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Expression practice that I got way too carried away with

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Whitebeard Daemons Part 1

Marco: Darling, Yellow Eyelash Viper

Ace: Ann, Mountain Coyote

Jozu: Valeria, Pink Fairy Armadillo

Thatch: Hildegarde, Domestic Honeybee

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Whitebeard Commanders Rizz Check

Jozu shoots his shot by teasing you and gifting you with little trinkets he made, but he doesn't actually like to talk much, so all his flirting is just *stares at you adoringly* *gets caught* *smiles, waves, and walks away.* Doesn't hide that he's into you but also doesn't push for anything more, he'd let you come to him if you're interested.

Thatch is absolutely a flirt but he's also very approachable about it. He'll offers to buy you chicken wings instead of a drink at the bar, and conversation with him feels effortless. Farmer's Market Hot/Boy Next Door kinda rizz, but with that bad boy spice when you find out he's a pirate. Also a man who can cook automatically gets a +16 hotness boost.

Vista's Casanova ass are you kidding me? This man needs to stop rizzing people up, it's becoming an actual problem. Vista enters conversations tits-first, kisses the back of your hand, calls you Spanish pet names and offers to teach you how to tango right then and there. His cologne smells amazing and his hair is like silk. Somebody nerf this bastard.

Blamenco is too shy and nervous to ever attempt to rizz anybody up, but if he did he'd absolutely flirt like a butch lesbian. Hey darlin', want to sip this iced tea he made you while he does skillful handyman repairs around your house, listens to you talk, and validates all your emotions and experiences? Actually tbh he would do that even if he wasn't trying to rizz you up. This man is Overwhelmingly husband material.

Rakuyo shoots his shot by chattering about the history of shipbuilding with exact dates and locations while scrawling incredibly detailed diagrams all over the napkins, getting too excited and knocking a drink all over himself, and then being genuinely startled and impressed when you show him a trick for getting wine stains out of fabric. He loves when somebody can teach him something. Maybe you could give him some more advanced lessons? He's a very attentive student, *wink wink*

Namur has that nerdy shyboy rizz. Nervously approaches you in a game shop to compliment all you nerd merch and then when you compliment him back he'll turn purple and start stuttering. Talks with you about favorite Pokemon gens and which anime openings get stuck in your head, shows you the elaborate DM screen he designed and made himself. You think probably he just wants to be friends but then he sees someone being an asshole and steps up to do something about it and you're reminded Oh Shit Actually This Guy Is A Shark. Not A Cinnamon Roll, A Big Fucking Shark, A Shark--!

Blenheim doesn't even really need to work for it honestly he's a hot older man with those vibes where you know he knows how to fuck and he has the most interesting stories to tell with that smooth, confident way he speaks, his salt-and-pepper beard, his big, strong hands. It's not rizz it's genuine understated charisma and we're all lucky he hasn't ever been as girl-crazy as Vista because frankly two of them on one ship would be too damn much.

Curiel doesn't know how to flirt and at this point he refuses to learn but he does have that energy of a man who's very big and very strong and very gentle, and he'd speak to you warmly and call you little one and make hilariously terrible dad jokes and we all know that would be more than enough for some people.

Kingdew has no rizz just huge muscles an extremely deep voice and many unsettling things to say.

Haruta is obnoxious and rizzless. Point this out to them and they will throw a tantrum about it, which will both be entertaining and serve to prove your point.

Atmos used to have a ton of rizz back in the day. He had that "I'm a bad motherfucker, but I like poetry too" kind of thing going on. Friendly, easy to get along with, intelligent without being pretentious, playful without being abrasive, capable of carrying a conversation. Atmos could get it. Not so much since the brain damage though. No, not anymore.

Jiru's quick silver tongue and big doe eyes and dimples aren't quite as dangerous as Vista's tits but that's mostly because Jiru doesn't weaponize them as often as Vista does. For all his friendliness and skill with managing social situations, Jiru doesn't actually like people very much. That said, he's absolutely not above flirting his way out of a problem he can't run through with his lance.

Fossa does not have rizz he has paranoid delusions and a chain-smoking habit. Leave him alone. Go away.

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Hi! I'm Rabbit!

I write. Sometimes I draw things. One Piece is currently chewing holes in my brain. Right now all my OP posts are spread across three different blogs so I figured I should probably consolidate them all in one place.

If you want to read any of my fics, you can find me on AO3!

~Masterlist~

Whitebeard Pirates Project: A collection of headcanons, musings, and illustrations about the members of the Whitebeard crew we don't see enough of.

One Piece Omegaverse: My hyper-specific A/B/O worldbuilding applied to One Piece

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I love a farm boy.

