY. HE JUST. HE JUST LOOKS LIKE A TBOY”. I trust his judgement. Takes one to know one. Also just looking at how Mike dressed in the movie I just know he had several disphoria hoodies ready to go. His power is being sad and trying his best to be a good older brother. Give him a medal.

Michael Afton Propaganda-

"you cant just have an irreversible process happen to you that makes you see yourself as some sort of monster without being a trans allegory sorry"

Pollrunner: His entire life and arguably most defining touch on the whole series is cast in the shadow of his father. The actor who voiced him in the like seven lines he has in the games intentionally chose to make Michael's voice quieter and softer and lacking William Afton's signature hard rasp. It's implied and a personal headcanon that the character Old Man Consequences, one of the kindest and most straightforward characters in FNaF and the few who cannot and does not actually kill the player, is actually Michael. Canonically according to the logbooks he's a wonderful artist, a complete snarky bitch when he's nervous and he stims. He has just enough characterization to have concrete facts about but is largely a mystery to us and I think that's pretty swaggy.

[wkbrl]

comprehensive ever-updating post about cctv.starrpark.biz, the new lore website and adjacent topics. under the cut lesgo!

10/24/23: u/Laugh_Out_Loud on Reddit submitted this comprehensive post on what's currently interactive on the site. There are a total of eight interactive elements on the site: 4 small screens, 1 large screen, a logbook, a phone, and what appears to be a security tape archive. Details in the link. As of the writing of this post, the site still shows a login popup upon loading, and will not load if it is not filled in. No login has been found so far.

What's related is that a couple days prior to the 10/21/23 Brawl Talk, people on Twitter were posting about how the site domain had been renewed, and the HTTPS updated to be compatible with newer devices. (I'm not familiar with web design/science so bear with my shoddy terminology) Because of this, I'm chalking the current partially-inaccessible state of the new site up to HTTPS issues.

Things that could provide context:

Description refreshes for all characters were part of the Bizarre Circus update

The investor video and Season 3 Brawl Talk were deleted the day before they would be 3 years old. So potential retcon?

In the 10/21/23 Brawl Talk, there was a sudden jump cut to a shadowed figure watching the Brawl Talk from a screen. No explanation has been given.

In the same Brawl Talk, there is a brief moment where Piper's ingame model glitches out while discussing what to do for Mega Pig if you run out of tickets. In the same footage is a new background, with neon signs and a camera. The same camera is being offered as a player icon. No explanation has been given.

Current browsers that do not work (please help me modify these two lists!!!):

Firefox

Chrome

Browsers that do work!

Safari (?)

[victormalonso]

ARAÑA NEGRA DE MIS NOCHES (IX)

un diario de sueños

“La fuerza invencible que ha impulsado al mundo no son los amores felices sino los contrariados”. Gabriel García Márquez, Memoria de mis putas tristes. 

en las latitudes del silencio, donde sólo tu nombre sustenta el peso del orbe, escribo; hay un vacío de óleo aquí, como si tu recuerdo se eternizara, pausadamente, en las sombras y luces del infinito.

una gaviota vuela su mensaje romántico al atardecer, en la hora que fue mágica en nuestra historia: la hora, tan distinta que fue en nuestras latitudes.

hoy solo nos une el silencio, la nada que se detiene un instante cada vez que te pienso, cada vez que me piensas en la serena conmoción de no saberte, de tenerte perdida en los rumbos que llevan al infinito, a lo eterno, que es la única ubicación donde ya te encuentro:

te amo, aun desde este océano de marejadas que a veces tan amargo me ha vuelto el corazón.

_____

BLACK SPIDER OF MY NIGHTS (IX)

a logbook of dreams

"The invincible force that has propelled the world is not happy love but upset."  Gabriel García Márquez, Memory of my sad whores.

in the latitudes of silence, where only your name sustains the weight of the orb, I write;  there is a void of oil here, as if your memory were eternizing, slowly, in the shadows and lights of infinity.

a seagull flies her romantic message at sunset, at the time that was magical in our history: the time, so different that it was in our latitudes.

today only silence unites us, the nothingness that stops for an instant every time I think of you, every time you think of me in the serene commotion of not knowing you, of having you lost in the paths that lead to infinity, to the eternal, which is the only location where I already find you:

Ilove you, even from this ocean of tidal waves that at times has turned my heart so bitter.

