#I've been marinating this shit for months

[sembaze]

[theshitpostcalligrapher]

shit i haven't made a print gallery compilation in like 6 months

hahaha i promise that i am! competent! at being an artist online and peddling my wares!

In any case it's been months since I've made a handy dandy gallery post to showcase the prints available in the store. with any luck, I'll be able to finish up making some new designs and releasing them in a few weeks (klingon therapist speech, italicized fanfiction oh print, etc) since work's finally let up a little. I've still got a stack of commissions to mow through but that's neither here nor there

ANYWAYS. not gonna post all of em but I'll do like maybe 10 or 12 here, dw I'll tag this with long post

The office salt trilogy: can be bought in single, 2pack, or all 3 designs

But soft, what baja through yonder window blasts?

to fuck around is human....

the benefits of being a marine biologist 3pack (although you can buy the prints individually as well on other listings)

I'VE GOT AN ANNOUNCEMENT TO MAKE

limerick rolled

FUCK YOU BALTIMORE

fuck around and find out

home of the creature

do good recklessly

somethin' wicked this way rides

art thou fuckless

[dfortrafalgar]

Special Delivery

(Sanji x Fem!Reader- Offscreen)

Sanji reaches out to Zeff for the first time in years.

I wrote this many, many months ago now, and it was the first fic i posted anonymously on AO3. I got a few requests after it was originally posted to write a second part, which I eventually did!

You can read Part 2 here! Original AO3 link

(I figured I should let my blog breathe a little in between the really heavy and emotional Law fic im writing, and what better way to cool down than some sanji fluff <3)

A sharp squawk awoke Red-Leg Zeff from his daze. With a grumpy expression and a low grunt, he peered towards the direction of the sound.

A messenger coo was seated on the railing of the Baratie's upper deck next to where Zeff stood slouched over with his forearms leaning against the wooden support. It cocked its head to the side as if it was deconstructing Zeff's appearance before reaching into its pouch and procuring a parchment envelope. Zeff found it strange. Messenger coos only usually delivered the newspapers or the latest bounty reports, very rarely were they put in charge of personalized letters. It must have been paid off by whoever wanted this delivered.

The gruff man took the parchment from the beak of the bird and watched as it took back off into the air, leaving a few molted white feathers behind in its wake. He looked at the envelope.

All it said on the front, in very elegant handwriting, was "Captain Zeff." He flipped the paper around, revealing a wax stamp holding the opening down, which he peeled off with a calloused thumb.

Tucked neatly inside the envelope was a white piece of paper, tri-folded over itself. Zeff slipped the paper out, unfolding it to reveal the written contents of the letter. The penmanship was impeccable, and the ink was very sleek. He knew immediately it was from Sanji, not many other pirates had handwriting as good as his. He had completely lost track of how many years it had been since the curly-browed boy left with that ragtag group of pirates to sail to the Grand Line, but Zeff had every single one of his bounty posters. He'd never admit it, but they were tacked up on the wall of his sleeping quarters. Every time Sanji's bounty increased, Zeff felt pride swell in his heart.

"How are you doing, you old geezer. It's been a little too long since we've had any contact, so I thought I'd write to you just to see how you've been. You're no slouch, I'm sure you've been keeping up with the world's events over the past however-many years. Do the Marines even bother to keep sending our bounty posters to the Baratie anymore? Well, regardless, I'm sure you can read right through me. I can't deny it, I miss you, old man. I'm happier than I've ever been in my life, and such a huge part of that is thanks to you and the guys back on that old cruiser. Every recipe I try to make, I imagine you screaming in my ear and telling me that it tastes like shit. Some days I really wish I could be back there, but most of the time I'm joyful. Life has been really, really good. A few years ago, I met someone. Last year, we got married, and soon after our lives changed so drastically. She's the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on, and she's as sweet as an angel. I mean it, too. I know you'd probably think something along the lines of me playing up my affections again just because she's a pretty woman, but I mean it. You'd love her, Zeff. Living as a pirate is the most stressful thing anyone could ever do, but she makes every day worth it. The crew was discussing the possibility of returning to the East Blue a bit ago, and when we do, I'm going to introduce you to her. I've spent the last years talking all about you, how you taught me everything I know about cooking, and I can tell she's just as excited as I am to finally see you. This letter's gone on long enough and I don't want to use up all of Nami's paper.