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If the Whitebeard Commanders had a Minecraft server

The people who play regularly: Ace, Jozu, Thatch, Blamenco, Namur, Haruta, Atmos

The people who play occasionally: Marco, Vista, Rakuyo, Curiel, Kingdew, Jiru, Izou

The people who never play: Blenheim, Fossa

Thatch is more than happy to be everybody's little housewife, staying at the base puttering around doing the crafting and building. Blamenco and Atmos are his usual assistants -- Atmos is really good at redstone and makes efficient farms that Thatch then makes pretty, Blamenco builds huge sprawling warehouses to neatly store all the resources and then goes on errands to collect those resources.

Jozu is the mole man, he lives in the mines. Occasionally he comes up to get more food or wood or to dump hundreds of stacks of various minerals and then he disappears again. Namur and Ace spend most of their time exploring and can usually be found in the nether. Haruta is also an explorer but mostly they're a terrible evil little cryptid who shows up, plays pranks, and then vanishes again. Everybody lives in fear of Haruta.

Rakuyo actually plays fairly often but nobody ever knows or sees him because he fucked 10,000 blocks off in a random direction the very first day and is still out there exploring. Sometimes he accidentally jumpscares the other explorers. Mostly if you know he's there it's because he crossed paths with Haruta, and now they've destroyed half a dozen chunks griefing each other.

Also into griefing, surprisingly, is Curiel. He Likes To Blow Stuff Up. Often he'll be the one who ends Haruta and Rakuyo's nonsense by just carpet bombing their whole war zone.

Jiru, Vista, and Marco play like normal people when they come hang out. Jiru likes horses and elytra and enjoys carrying messages or resources for people. Vista joins the nether boys, and Marco likes to hang out around everybody's bases. Sometimes Izou will show up and just sweep through the base decorating everything and tidying up the spaces that have been ignored, but tbh he doesn't play often.

Kingdew is basically a cryptid. He logs on when nobody else is playing, systematically breaks and rebuilds somebody's base one block to the left, then leaves again. Sometimes he leaves ominously-worded signs littered around the world for people to find, or puts player heads in peoples houses. He'll do this almost daily for a couple weeks and then, when everybody else is at each others throats wondering who tf is messing with everything, he'll stop. Haruta once found an entire torture dungeon built under their secret underground base. As far as anybody knows, Kingdew doesn't play Minecraft.

Blenheim and Fossa both have accounts and have been on the server a couple times, but mostly neither of them are super into it. Blenheim played long enough to figure out how to set up sound blocks and redstone to play Rolling Up, Rolling Down whenever someone enters the main base and then he never logged on again. Fossa doesn't mind watching Rakuyo play for a little while, but he's not super big on video games.

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Imagine being the Whitebeards in one of those Straw Hat Time Travel Fix Its. Imagine the Whitebeards finding out about the Straw Hat Time Travel Fix It.

You were betrayed by somebody you loved and trusted -- a sworn brother, a friend, a senior member of your crew. Your sibling. Your son, and he murdered another member of your family in cold blood, for power.

Someone else you loved and trusted ran off to seek vengeance on all of your behalf, even though you all told him not to, and you didn't actually try all that hard to stop him because he was carrying all of your rage and grief and betrayal with him. Ace may have taken that mission solo, but he was not alone. Your family's shared wrath nipped at his every step, urged him onward. It's your fault as much as anyone else's.

Ace fails his quest. Ace is captured. You go to war to save him, and you fail. You limp off the battlefield with less family than you had when you entered it, and leave the fallen where they lay. You don't even have time to lick your wounds, because over the next two years that first bastard who stabbed you all in the back makes a game of hunting you down, one by one, until there's no one fucking left.

Everything you built together is destroyed. In the end, there's only one man standing.

Except... that didn't happen.

Absolutely none of that happened.

Maybe Thatch still dies, and maybe Whitebeard does, too, depending on exactly how the Straw Hats have gone about fixing all this. But Ace doesn't. And because Ace doesn't, the rest of you live, too. Your family is not hunted. You don't need to put your grief on a shelf to focus on grasping at survival as it slips through your fingers. Marco never needs to stand alone on Sphynx and wonder how it all went so wrong so fast. You live. Your family, and the dreams you share, and the life you've built together -- when the dust settles it's all still standing.

Not because of anything you did. Not because you sniffed out the traitor before he could break everything you built. Not because you were strong enough to defeat the navy, or because you were resilient enough to withstand Blackbeard. Not because any of you were clever enough or tenacious enough or adamant enough to break time itself to regain what you'd lost. No, not because of you. Not even for you.

Just for Ace. Just because Ace's little brother loved him very, very much. You were saved as a consequence, by proxy, but you were not the goal. Only Ace was.

You have skirted disaster. You have survived your rightful death. You do not deserve any of the gifts you've been given -- and in fact all of those gifts are scraps from someone else's table. And now you're being asked to make peace with that.