[hamsterclaw]

Taehyung Masterlist

All of my writing contains smut and is 🔞. Taehyung as impulsive, fun, and yet steadfast in his love is what I love to write.

Swing staffers Taehyung and reader

You’re navigating your way through the political ranks. Your boss, Assistant Secretary of State Kim Namjoon, is sexy and unpredictable, and your colleague Min Yoongi, is cynical and hard-nosed. And then there’s Taehyung, whom you know you can’t trust. You have no idea how you’re going to survive this, but you’ve sure as hell got to try. A prequel to Politico.

Replay roommates Taehyung x reader

Taehyung's your roommate - you get along fine, you do your own thing and stay out of each others' way. Your relationship works perfectly the way it is, you don't need or want anything more out of it.

Touch

Taehyung’s lonely in his misery, until he meets you.

Under the pump paramedics Taehyung x reader

Your new partner is mean, angry and yet somehow has people queueing up to sleep with him. You don't see the appeal at all.

Unravel seamstress reader x Jimin x Taehyung

Your time in Paris with Jimin is like a fever dream. Featuring Taehyung.

Criminal police detectives Tae and reader

You are investigating a murder with your partner, and the things that you uncover hit uncomfortably close to home. Featuring Jungkook.

Logbook Read on AO3 surgeons Taehyung x reader ft banker Hoseok

You and Taehyung are meant to be competing, but you end up enjoying each others' company instead. Featuring cameos from Jin, Hoseok and Yoongi.

7 hours environmentalist! Taehyung x PA! reader. The story that started off an entire series and a couple close to my heart

How did you get roped into walking a marathon with your soon-to-be-ex-husband?

The rest of the 7 hours AU

Pornstache

You're rebuilding your relationship with your husband, but his new facial hair is making you rethink your decision.

Extinction Rebellion

Your husband is an environmental activist, and he's influential, relevant, passionate. You wish he'd put as much energy into fighting for you.

Jinx

If anyone asked you, you'd be more than happy to let them know your thoughts.

Illicit

Your marriage is in trouble, and Taehyung makes a mistake.

Fall

This is how you met. This is how your story began.

Annoying

You love your husband, but sometimes he makes you want to wring his neck.

Late

You and Taehyung are rebuilding your relationship after drifting apart, and you don't know if you're going to make it.

Easy

Taehyung's always been confident about his ability to satisfy you in bed. It's the one thing he's got consistently right throughout your marriage, until now.

Melt

Taehyung's never been plagued by anxiety, but for some reason, life feels pretty stressful right about now.

Trust

Taehyung and you find that old sins cast long shadows.

©hamsterclaw 2021-2024

[superemeralds]

black arms maria

send post

[goldenfox3]

You know those time loop fics where each section begins the same way or almost the same way? I think it'd be cool to do something like that with the various Blood Falcons like each section starts the same or nearly the same with each Blood gaining consciousness and being assigned whatever mission or duties with Black Shadow/BS Group trying slightly different things with them as the iterations go on. Some of them are obedient, some are more rebellious, some die on a mission, some are "disposed of" for failing or rebelling too much, some go missing whether that means MIA or fled. All of them are referred to as "Blood Falcon" save for the final entry who's picked his own name and broken away completely to truly find out what it means to be his own person.

It could also be cool if instead of the Bloods' POV it was written in the style of a logbook or observation diary by one of the BS scientists or something who is detached and impersonal at first but slowly (very slowly) starts logging inane details like this Blood's favourite food differing from the previous one's and at the end when the named Blood vanishes they dutifully log it but they write the Blood's chosen name instead of "Blood Falcon" or "subject 067" or however they refer to the clones and wish him luck before realising they've gotten sentimental and deleting what they've typed in and that's the end.

[onepiexe]

watching garrett's new vid and andrew freaks out so much 😳😶

[suckxrpunched]

I just wanted to say that even though we haven't interacted, I really like your oc and I enjoy your writing style! Keep up the great work!

[ I love u anon thank you so so much for your kind words, this means everything to me !!!! I love my silly girl, she's crazy but she's got a good heart 💖🤭 thank you thank you, you are amazing and I hope you have an awesome day ! 💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

[chipistrate]

michael afton!! im curious what u think about him hehe

or if u wanna venture out of fnaf then rouge maybe :3

YIPPEE!!

