Soap: Sorry, My English Isn’t That Good

09 Ghostsoap doodles

whoever decided to turn daisy bell into a spooky dookie creepypasta song is fucking evil. that computer was brave enough to sing us a delightful little song and you do THIS to him? thats hatsune mikus grandpa dude. fuck you

...quite the opposite 💀

ah yes, longing ghostsoap my favorite... ❤️‍🩹

Finding a new favorite fictional character is like, will you be temporary or will you become a permanent part of my personality for the next 10 years?

Rest for the wicked

I was thinking about tangled and good omens at the same time and this renaissance femme aziracrow happened

*firebombs your dashboard*

The First Year (An Arcane Drabble)

Hello.

I have mushrooms in my brains telling me to write and my first victim for a proper fanfic since middle school is arcane.

This was supposed to be part of a larger silco x reader thing but then i totally changed my mind on the concept and will be rewriting it, but i didn't want the first chapter I wrote to go to waste.

This is the first scene only, full work is 5485 words and up on ao3.

No warnings, gender-neutral reader

Silco didn’t like you.

Well, that would be painting your relationship in one rather bold stroke, and Janna forbid you ever do that with the likes of him.

Still, you were certain that he wasn’t particularly fond of your presence, not in the same way he respected that of Sevika or straight adored Jinx whenever he had the time to be near her in a fatherly way.

But, you’ve worked for him for a while now. Entire years at this point, three if you were to be precise. It was an achievement you couldn’t scoff at, knowing how things usually went in this line of work. Then again, you only dealt with “in-house” issues and didn’t go out on any revolutionary missions, mainly tending the bar at The Last Drop, employed a short while after it had been taken over by the Chem-baron and new unofficial leader of the Lanes.

It was late June when you first walked into The Last Drop. The air outside grew thicker, the smog harder to tolerate with how humid the climate got around this time of year, reminding every citizen that despite not feeling like it, they were most certainly in a tropical country, no matter how chilly winters could get, especially down in the Fissures.

Cold, ventilated air finally washed over your body once you stepped inside, ready to go on ahead with your little interview when you found yourself face to face with Silco, a man most Lane-dwellers despised with a burning sort of passion.

Oh, and did they hate it when he took over The Last Drop. Especially those who were still on Vander’s side, they outright refused to step foot through the door of the that bar they once frequented, slowly but surely being infested by Silco’s presence. Alcohol stock went up, the produce more expensive, imported, wallpaper was changed, the warm lights from before switched to wilder colours that fit the look of a nightclub more than your average neighborhood pub, and of course, the music selection was nearly entirely swapped out. A bright neon eye was installed outside instead of the large sign from before which held the name of the establishment- a subtle warning, you’d assumed at the time, that this was the locale of one ‘Eye of Zaun’.

“Who’s this?” Your voice rang out through the empty dance floor, having just ushered the last drunkard outside and set about getting your stock counted for when a small mop of wild, poorly cut blue hair appeared on the scene. Big eyes and a toy squeezed close to her chest, the child which had stumbled upon you was no more than 10-ish years or so, making your face shift into a slightly friendlier and open expression, though confusion persisted in your furrowed brow and reluctant smile even as you tried to reason that the kid certainly just made a mistake. Stumbled into the wrong building looking for someone, that’s all. “Hey, kid…” You hesitated, unsure what to do with a child this age in such a place, setting your clipboard aside and bending down until your hands pressed against your knees.

What could you do? Throw her out? She hardly seemed neglected like most kids out on the streets, her clothes not new but clearly patched up as they lacked the holes yours had when you were around her age and her face was entirely clean of soot and the like, yet her parents were nowhere to be seen. Hair as brightly coloured as hers wouldn’t have entirely slipped you by, no matter how much the purple-pink lights above disturbed your palette.

You didn’t know how the kid might respond to you either, you didn’t exactly look the friendliest with your sharp Zaunite-born features and your choice of clothing which was the farthest from elegant, friendly, feminine or colourful. Nothing people wouldn’t expect from someone born in the Sumps, though.

A hand reached out to the girl after, trying to keep it as non-threatening as you could with your palm facing upward, showing her your bracelets which decorated your bare wrist, no concealed weapon or anything of the sort.

“You can’t really be here, you know?” You spoke soft though hardly babied the kid, keeping your tone entirely normal as if talking with any other client, but that wasn’t completely true. If you knew someone that shouldn’t be here had walked through those doors when you weren’t looking, you would have hardly been this polite about it.

“Why not?” Her question back to you held no real confusion or curiosity, but a bite of offense, daring you to try and say something about her being here again. If you hadn’t known better, you might have even said she looked like the kid of some Piltie, all soft around the edges even as she attempted to narrow her eyes dangerously at you and put on that bratty attitude. “Well, this isn’t exactly a place for kids to be, you get me? Lots of bad people, alcohol, all that stuff you should stay away from ‘till you’re older.” You explained in a straight forward but watered-down manner what was so bad about The Last Drop, excluding the newfound drugs that were being peddled in this place between customers like little bags of candies. Vibrant liquid candies that came in little vials or syringes.

Your hand dropped back to your knee when the only reaction the kid deemed you worthy of was a mean pout she threw your way, her entire body turned away from you as if to refuse your explanation, deny to leave, making you let out a sigh as you more sternly took hold of her shoulder and prepared to guide her out towards the front door of the place. You barely got her away from the bar when the stairs leading up to his office creaked with a sudden, new weight pressing down on them.

Looking up, you were faced with the judgmental, pinning eye of Silco. It was one harsh way to learn that he apparently had a kid.

Has anyone talked about how Wyll suddenly grows fangs? You ever try to wear fake fangs and suddenly you can't talk properly anymore.

I had to get dentures at 21, new topology in your mouth makes talking TIRING, and HARD.

Here are some headcannons!

He struggles to say a word to someone during the day and at night goes to gale, "I cant say retwackd [retract] :(" and gale tries to help him out.

Lae'zel hears him say something incorrectly and is understanding. "These faerun words twist on my tongue, too. There is no shame in learning to use new tools."

Shadowheart doesn't call attention to it unless prompted. It's not her business, but if Wyll brings it up, Shadowheart admits that she struggles to say "Little", and to Wylls shock and horror, he too can't say little properly. It becomes an inside joke to try to make the other person say little, and eventually they both get a little better at it.

Karlach confidently offers to help, she's had fangs her whole life! But it's difficult to explain to someone how to do something you do automatically. "This isn't helping, Karlach..." "Yeaaaaah... Sorry."

Astarion is giddy, at first, to see the Blade of Frontiers struggeling, but eventually it starts to gnaw at him. "Oh gods, this is embarrassing." He turns to face Wyll. "Flatten your tongue more. And where you try to press for that "r" sound, move the tip of your tongue ever so slightly higher than you would normally." He opens his mouth to demonstrate.

A bit dejected after Karlach's lessons, Wyll tries to follow along and, to his surprise, it actually works.

"How-" but Astarion cuts him off. "You're not the first person in camp who's had to learn to use new teeth, Wyll." His thoughts seem to be drifting off somewhere far away, before snapping back. "Now, if I ever hear you mispronounce "frontiers" again, I'll knock them out for you. Then we won't have a problem anymore."