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I am once again thinking about One Piece Omegaverse with Omega Ace and his hilarious experiences with joining the Whitebeards

Heat and Rut week on the Moby are flawlessly executed and prepared for weeks in advance. Everybody's cycles have synced up and everybody is accounted for, they know who's spending all or part of their cycle with a mate partner, they have designated nesting rooms piled ceiling-high with scented offerings from all the various crew members, they have food and water and everything all set and ready and people who have specific needs have those needs provided for. Omegas spend their heat week all piled together, occasionally yowling for their beta or alpha pack-mates to bring them something or other, while Alphas in rut are given leeway to patrol and scent and herd their pack-mates into the nest room as often as their instincts demand it of them.

(It is Very Funny watching anybody try to herd Pops anywhere, and even funnier to watch them get broody over him, but the funniest part is how willing he is to just Let Them Get Away With It. You have not seen hilarity until you've seen Marco in a rut sitting on top of Whitebeard's head and glaring at the horizon like a hen gearing up to peck anybody to might come too close. He tries to blame his devil fruit but he's a liar his brooding instinct is just Off The Charts.)

I'm thinking about the first time Ace's cycle synced up with the rest of the pack Omegas and how happy he probably was prancing his little ass into the heat rooms. He's really part of the crew now!!

I also think he was just, so hilariously perplexed and caught off-guard the first time he got swept up in all the alpha scenting and herding and checking-up-on. He hadn't been part of the crew for very long by that point and assumed that nobody would really feel protective enough about him to want to keep track of him during their rut but hoooo boy was he Wrong. He comes out of the crawl space he'd been not-really-hiding-in and is immediately swarmed by Alphas all Furiously Sniffing Him like disgruntled dogs. Where Have You Been Young Man We Were Worried Sick.

Ace goes from having One (1) Alpha in his life, and that Alpha being Luffy, who like. Okay yeah he does get twitchy in his rut but as long as he can find Ace when he goes looking for him it's fine -- to suddenly having a whole crew's worth of these fucking knot-heads following him around for an entire week. Ace went to sea prepared to deal with obnoxious horny Alphas who would not take no for an answer. He did not go to sea prepared to deal with obnoxious protective Alphas, half of whom want to Literally Sit On Him.

The worst part is that he knows it's his own fault. If he hadn't given them all such a hard time about joining the crew, they might not be so anxious and paranoid about keeping an eye on Him, Specifically. They're all Up His Ass making sure he's safe and comfortable and staying with them and not going anywhere and he has nobody to blame but himself.

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It is seven thirty in the morning. An hour ago I bolted upright in bed possessed by the image of Klabautermann cultivating human forms like swords spirits in xianxia novels. In the process of me exploring that concept, I somehow got myself emotionally invested in the inherent homoeroticism of a seventy year old pirate and his goddamn boat

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

“It was… hm. Maybe a year and a half after you’d been built. You got that big ass hole in your hull.” Newgate swirls the sake in his cup as he reminisces, watching sunlight catch off the liquid. “We managed to get you patched, but before we could get to the next island all those damn storms hit, one right after the other

Moby inclines their head. “I recall.” Their hand drifts to their side in the gesture of someone touching an old scar.

And isn’t that interesting? “I kept thinking we aren’t gonna make it. We shouldn’t have made it. There were so many times on that journey that by all rights we should have sunk, but you… you got us there.”

Again, an incline of the head. There’s something majestic about the Moby, even in this mostly-humanoid form. Something about the way they move, the way they carry themself. Like water made flesh, all smooth and fluid motion. When they turn to him, water droplets slip off the ends of their trailing braids to hang suspended in the air. They swirl around Moby like the silks of a lady’s dress.

“Your stubbornness had already covered me like a varnish,” they laugh, and it strikes Newgate that his ship is teasing him. “I was not made in the image of one who easily accepts failure.”

Moby’s solid-colored eyes are deep, deep blue, the color of water just at the edge of the depth where sunlight reaches. There’s an eerie liquid sort of quality to them. Here on deck, the light swirls through them much like it does the sake in his cup.

Newgate finds himself shifting in his seat. He clears his throat. “Were you — aware, even back then?”

“I was,” Moby says, in that almost-singing way of theirs. “My thoughts were… simple. Crude, but they existed.”

Newgate makes a thoughtful noise. “What was that like, for you?”

Now it’s Moby’s turn to consider the sake in their glass, while Newgate considers their profile. They’re nearly translucent, but only barely. The way light moves through them makes them look like they’re glowing from the inside. “I knew I was damaged,” They say, after a moment. “I knew I could die. I knew I didn’t want to.” They take a sip from their cup, and their throat moves as they drink. A thumb swipes away a droplet of sake clinging to the corner of their mouth. That droplet rolls off them again, joins the water dancing in the air. “I remember thinking — I cannot sink. I will not sink. I was made to carry them.”

Here, they turn again to face Newgate, smiling. Their face is as deeply-lined as his own, but they’re lines that speak of the right kind of aging. Crows feet and laugh lines that crinkle when they smile at him. They look like they’ve smiled often, his Moby. They look like they’ve been smiling for decades. “Of course I got you there, old friend,” they say warmly. “Our children were on board.”