-- Sanji"

Zeff felt a lump in the back of his throat. Sanji had grown into such a fine young man, eloquent with his words and his feelings. He knew how big of a deal it was for the boy to be so honest and open. But one thing in the letter caught him off guard. What did he mean by, "Soon after our lives changed drastically."?

Zeff peered into the envelope, where another, smaller envelope was tucked inside. He almost didn't see it. Pulling it out, he held the letter and original envelope in between his fingers while he opened the second. Sanji was thorough with his packaging, that's for sure.

Inside, there were three photographs printed on thin, matted paper. The first was of Sanji and you, the wife he wrote about in his letter, taken by someone else holding the camera. Sanji had his arm around you, holding you against him, and you had your face nuzzled into his neck. His other hand held a cigarette away from the two of you, like he was in the middle of telling a story. The two of you were smiling brighter than the sun, Sanji's eyes completely closed with the motion of laughter, and yours creased, your irises looking up towards him.

The second photo made Zeff's eyes water. A photo of you and Sanji on the deck of the Sunny, exchanging rings. Sanji was wearing a sleek navy blue tuxedo, while you were wearing a gorgeous white ballgown. For pirates, you cleaned up phenomenally. He could just make out tears in Sanji's eyes as the photo displayed you sliding a band onto his finger. A skeleton with poofy hair stood between the two of you, which Zeff found a little odd, but he chuckled at the absurdity of it all.

Zeff flipped to the last photo.

The tears that were welling in his eyes from the previous image finally slid down his cheeks in heavy, salty droplets. His lip quivered.

Sanji sat in a chair, beaming down at a bundle of cloth held gently in his arm. He was crying in this photo as well, and was reaching a finger over the top of the bundle, where a smaller hand was reaching outwards to grab onto it. A small glimpse of blonde hair could be made out from under the cloth securing the baby tightly. On the back of the film, Sanji wrote the birth date and the name of the baby.

Zeff used a sleeve to wipe his blubbering eyes. His lips quivered, but he couldn't help the smile that broke out on his face.

Was he allowed to call himself a grandfather now? He figured it was only appropriate.

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

OmfffffGGGG the fun I had writing this chapter GUYS—

I mean start to finish, I've been giggling like an idiot the entire mfing TIME

Well, alternating between giggling like an idiot and snickering deviously like a witch huddled over a cauldron but that's neither here nor there

Of course we have banter between Garp's dippy ass and Bogard's far more poised and reasonable demeanor, but also

BUT ALSO—

No

i cannot

I can't spoil it I cannot I will not I must not I shan't it would be positively rude in all honesty i will not—

Just———muffled screaming

Look I'm sorry in advance I had way too much fun with this

even mihawk is done with my shit at this point

Flight Risk

Young!Mihawk x Marine!AFAB!Reader

Ch. 4 of who even fcking knows at this point honestly, five? Six? Fifty? Whatever just let me vibe

Brief summary of The Story So Far: Your mission, as a Marine and Zoan type devil fruit user (gray parrot), is to gather intel on Dracule Mihawk, a pirate on the Grand Line who has become a thorn in the Marines' side over a relatively short period of time. Your first recon mission, while more or less a success, left you wounded and your commanding officers more divided than ever over the operation at hand. You have since arrived at Marineford to complete your training for the mission, and gods only know where things might go from here....

Previous chapter, First chapter, Next chapter

SFW for now, but not in later chapters

No Trigger Warnings in this chapter. Possible future Trigger Warnings for imprisonment, mild torture (definitely psychological, maybe physical)

Tags: Enemies to lovers, eventually NSFW, idk maybe more later Word Count: 4,832

Taglist: @i-am-vita thank you so much you have no idea how much this means to me

♫♬Halloween Blues - The Fratellis♬♫

Well, I'm gonna make ya love me, gonna make ya wish that you'd never been born

Now ya wish you'd never met me, I could be the joker that you couldn't shake off

It was agreed upon by all parties involved that not a word would be spoken of your ill-advised “test” at Kuraigana Island to anyone but Fleet Admiral Sengoku. The brunt of the chastisement fell upon Garp and Bogard, as the commanding officers overseeing the mission; and while you were scolded yourself for getting far closer than your orders had suggested you should, you were still commended for providing valuable new information.