4 Michael,, never cared much about him, but I like how goofy he can be (especially in the logbook)<3

ROUGE!!! HELLO!!!! I love her soso much (/p) and I need her to show up in the games again with her brothers (Shadow and Omega)

[focsle]

hello! i have a question: what draws you to whaling and that specific era of time in history? how long has it been an interest of yours?

Oh a much too big question for me to answer adequately in one ask. I’ve written tens of thousands of words on this history and the specific points of it that draw me. I’m pouring years of my life into a 400+ page comic about it. Catch me at 3am talking about reincarnation and how much I feel this all caught up in my soul-stuff. This will not be an answer that fully does my feelings justice. But I’ll link to some of my writings in this response that maybe do that better.

I’ve been deeply researching this history for over a decade, but I’ve always had a nautical bent to my childhood that probably sparked it. My grandfather was a Navy man. His house was covered in weird pirate sculptures and little creatures and art pieces he made out of shells and I think I inherited my sense of aesthetics from him. My mum was drawn to sea stories and things of that nature that was probably passed on to me in some way. Like most kids that sea bent manifested in an early interest in pirates, (tho the brief moby dick section of The Pagemaster was formative…it’s funny, I didn’t read Moby Dick until several years into my deeper dive into this history and then I was like ‘ohhhh….melville gets it). Learning about the Globe mutiny many years ago was a big spark to diving more specifically into said history. I first read a book about it where the writer’s (what I now consider, wobbly) thesis was that it was something about the industry itself that generated something within the perpetrator to choose a whaleship for premeditated slaughter, and the story was so rattling to me that I wanted to know what it was about that world that drove someone to something like that.

But instead I found a world that had so much humanity in it. It was one with a unique and isolated society that was unlike any other social sphere. Years on a ship that was a floating home, a floating factory, that had a relationship to the sea in a way that even other maritime trades did not. Fishing had/has some similarities, but not for the same isolating length or uniquely horrific and gruesome labor that whaling voyages held. The merchant trade had briefer voyages on more expected and well-trod routes. Even piracy followed the shipping lines of humanity more than anything else. With whaling your only destination was the sea, in a longer reach as the whaling grounds depleted and the industry stretched on to bring people to further and lonelier places. Where men would briefly touch land maybe every six months, and have liberty in port maybe even fewer times than that. That they were to go out there, and they weren’t to come back until they got enough oil to make the voyage worth it. It was an industry that drew men of so many different backgrounds and motivations, but the common thread tended to be that they were all very young, and that many of them were trying to find something in themselves or for themselves. An industry full of contradictions that I feel is most poetically expressed in scrimshaw, and one of the few places to see a preserved piece of art from an ordinary man. To see a small window into his emotional world and where his heart was in those long stretches of boredom. It was a space of brutal work, demoralizing work, and repulsive work, one where death was a constant shadow for both men and whales in a way that their lives were always inseparably on the same uncertain coin. But within that world, maybe despite that world, there was also a great deal of humanity, be it their music and sense of play, their whaler-specific social functions, their vulnerability. 

That whaling history luxuriously is a field where the words of hundreds of ordinary working class men have been preserved in diaries and logbooks means I get to know so many of them beyond statistics or names in a database. I get to learn about them on a personal level. I know what they worry about, what their favorite foods are, who they care about, when they have fun, when they’re miserable, sometimes what they find sexy, what makes them cry, and what makes them laugh, and what sort of man they hoped to be. In some of them I was reminded so much of myself, but in all of them I saw their unique and individual humanity, for better or for worse. So many of them carried a societal self consciousness within them that made me understand and feel for them. They often weren’t sure where they fit in a world that wasn’t a whaleship, even if that whaleship was a point of great hardship for them. So many of them wanted to be remembered in ways that they necessarily weren’t—few of them became historically important men, many of them died young or didn’t live to see home again, many of them may not have felt like they had anyone who cared about them, but they all had an existence they still clung to, that I feel compelled to try to honor and remember because I feel so much of them within me through that common thread of humanity.

This is a long answer, but as I said I still can’t express this in any way that isn’t shallow in this small space I have. It’s an interest that is both a personal, academic, and daresay spiritual one. I think to fully understand what draws me to it, you just gotta continually lurk in my awhalin tag and that ongoing comic of mine @goingtoweather. But hopefully this is a satisfying enough summary.