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The newspaper — the South Sea Gazette, apparently — is so old it practically crumbles under Ace’s fingers, the paper yellow and powdery with age, the edges disintegrating into nothing from however many years of being picked up and handled. The headline reads: Maniac Schoolteacher Slaughters Classroom. The photo on the front page shows a small schoolhouse, showing signs of wear and hodge-podge repair, like the town it belonged to couldn’t afford it’s upkeep but did their best anyway. The stairs leading up to the front door are bloody, and there’s more blood streaked across the windows from the inside. One small hand can be seen poking out the edge of the doorway, flopped limp across the floor. A group of Marines drag the “Maniac Schoolteacher” away from the scene of the crime in chains while he flails and struggles.

It… It’s Jiru. A very young Jiru, he can’t be any older than, god, maybe his early twenties? If that? He looks like he’s barely Ace’s age in this photo, and his face—

It’s not the face of a maniac who just went on a bloody rampage and murdered a bunch of kids. His hands and clothes are streaked with blood, but not nearly enough to account for the carnage implied behind him, and his face is wet with tears. The look in his eyes is one of such gut-wrenching despair that Ace has to tear his eyes away. The rest of the article is just — bullshit, Ace is sure, and the letters are dancing around and he doesn’t want to read it anyway so he doesn’t bother trying to make them quit goofing off and get back where they go. He just… stares blankly instead at where his hands are digging into the paper, crumbling it more under his grip.

“Ah,” Jiru says. “I should’ve put that away.”

Ace startles, whirls around. The fourteenth division Commander is leaning in the doorway, arms crossed and shoulders slumped, eyeing Ace with an unreadable expression.

“I’m sorry,” Ace says, scrambling to put the paper back where he found it. “I’m — sorry, I didn’t mean to snoop. I was coming to see you about watch rotations. Pops said you’re in charge of that?”

“That I am.” Jiru enters his room. Ace has to scramble out of his way when he walks to the desk, lifting the newspaper up delicately — not like he’s handling something precious, but like he’s handling something that disgusts him. Or, maybe, something that bites. Something that hurts to touch. “The transfers from the Moby 3 haven’t been added to the Watch Rotation yet, and won’t be until we know how long repairs will take. That’s not why you were taken off the night watch. You were taken off of the night watch for your narcolepsy, and Tate scares me, so you’re not going back on the night watch unless there’s an emergency.”

“But—”

“No buts. She will stab me with needles.”

That’s… probably true. Ace still scowls at the unfairness of it all. He focuses on that — on the absolute crime that is all these damn people caring about his health and his wellbeing and his safety — so that he doesn’t have to focus on the paper while Jiru carefully slides it into an empty drawer and then locks that drawer shut. The key gets hung up on a hook by his desk, where it’s immediately covered by the fabric of the cloak that’s also hanging there.

“… You can ask,” Jiru says, after a moment. “It’s not a secret.”

Ace startles again, tears his eyes away from the closed drawer. Jiru’s face is still unreadable, but he doesn’t look angry, really. Ace bites his lip.

“What… happened?”

Jiru snorts. “Not did you do it?”

Ace snarls, “You didn’t do it.”

Now Jiru smiles. It’s a really shitty, awful, sad little smile, and Ace kind of hates it. “No,” he confirms. “I didn’t do it.”

He walks to his bed. Takes a seat. Scrubs a hand over his face. “… You ever hear that rumor about Gold Roger having a kid?”

Ace goes very, very still.

Jiru must see his reaction, but he must misunderstand it, because his smile grows — not sad anymore, but bitter and hurting and furious. “Yeah. Wasn’t ever anything but a rumor, mind you. Stories and gossip. The Marines didn’t have any leads, didn’t have any proof. Didn’t have anything but ‘somewhere in the South Blue’ and ‘somewhere between the ages of eight years old and literally an unborn fetus’.”

Here he chokes a laugh, flicks his fez off to scrub a hand over his shaved head. Takes a slow, shaking breath, and then another one. “… It wasn’t my kids,” he says. “Every one of them had fathers known and accounted for. It wasn’t any of my kids. But, hey, what’s logic in the face of justice?”

From somewhere far away, Ace is aware of the sensation of his own tongue, clicking dry against the back of his throat. His own voice, echoing down a distant tunnel. “If — if one of them was Roger’s son?” He hears himself ask. “What would you have done?”

Jiru looks at him for a moment, considering. Scratches over his head again. “Aw, hell, Ace, I dunno,” he says finally. “I’d like to say I would have scooped the kid up and ran for it, but… back then…” That fucking smile, all bitterness and regret. Ace really does hate that smile.

“Back then,” Jiru says, “I just wasn’t fast enough.”

[rabbit-piece]

Some Whitebeard Pirate Excerpts

"But," Rakuyo whimpers. He sounds so very small. "But I'm your son."