The Marines were now aware that Kuraigana Island was home to a population of large primates, of undetermined size or intelligence but with enough intellect to use basic weaponry.

The Marines were also now aware that the presence of Dracule “Hawk-Eye” Mihawk on the otherwise abandoned island was confirmed, and that the volatile pirate had most likely set up at least a temporary base amid the desolate castle ruins.

You were permitted to keep in contact with your mother over the following months of your training as promised, with the stipulation that your letters would be screened to ensure you didn’t relay any confidential information to outside parties. As such, you wrote your final letter aboard a small unmarked vessel bound to pass by Kuraigana Island perhaps four months after the first, and had handed it over to Bogard to scan over.

Hi, Mom!

I’m still doing great, I promise. Training has been exhausting but I’ve learned a lot, and it’s been a breath of fresh air to be among people that actually seem to like me. My commanding officers are a little annoying, but I guess they’re okay. I trust them.

This will be the last letter for a while since I’m being deployed. You don’t have to worry, it’s nothing serious and I’ll be fine, I just won’t be somewhere that I can receive any mail. You can still write me though, and I’ll be able to reply the second I get back to my base. I don’t know exactly how long that will be, but the tentative estimate is two months. It could be sooner, but it could be a little longer.

Love you, and give my love to all our feathery friends.

“Ten minutes out,” said Garp, sitting against the railing with a doughnut hanging out of his mouth as he finished filling out the remainder of the paperwork he had put off until the very last minute.

“‘Commanding officers are a little annoying, but I guess they’re okay,’” Bogard read aloud, lowering your letter to glance down at you with a wry look.

“She’s not wrong, you’re pretty damned irritating,” said Garp. Bogard lowered his eyes to the vice admiral sitting on the deck of the ship, lifting an eyebrow.

Garp only raised his doughnut with a nod and took another bite before returning to his report. Bogard huffed out a sigh and folded the letter, turning his gaze to you as you paced back and forth across the small deck. The vessel was little more than a sloop, designed for no more than one or two people to sail on their own, sturdy enough to withstand the unpredictable weather patterns of the Grand Line but far less advanced than the standard Marine vessel. You barely noticed his gaze upon you, staring down at your feet as you paced, counting the nails in the deck boards in a futile attempt to keep your mind clear from the quickly approaching start of your mission.

You stopped in your tracks the moment Bogard cleared his throat to get your attention, lifting your head sharply and standing at attention.

“A…at ease,” he said slowly, watching you shuffle your feet and fold your hands behind your back. “Your letter will be sent once Garp and myself return to Marineford,” he assured you. “Once you have left this ship, your own contact with the Marines will cease for a period of no less than two months, unless you are forced to make emergency contact. Emergecy contact will only be employed—”

“Under the circumstance that my own life is in immediate and unquestionable danger,” you responded immediately, to which Bogard gave a curt nod.

“Correct,” he agreed. “There will be a covert Marine presence at every island neighboring Kuraigana. Should you require rescue, the closest vessel will be able to arrive within twenty-four hours.”

“She won’t need it,” Garp chimed in through the last bite of his doughnut, and in a rare break of his iron composure, Bogard reached into one of his overcoat pockets and threw a pen at him in response. You watched as Garp caught it and used the implement to sign his name at the bottom of his paperwork before flicking it across the deck of the ship. “Have a little faith, Bogard. We have at our disposal a trained weapon of subterfuge.”

Garp wrapped his hand around the railing behind him and pulled himself to his feet, strolling over to your side and clapping you on the shoulder.

“Trained under our own supervision,” he went on proudly, while Bogard closed his eyes and heaved a slow, impatient sigh, waiting for him to go on. “Who has already provided us with more up-to-date information on the target than anyone else in our ranks—”

“—I’m still not saying your impulsive little test was anything but idiotic—”

“—and humbly declined to take credit for any of it,” Garp went on , ignoring his partner. You jolted as he gave you a sharp pat on the back. “She’ll be just fine. Won’t ya, kid?”

“I’ll—perform my duties as expected of…” You trailed off into a sigh yourself when Garp rolled his eyes. “Yeah,” you said stiffly. “I’ll be fine.”

“See? She’ll be fine.”

Garp gave a firm nod, as if your word was more than enough to affirm your fate as solid fact.

And then his brow furrowed as he stared across the deck.

His eyes narrowed into a squint, and he turned his head the slightest bit, his hand lowering from your shoulder and back to his side,

“No…that’s not…”

By the time Bogard turned his head, Garp was already striding across the deck, extending a spyglass as he leaned over the railing and stared through the scope. He gave a growl of annoyance as he held the scope out behind him for Bogard to take. Your heart raced as you slowly crossed the deck to join them, your already thin resolve faltering when Bogard slowly lowered the scope to glance at Garp.

“This changes—”

“It changes nothing,” said Garp, jerking his head to look at Bogard.

You didn’t need the spyglass to see the foggy haze around Kuraigana Island past the railing, no more than you needed it to see the small ship docked near its southern banks. You couldn’t make out much about it, but you could see the one thing that mattered—it flew a black flag.

“Red-Hair,” said Garp. “I knew he’d be trouble. I told Sengoku, I told him—”

“Why the hell would he be here?” Bogard said slowly, looking back out toward the island. He glanced behind him, and held out the spyglass for you to take. You moved to the railing between them, holding it to one eye and shutting the other to look through it at the distant ship. “There’s no chance any information has—”

“No, there isn’t,” agreed Garp, as your vision adjusted against the magnification of the lenses. You scanned over the small ship, which appeared to be empty, before lifting your head to focus on its flag—a jolly roger, decorated with a pair of crossed cutlasses and a skull with three slashes across one eye.

“Red-Haired Shanks…?” you said slowly, lowering the scope, glancing between Garp and Bogard as they stared out at the ship. “Ah—three hundred million, two hundred sixty-two thousand berry bounty.”

“Sixty-three,” corrected Bogard absently, glancing at Garp. Garp remained focused, his eyes narrowed as he stared at the ship, his grip tight around the deck railing. “Vice-Admiral.” He glanced over sharply when Bogard spoke up. “This does change—”

“It changes nothing,” Garp growled firmly.

You didn’t particularly like the way Bogard leaned over the railing, holding his hat in place as he shook his head, staring at Garp with no small degree of trepidation. Your eyes shifted to Garp when he turned around to face you, frowning down at you thoughtfully,

“Or it could change things for the better,” he said slowly, letting out a small chuckle. “Well, lass. This is your call. Seems more than just Mihawk might be docked at the island ahead of us.” You nodded shortly to show you were following, waiting for him to continued. “Not much is known about Shanks as yet…to the masses.”

“Garp—”

Garp held up a hand when Bogard tossed a warning look at him.

“—but I have on good authority that he trained under Gold Roger himself.” Your eyes widened, flickering back toward the ship in question, as Bogard let out a growl of annoyance and stormed back toward the opposite side of the deck. “This is an unexpected turn.” Your gaze shot back toward Garp as he straightened out, folding his hands behind his back and staring down at you. “We can head back toward Marineford and go through all the meticulous to-do’s of officially changing our plans, spend a few more months buried in paperwork, or—”

“I’m going.” He raised his eyebrows, his lips already twitching toward a smile at the firmness of your words. “The Red-Hair pirates would be no more aware of who I am than Mihawk. There’s no point wasting any more time.”

“No, I guess there isn’t,” he agreed, grinning. He cleared his throat, cupping a hand around his mouth and making a show of calling across the small expanse of the deck to Bogard. “You might just be able to gather us a little more intel than we expeced. Hear that, Bogard? No need to delay!”

“No need to pull a muscle patting yourself on the back, either,” Bogard grumbled, just loud enough to ensure Garp heard him.

“Alright, kid,” said Garp, happily ignoring him as he leaned against the side of the railing. “We’ve got under ten minutes, so here’s the rundown.” He turned his head, looking out toward the ship moored just off the edge of the island. “Shanks, as I said. Captain, pupil of Gold Roger himself. Primary weapon is a sabre. Straw hat, bright red hair, difficult to miss. There’s Yasopp, the first man to join his crew, at the time he was regarded as the sharpest shooter in the East Blue. Dark skin, dreadlocks, carries a pair of flintlock pistols.”

“So...that’s his first mate?”