Whitebeard's face remains cold. "I have so many sons."

"Oh shit," Marco chokes. "Rakuyo, run!"

The call is picked up and echoed, his siblings crying out for him. He hears the cooler heads among them holding the others back from rushing to their own deaths trying to save him. "It's too late for him!" They shout. "There's nothing we can do, he's a goner!"

Not without a fight. He scrambles at the ground on all fours, animal-afraid, and tries to force enough speed into his fragile, mortal limbs to escape what's coming. He barely makes it two feet before Whitebeard's shadow falls over him like a physical thing, oppressive and heavy. Stifling all the air in his lungs.

Someone screams "Pops, you'll kill him!"

There is the boom of displaced air. Rakuyo has just enough time to think this isn't how I thought I'd die. Then, all at once, the world goes dark.

Whitebeard's massive fucking pillow is practically the size of Rakuyo's entire body, and it slams over him with a fwump that squishes him flat and knocks the breath out of him and sends a spray of oversized feathers up into the air. Some of Rakuyo's siblings have continued their dramatics, and from under the very soft weight currently crushing him to death and muffling his ears he can hear Haruta wailing "He was so young!" and Thatch's hysterical "He had so much to live for!"

Rakuyo gets a corner of the pillow pried up enough to drag in a breath of fresh air, only to immediately inhale a feather and almost actually die choking on it. The rest of the gathered crew are avenging his gruesome murder, and Whitebeard is now fending off most of his children while they attempt to collectively beat him to death with pillows.

Pops, the bastard, just laughs.

It's Blamenco who comes to actually help pry the goddamn pillow off of Rakuyo so he can escape it's down-filled clutches. "You're the only person in this family who actually loves me," Rakuyo tells him.

“That ain’t true and you know it,” his brother scolds him, but he’s grinning, too. “Look, they’re all killing Pops for you. That’s gotta count for something.”

Rakuyo sighs. “Only if they actually manage it.”

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“Wh— Is this therapy?” Ace sputters. “Are you therapizing me right now?!”

From somewhere behind him, Jiru mutters, “That’s not a word.”

Kingdew raises his eyebrows. “Without your consent? I would never. It would be malpractice.”

“You lost your license,” Ace seethes.

“For murder,” Kingdew peacefully informs him. “Not malpractice. I’m very serious about the privacy of my patients.”

Ace grits his teeth until his jaw aches. “You are a lying liar who lies.”

“I am?”

“Yes!” Ace waves a hand vaguely at the two of them, and the table they’re sitting at, and the — the fucking hot chocolate. “You’re… trying to get me to talk about my problems because your whole thing is beating up everybody’s brain goblins for them. You’re like, obsessed with the crew’s mental health. I’m onto your game.”

“My game?”

“You’re like—“ Ace grapples with the words. “You’ve got like, that thing, where you can’t do a lot of physical lifting or chores or fighting sometimes because of the fibro-thing, so you try to make up for it by being everybody’s shrink because it’s something you can do even when you can’t stand up.”

Kingdew nods, thoughtfully, like they’re having a debate and Ace is raising interesting points. “Hm…” he muses. “Now who’s therapizing?”

“It’s still you!” Ace shouts. “You’re doing a — a one of those — reverse psychic things on me! Well it’s not gonna work!”

“It already did,” Kingdew informs him, all innocence. Ace can practically see his fucking halo glinting. “You just told me you think it’s normal for people to feel like they have to earn their right to exist.”

“That’s — I —” Ace gapes, too stunned to even really argue. “You’re an asshole,” He realizes.

“Hmmm,” Kingdew intones. “And how does that make you feel?”

“Oh, fuck you!” Ace jumps up from the table, snatches up the hot chocolate (it’s good hot chocolate, and shouldn’t be ruined by — by shitty therapizing crew mates!) and storms out of the room.

Before he slams the door behind him, he hears Pops’s voice, a deep rumbling sight. “Do you really have to come down that hard on him? You’ll scare him off.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Kingdew sounds way too goddamn pleased with himself. “We’re making great progress.”

[rabbit-piece]

The thing about (my hyper-specific Whitebeard Pirate headcanons) Blamenco's goddamn flesh pockets is that Ace grew up with Luffy's nightmarish uncanny valley rubber body so hammerspace skin pouch literally does not phase him

However, Ace thinks Blamenco being albino is cool as hell. He eagerly recounts the one (1) albino tiger he saw in the jungles back home and the weeks he spent tracking and hunting it to see if it tasted any different from a regular tiger.

Does not realize it sounds like he's implying he wants to kill and eat Blamenco to see if he tastes any different from a regular human but everybody overhearing the conversation is like A... Ace.

Worse is that Blamenco is a clown bastard at heart so he makes a joke about how at his size he'd be better fried in his own fat than roasted on a spit like Ace cooked the game back home, and Ace riffs back about a slow stew, and now they have a whole Cannibalism Bit going while everybody else takes a slow step away from them.