“No.” Your brow furrowed. “That would be Beckman. Dark hair, ponytail, built like a brick shithouse. Carries a flintlock rifle. He’s a damn good shot himself but he’ll use the thing as a club in close quarters. Lucky Roux, the cook, bastard’s probably as wide as he is tall…”

You listened closely to Garp’s continued colorful descriptions of the crew officers of the Red Hair Pirates—and the potential dangers they could pose to your health should anyone discover what you really were.

“Red Hair isn’t the brightest match in the box,” he went on, “but there’s a great deal of evidence that he closely rivals Dracule Mihawk in swordsmanship. Should the two end up fighting, you keep your distance. Otherwise, be exceedingly careful around Benn Beckman. He’s the idiot’s first mate for a reason and probably accounts for ninety percent of the collective brain cells of the entire crew. You’ll have to keep a close eye on him while you keep up your act. There’s no telling why they’re docked here, and it would be in your best interest to figure it out. If they’re going to be around for a while, keep your distance.”

“I...sort of doubt any of them are ornithology experts,” you said, frowning.

“As much as one might doubt that a species of unknown primates could learn to use relatively modern weaponry.” You turned your head sharply at the sound of Bogard’s voice close behind you—you hadn’t heard him cross the deck. Your frown deepened as he gave a pointed glance at the scar spanning nearly the entire length of your right upper arm. Garp, gestured to the other Marine pointedly at his statement, and you couldn’t deny that he had a point either. “You’ll keep your distance. Fooling one pirate alone is going to be a great deal easier and safer than attempting to fool an entire crew of them.” He turned his head to Garp. “This is still the most ridiculous mission I’ve ever had the displeasure of being involved in.”

“Ah, girl’s got her act down fine,” he said dismissively—and Garp wasn’t wrong about that. Your favorite part of your training by far had been simply flying around the massive base at Marineford, taking tally of how many of the staff and officers you could fool. The only individuals privy to the exact nature of your mission were Garp and Bogard, a small selection of admirals and vice admirals, and Fleet Admiral Sengoku himself. Your performance had been enough to levy a unanimous vote to go forth with the mission. “Your persona, cadet?”

“Gray parrot, previously the pet of a pirate crew that perished in battle, therefore comfortable around pirates in general,” you said. “Able to repeat a number of sounds and phrases that might be heard aboard a ship, capable of learning new phrases and words faster than most other similar species of bird. Particular disdain for Marines and may fly into a frenzy at the sight of their vessels.”

“See?” said Garp, clapping you on the back hard enough that you flinched. “I’d say we’ve got this in the bag.”

Bogard stared between the two of you for a moment, frowning, before shaking his head. “God help us all,” he muttered under his breath, lifting a hand to rub his eyes.

The final few minutes of the voyage were spent with Garp and Bogard grilling you about the small amount of information known by the Marines about Dracule Mihawk, about the quick briefing you had just received on the Red Hair pirates, about your memorization of the den den mushi numbers you were to contact in the event that your life was in immediate danger or that you found any information useful enough to wrap the operation up early. Garp gave a resolute nod as you neared your destination, around a mile and a half off the shore of Kuraigana Island, and Bogard gave a heavy sigh and a short nod in silent agreement—no matter how little he approved, you were as ready as you were going to be.

“Alright, then, cadet,” said Garp, his wide grin a direct contrast to his partner’s pessimism. “Bird mode, activate.”

“Must you call it that?” said Bogard, tossing a weary look at Garp as you gave a quick salute and immediately shrank down into your devil fruit form on the deck. You fluttered your wings enough to hop up onto the deck railing in front of them, and Bogard frowned down at you. “Best of luck,” he offered. “Should all go according to plan, we’ll see you again in no more than two months.”

He cringed the slightest bit when you raised your wing in another salute, squawking out over Garp’s snort of laughter, “Wind in your sails!”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Garp, waving you off. “Now shoo, bird. And no getting yourself killed.”

And once more, you found yourself flying out toward Kuraigana Island.

You made a high pass over the Red Hair’s ship, squinting down toward it as you soared overhead, and the cause of their mooring near the island became quickly clear—it appeared that there was work being performed on a few sizable cannonball holes on the port side of the vessel. You were surprised to see a handful of the crew on the beach near the edge of the forest, seeming to be laughing among themselves and having a grand time, the primates that had attacked you nowhere in sight. Lucky Roux was easy enough to pick out, exactly as Garp had described him—striped shirt and tinted goggles, easily as wide as he was tall, sitting against a tree and taking a bite out of what looked like an entire leg of lamb while another crewmate assisted in bandaging his arm.

Perhaps they had had a run-in with the local apes.

You took that as enough reason to remain vigilant as you flew high over the forest, scanning the treetops below for any signs of movement. It was a relief that there seemed to be none—if the Red Hair pirates had come in contact with the violent creatures, it seemed they had managed to beat them into submission. You considered how Garp had told you that no one had ever entered the island on foot and lived to tell the tale, and it sent a shiver over your spine to think that the crew might be that formidable.

The first signs of movement you witnessed came only once you neared the castle itself, and you nearly faltered in your flight.

Your target was directly below you.

Sitting on a broken piece of stone wall in the courtyard, clad in a white shirt with a ruffled collar and a pair of black pants, his hat sitting to the side next to him, his massive sword lying across his lap as he polished the handle. You slowly, cautiously circled lower, keeping a fair distance, your eyes remaining on the pirate. His mouth seemed to be fixed in a scowl, his posture tense.

You cautiously landed in one of the castle windows several feet away, side-stepping until you were perched in the very corner of the indentation, your gray plumage a perfect camouflage against the rugged stone, and the reason for Mihawk’s clear irritation became immediately evident as the sound of a nonchalant voice tore your gaze away from him.

“Nice place you’ve got here, Hawk-Eye.”

Shanks.

Garp’s description had once again been right on the money—his stringy scarlet hair was capped by a straw-hat, his hands tucked behind his neck as he paced across a pile of rubble that might have once been a wall, a long sabre tucked into his red cloth belt at his right hip. He hopped down to the ground as you watched, resting his elbow on the hilt of the sword as he stared up at the castle. “Be a shame if something happened to it.”

He reached over with his left hand, wrapping it around the handle of the sword, and you tensed immediately, prepared to take flight as he grinned and glanced over at Mihawk.

“Divi—”

Mihawk was on his feet in a flash, his sword extended out at arm’s length, the blade less than an inch away from Shanks’s neck, his sharp yellow eyes narrowing to threatening slits as Shanks lifted his hands up in mock-surrender, still grinning.

“Only kidding,” he said, taking a cautious step back from the edge of the black blade.

Mihawk eyed him with a venomous glare for a few seconds longer before pulling his blade back swiftly to his side and rolling his eyes, a growl of annoyance leaving him as he turned on his heel and stormed back over to the broken wall, sitting down once more. “Remind me of what the hell you’re doing here and precisely why you haven’t left yet?”

“Am I not allowed to visit my friends?” said Shanks, clutching at his chest dramatically in feigned offense. Mihawk ignored the redhead as he sat down heavily on the ground, grabbing a bottle of dark liquor propped up against the pile of rubble and working the cork loose. “Hey, it’s not my fault. This is where the Log pose pointed us. We needed to do a few repairs on the ship. Noticed your old rowboat moored nearby—”

“Rowboat,” Mihawk repeated under his breath, one of his eyes twitching the slightest bit.

“So what’s with the pissed off monkeys, anyway?” said Shanks, nodding toward the forest before taking a swig from the bottle and flicking the cork over his shoulder. “Few of them were damn near as good with a sword as you are.” Mihawk’s eyes shot toward him in a warning glare, and rolled away when Shanks gave a broad grin in response. “Train them yourself?”

“No,” he said shortly. “The humandrills were already quite capable with a variety of weapons when I arrived—”

“Aww, you named them?”

“I discovered the name among the historical documents in castle,” he said through his teeth. “It seems they learned to use weapons by watching their human neighbors before they managed to wipe themselves out. Perhaps,” he went on, before Shanks could speak up again, “your time would better be served overseeing the repairs on your ship so you can leave the moment they’re done.”

“Oh, the repairs are almost finished,” said Shanks, waving a dismissive hand. “Just waiting for the log pose to finish linking up.” He took a sip from his bottle, lifting his eyebrows. “Why? Aren’t you enjoying the company?”

“Oh, yes, immensely,” Mihawk responded dryly.