(Thatch, in tears: Do I not feed you enough???)

Blamenco is Delighted to find someone who matches his freak though. One day Marco turns a corner to find Blamenco crouched in front of Ace and one of Ace's legs jammed to the knee into one of his goddamn flesh pockets and Marco is immediately like No absolutely not vetoed and Blamenco's like I'M FINALLY GONNA FIND OUT WHAT'S IN THESE THINGS and Marco's like the entire reason everybody else has said No is because we have no idea what's in those things Ace get your leg out of his jaw and Ace is like buzzkill.

Later that day Ace is perched on a railing holding a fishing rod the end of which is in one of Blamenco's pockets and when someone asks Ace is cheerfully like we put a turkey leg on it and we're gonna see if anything bites : )

The person: What are you gonna do if something... does...?

Blamenco: ... Scream?

Ace: I could go in there and fight it.

Blamenco: He could go in there and fight it!

[rabbit-piece]

I’m having Omegaverse One Piece thoughts again

Luffy in a rut has the most insane patrolling instinct he needs to search Every Inch Of This Ship Now Right Now and he’s sprinting around the Sunny one day and practically fucking Teleports into Usopp’s workshop and Tackles him chuffing and nuzzling and grooming him because! Friend!! PackCrewLove!!! And Usopp is like How and Where Did You Come From and I Didn’t Even Hear You Come In Seriously How

But then Usopp is laughing too hard to keep complaining because Luffy is nuzzling him so aggressively they have fully tipped over onto the floor. Through his giggles Usopp (beta) tries to scold Luffy that he’s gonna put Usopp in a rut! Knock it off!! But he’s already nuzzling back so Does He Really Care? Checkmate.

They end up doing that aggressive-scenting-nuzzling-grooming I-can-be-more-affectionate-than-you-can-jackass kind of play fighting and roll across the floor laughing and making happy noises and smooshing their faces against each other and then yes, Usopp Does enter a pseudo-Rut and end up joining Luffy in his deranged insane hyperactive patrolling

Smash cut to Nami standing at the helm staring into the middle distance with the most exhausted look on her face as these two idiots with the zoomies sprint back and forth past her at Mach Fuck

[rabbit-piece]

Whitebeard Commanders Headcanons: Diamond Jozu

Jozu doesn't talk much, but is extremely expressive. He has that thing where his neutral expression makes him look like he's plotting murder, but he doesn't actually wear a neutral expression very often -- he's very free with showing his emotions on his face, so he's usually grinning or scowling or rolling his eyes at someone. If he's talking out loud it's usually short, one-or-two sentence statements, otherwise he prefers to communicate non-verbally. A thumbs up, a shrug, even some sign language. This can cause Jozu to come across as dismissive, cold, or stoic, but in reality he gets flustered easily, and his response to that is to try and shut down, so the more he's feeling the less it shows on his face. If you ever see Jozu holding completely still and staring into the distance with a furious expression on his face, you know he's screaming internally about something silly.

(If you ever see Jozu holding mostly still with a grumpy expression on his face, he's just chilling.)

Do not play Poker with him until you figure out how to read him. Then feel free to clean him out, because his poker face won't fool anyone who knows his tells. The only time he's good at actually controlling his expression is when he's keeping a straight face through a joke. This man will not crack. Jozu never starts the silliness, but he will happily let himself get swept up in it, and his quiet, gruff demeanor hides an immediate willingness to fully commit himself to any and all bits. The master of less-is-more style comedy, some of his best jokes involve the rest of the Whitebeards getting up to mischief while Jozu just Stands There. Thatch and Haruta are always putting silly hats on him and he just lets them. His division turned him into a Christmas tree one year while he ignored them/pretended not to notice and then he did not move or make a single noise for almost three hours, because he was Being A Tree.

Shockingly light-footed for a man his size, he is always accidentally startling people by coming around corners or through doorways silently. Even Observation Haki doesn't always help, Jozu has such a quiet, calm presence that he could stand right next to someone and go unnoticed if he wanted to. Everyone is always complaining that they're going to put a bell on him, and honestly, if someone did ambush him with a silly cat-bell choker Jozu would let them put it on him and then pretend he hadn't noticed it was there until someone directly calls him out on it, because that would be wildly hilarious to him personally. Very superstitious. A little embarrassed by that fact. Jozu is very spooked by the supernatural as a concept and, if asked, will explain that it's not like he could punch a ghost if one of them popped up. He's big on handing out good luck charms and protection amulets to his crew mates, and he's always throwing purifying salt around. He has a somewhat masochistic love of learning the superstitions and folk beliefs of whatever new islands they dock at. On the one hand, he usually learns about a few new types of ghoulies to have nightmares about. On the other hand, he also learns about new ways to deal with those ghoulies. Pros and Cons.

Jozu deeply values fragile, delicate things, and his favorite hobies include glass art, eggshell carving, and the like. Due to growing up alone and in poverty Jozu was forced to be tough, hardy, and self-sufficient basically as soon as he could crawl, and as a result he's fascinated by the idea of things that are easy to break or that require a lot of attentive care, since he himself has never been treated that way, and honestly kind of struggles to treat other people that way.

As someone who values action, effort, hard work, and consistency, Jozu isn't always great at understanding why people might fall short of expectations, or be unable to complete certain tasks. He's so rooted in the physical world -- and in his own values of discipline and self-control -- that his interpersonal skills can often fall short, and he's not always as sympathetic to or patient with other peoples' struggles as he should be. Jozu is very good at cutting down to the heart of something and finding a simple, straightforward path through a seemingly complex and difficult problem, but this means he can overlook nuance or disregard important details as being superfluous. He can be dismissive or cutting when confronted with peoples mental or emotional struggles.

Jozu knows this about himself, and tries to treat people more gently and with more acceptance of their shortcomings, but he tends to come up short himself. Often it's not until hours or days after someone has tried to open up to him and he's shut them down that Jozu will look back and realize he'd been careless with someone's feelings again, and likely hurt them in the process -- and then he struggles to apologize, not because he doesn't mean it or doesn't want to, but because he doesn't know how to express how sorry he is. Part of his enjoyment of creating and caring for delicate things comes from the fact that he has so much difficulty treating his family with that same care. He wishes he could give his family the gentle touch he shows his glass sculptures, and hates that it's so hard for him to do so.

[rabbit-piece]

Whitebeard Commanders Headcanons: Flower Sword Vista

Vista is a man who lives his life as a celebration of pleasure -- which is to say, he's a slut. And also a hedonist. Good sex, good fights, good wine, good food and good conversation enjoyed in good company. He delights in discovering new ways to enjoy himself and sharing that enjoyment with other people. To Vista, life is all about the sensuality of being alive, the pursuit of love and beauty.

His mother was a dancer (and a consort), renowned for the elegance and control with which she moved, and he grew up watching her preform and being inspired by her. The Flower Sword style was something he created because he wanted his own version of dancing to be as beautiful as hers was. As you can imagine, he's an excellent dancer, and prone to dragging people into a waltz or a tango with him. He's also a very good singer, but that's something he only shares with his closest friends.

A flirt and a romantic, Vista has a girl at every port, but not in a scummy way. He never makes promises he can't keep, and in fact nothing disgusts him more than people who "corrupt" beauty by "misusing" it. He would have a very low opinion of Boa Hancock. For this same reason, he considers most nobility and those born into wealth to be lower than dirty, since they surround themselves with beautiful things without understanding or appreciating any of it. The craftsmanship and time and effort that goes into creating fine things, the care and attention to detail that chefs put into the meals they cook, the passion to learn and grow and create, all of these things are an extremely large part of what makes something beautiful to begin with. Having spent his childhood in court, watching the backstabbing and maneuvering of the noble women, Vista views beauty as an intensely political and philosophical concept and could talk for hours about the deeper implications behind what beauty is, how a culture responds to beauty, who is allowed to be beautiful and why, etc etc.

As you can imagine, Vista has the heart of an artist, and can be pretty dramatic and self-absorbed as a result. He can be moody, emotional, and easily swept up in the moment, which can make him inconsistent and at the worst of times even unreliable, though he always pulls through when it counts. His linear way of dividing the world into categories of ugliness or beauty make him reluctant to acknowledge the faults or flaws in the people he loves -- and especially himself. This refusal makes him come across as hypocritical and passive-aggressive, unwilling to hold his family accountable for the same traits he sneers at in other people. This can cause some friction in his relationships, but Vista will continue on like nothing happened unless someone sits him down and directly tells him he's upset them. Even then, he'd probably apologize for the wrong thing before admitting that there's something "ugly" about someone he loves.

Vista has a deep appreciation for things like competition, ambition, drive, and craftsmanship, and enjoys testing himself in all aspects against other people. The only way to be the best is to measure yourself against the best, after all. That said, he isn't arrogant, and he accepts defeat with grace. In fact, being beaten by someone at something he's good at only makes him more excited to pursue that thing with more dedication until he's managed to perfect it.

For all he's a hopeless romantic who finds something to love about every stranger he meets, only once in his life has Vista truly fallen in love -- with an award-winning sharpshooter he met on a visit to the East Blue, a beautiful woman from a small village named Banchina. She wasn't interested in giving her heart to a pirate, and Vista accepted her rejection. However, finding out years later that Yasopp had left her to be a pirate left a bad taste in his mouth, and Vista has held a grudge ever since.