Your eyes darted between the pair of pirates amid their exchange, keeping yourself perfectly still in the stone windowsill. It was clear that Shanks, at least, was enjoying himself, and that they seemed to have some sort of history between them. It was equally clear that Mihawk would have very much preferred that his company take a long walk off the nearest short pier. He still kept his irritation in check, though whether it was out of any actual sense of camaraderie or he simply didn’t feel like wasting his energy fighting remained unclear.

Their exchange gave you an almost overwhelming sense of déjà vu, and you made a mental note to inform Garp and Bogard of it the next time you saw them.

“Oh, so grumpy,” Shanks commented, leaning back against the rubble behind him, stretching an arm out across one of his knees. “Why don’t you go take a nap, old man? I’m sure there are plenty of beds more than suited for someone of your positively regal manner.” Mihawk went on polishing the golden handle of his sword, not bothering to glance up. “Probably more than enough beds for any number of guests—”

“No,” said Mihawk coolly, still keeping his eyes turned down toward his sword.

“Oh, come on,” Shanks groaned in complaint, laying his head back. His mouth turned down into a despondent sort of pout, tilting his head to look over at the castle—and you tensed immediately, holding your breath, remaining still as a statue. “I’ve never even been in a castle before—”

“No,” Mihawk said again, louder this time, his yellow eyes fixing on Shanks with a firm gaze this time.

“You’re absolutely no fun at all,” Shanks huffed, lifting a small piece of stone from the ground and tossing it in his direction in a half-hearted manner. “You know, you’re going to die sad and alone one day in your desolate castle.”

“And what a peaceful end it will be,” said Mihawk disinterestedly, rolling his eyes back down to the sword across his lap as he buffed a rag across the gleaming blue gem at the end of the hilt.

“But not friendless,” Shanks added, completely ignoring him. He offered another broad grin. “I’ll always be your frien—”

“Would you just go away already?” Mihawksighed wearily, lifting his head and tossing the rag aside. “It’s abundantly clear what you’re attempting to do, and it isn’t going to work.”

“Oh, and just what am I trying to do?” said Shanks...and he seemed to bite his tongue for a moment, before adding in a cheeky tone, “...friend?”

“You’re fishing for a fight,” said Mihawk, gritting his teeth, briefly gripping the handle of his sword before releasing it from his grasp. “And I’m not in the mood.”

“Oh come. On,” Shanks groaned once more, leaning back heavily and pouting. “I’m bored. There’s literally nothing on this damned island except a pile of rocks and a bunch of trees and a particularly nice castle—”

“No.” Shanks gave a huff of irritation, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at Mihawk. “Go off and play with the other monkeys if you’re so damned bored.”

“They’re already afraid of me,” he huffed, pouting like a child. He brushed a few unruly strands of hair away from his eyes, turning his gaze out toward the forest. “Stupid apes.” Mihawk only rolled his eyes, shook his head, and returned to the idle task of sword maintenance. “I’m frankly surprised you didn’t just slaughter all of them the moment you set foot here.”

“They make for a decent security system,” he said levelly.

“Or you’re secretly just a big softie—”

Shanks straightened out and gave another broad grin when Mihawk tossed a sharp glare at him...and then slumped back down in defeat when his supposed “friend” gave a heavy sigh and turned his attention back to his sword.

It went on this way for some time—Shanks continually poking and prodding, attempting to annoy Mihawk enough to coax him into a fight; and Mihawk persisting in the task of sword maintenance, running a whetstone across the already razor-sharp edge of the blade as he fought to keep his composure. The entire spectacle was rather like watching an excitable puppy yip at a surly cat.

You shifted your gaze to the edge of the nearby forest when Shanks looked over, the young captain waving once the rustling of the dense leaves gave way to a tall, broad-shouldered man in a black shirt, picking leaves out of his ponytail—no doubt Benn Beckman, from the description Garp had offered you. There was indeed a large rifle slung back across one of his shoulders, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. He glanced toward Mihawk, before stopping just short of his captain, looking down at him.

“Repairs are finished and the Log Pose’s set,” he said, his brow furrowing when Shanks frowned in clear disappointment. “We getting off of this rock or are you still antagonizing the current inhabitants?”

“I am visiting with a dear old friend,” said Shanks, giving an indignant huff and crossing his arms. He rolled his eyes back over to Mihawk. “Isn’t that right, Hawkie—?”

“Call me that again and you’ll be leaving this island wearing your entrails as necklace,” said Mihawk coolly.