[rabbit-piece]

Whitebeard Commanders Headcanons: Blamenco

Blamenco grew up as the round hole in a square peg, and has never quite been able to shake that feeling. As the child of an immigrant father in a very small, rural farming community, Blamenco would have been something of an oddity even if he didn't have albinism. Despite having a love family and a handful of close friends, Blamenco never managed to really put down roots on the island where he'd been born.

Despite this, Blamenco has always been dutiful, responsible, and dependable, and consistent. He's farm stock, and has spent his entire life raising animals and tending crops alongside his grandparents. This gives him a very practical and somewhat cynical outlook on life -- who cares if he's happy here? The pigs need feeding and the roof needs to be patched before the stormy season hits. There's too much to do to worry about anything else.

After several run-ins with pirates and the eventual death of his grandparents, Blamenco's friends practically chased him out of town. He had no one left to be responsible for, and it was time to go find somewhere he could thrive.

He traveled with a circus for a few years, where he learned to embrace the things about himself that had made him an outsider back home and was able to hone not only his physical strength but also his sharp mind and skill for numbers, resource management, and logistics. Although he loved the glitz and glamor and didn't mind the hard, dirty work that went on behind the scenes, the overall culture of the circus didn't agree with him, and Blamenco would end up leaving again after a few too many arguments with the Ringleader.

Blamenco is polite, careful of others feelings, and generally soft-spoken, which makes his mischievous streak catch people off guard, but honestly he's a clown bastard at heart who loves to make people laugh and smile. Blamenco has a quiet, almost shameful love of pretty things, nice jewelry and clothes, fine artwork. He has a distinguished eye and fine tastes, but he almost never indulges because he thinks such things are wasted on someone like him. For all his cheer and friendliness, Blamenco is deeply insecure, and thinks every mean thing his bullies said to him growing up must be true. Even being respected as a leader and Commander on the crew is something he sees as just a responsibility he's fulfilling, and not proof of his own excellence in any way. After all, surely anybody else could do a better job of it if they had a mind to. He's only helping out where it's needed, that's all.

Blamenco is quick to praise and celebrate his crew-mates, gets very easily flustered when they return the favor, and spends most of his free time finding ways to make himself helpful to the other divisions. He's infamous for pushing himself too hard and living a spartan existence despite having the resources to indulge himself, and it's an ongoing battle from his crew to convince him he deserves nice things and creature comforts if he wants them.

[rabbit-piece]

Whitebeard Commanders Headcanons: Rakuyo

Once a pirate, always a pirate. Rakuyo is a sea-child who was born and raised on a ship, though there's no love lost between him and his biological parents. The crew that raised him were small-time trouble-makers from one of the Blues with no greater ambitions, which Rakuyo chafed at long before they all got rounded up and taken in by the Marines. Though he didn't have a bounty at the time and could have quietly settled into civilian life, Rakuyo's true home has always been the sea, and it didn't take long for him to pull together his own crew and take to the waves again, this time as a Captain.

Greedy, hedonistic, and self-indulgent, Rakuyo chases pleasure and his own wants above all else. This often means drugs, sex, and gambling, and he's also fond of life's softer pleasures, like good food, stargazing, music, and the company of his loved ones. In fact, Rakuyo believes that true happiness can only be found by sharing that happiness with others. It's only lonely at the top if you don't bring anyone up there with you.

A reckless thrill-seeker who leaps without looking every chance he gets, Rakuyo is resourceful, clever, and quick on his feet. Nothing thrills him more than throwing his fate into the hands of lady luck. He knows a million card or dice games, and despises cheaters -- in gambling, and in every other facet of life. True reward can only come through true risk, and true risk can only be found by honestly testing your mettle (or luck, or cleverness, or skill) against equal odds.

Rakuyo has opinions about just about everything, and shares them loudly. People are often surprised to find he's exceptionally well-read and well-educated, having spent many of his early years as a captain seeking out teachers who could educate him about philosophy, history, economics, psychology, and any other topic that interested him. Rakuyo loves to debate and argue, and will happily be dragged into a heated discussion about just about anything. Hearing the things other people are passionate about and sharing in those passions is one of his favorite hobbies, and he indulges whenever possible.

More than anything however, Rakuyo's first love is the art of ship-building, and he's traveled the world learning from some of the best shipwrights there are. He even worked with Galley-La for a time. Rakuyo did most of the designing for the Moby and Mini-Mobies himself, and will take every opportunity to talk all about it. To anyone who will listen. Even if he needs to trap his audience with him in a storage closet for three hours.

For all his love of art and culture, Rakuyo is also... kind of prickly. His opinionated nature means that he complains often about everything, and the value he places on excellence and the pursuit of progress makes him scornful of those he considers too complacent or unambitious. He can be pessimistic, dismissive, and judgemental at times, and his bitching gets on his crew-mates nerves often. In contrast however, Rakuyo is also the first to offer praise or celebrate someone's accomplishments, and he values effort more-so than the progress itself, so if you need a cheerleader in your corner while you try and fail to get good at something a million times, Rakuyo is the guy to go to.