“See?” said Shanks, gesturing toward Mihawk. “We’re just catching up on old times.”

Beckman stared down at his captain for a long moment, frowning, his cigarette smoldering at the corner of his mouth. He finally shook his head and stepped back a couple paces, leaning back against a pile of stones and crossing his arms. “Alright,” he said. “Have fun.”

“Oh, I am,” Shanks assured him with a positively gleeful grin. He rolled his shoulders and took a drink from the bottle of liquor clenched in his hand, his eyes drifting back over to Mihawk. “Well, it seems our all too pleasant reunion may be drawing to a close, Hawkie—”

Shanks’s grin only widened when Mihawk lifted his gaze to glare at him, his hand gripping tighter around the whetstone.

Shanks seemed to bite his tongue for a moment, pursing his lips to suppress his growing amusement at Mihawk’s growing annoyance, before his expression spread back into a grin as he lifted his eyebrows.

“How about a little kiss goodbye—y’know, between friends and all—”

“That’s it—”

Mihawk was on his feet in a flash, tossing the whetstone away.

Shanks was on his feet just as quickly, a look of absolute glee brightening his features as he drew his sabre.

Beckman took a few casual steps off to the side, pulling his cigarette down from his lips to flick the ashes away, shaking his head, his hand tightening around the butt of his rifle almost imperceptibly.

And you, in spite of yourself, let out a tiny squawk of alarm at the entire spectacle...and quickly realized your mistake.

While Mihawk surged forward with his blade drawn, while Beckman kept his sharp eyes flickering between him and his captain, Shanks’s gaze flickered over toward the sound you had just let out.

And his eyes widened the slightest bit as his eyes met yours.

And he lifted his sword to block what would have been a deadly blow from Mihawk as he continued staring at you as you froze in the windowsill, your feathers ruffling out the slightest bit in response to the terror dawning over you.

Beckman also followed his captain’s gaze, lifting an eyebrow as he noticed your presence.

Shanks drew in a sharp breath, his eyes growing even wider, wide as the eyes of a child with a bottomless wallet in a candy shop. One single, almost breathless word left his lips as they spread into a delighted smile:

“Parrot.”

Next chapter link again, for your convenience

First chapter link again, for your convenience

[cringe-but-proud]

"Shitty Free Pizza"

Hobie Brown x reader

Warnings: Reader gets broken up with, swearing, crying

A/n: ALRIGHT, FREAKS. I WROTE THE PART 2. Requests are open 😗✌️

"I'm going on break."

That was all you said to your four coworkers before grabbing your jacket and walking outside. You walked to the side of the building and sat on the curb.

Your boyfriend had just broken up with you. Over text. While you were at work. You didn't know what to do, how to react.

You pulled out your phone and read over the message he'd sent you. And then you read it again, and again, and again.

He'd made two typos. The asshole breaks up with you over text and he can't even be bothered to read over the message before sending it.

You didn't know what to do. You didn't want to cry over this asshole, you really didn't want to. But, despite what you wanted, tears began to roll down your cheeks; and once you started, you couldn't stop.

You put your head in your hands and sobbed. You probably looked pathetic. A Domino's employee, still in uniform, sitting in the parking lot and crying. How embarrassing.

"Oi!" You lifted and turned your head. A tall man dressed in clothes that were way cooler than yours was looking at you. "You alright?" He asked.

"Obviously not." The reply came out sounding a bit more condescending than you'd intended.

The man didn't seem to mind. He chuckled. "Guess I probably could've figured that one out on my own, huh?" The man stepped closer. "What's bothering you?"

You briefly considered calling the dude nosy and telling him to fuck off, but something made you stop.

He didn't seem ill intentioned...

You looked down at the concrete. "My boyfriend just broke up with me over text."

"Really?"

You nodded.

"What a prick. Y'mind if I sit down?" He gestured to the slab of concrete next to where you were sitting. You shrugged and he took that as a yes.

He sat with his elbows resting on his knees. "And he did this while you were at work too?" He asked.

You nodded again.

"That's fucked."

"I just..." You didn't know why you were talking to this guy you didn't even know. But, then again, you didn't really care at this point. "I feel stupid for crying over it."

"Why?"

"Because you're right!" You said exasperatedly. "He's a prick and what he did was fucked. And here I am, crying over this asshole. It's pathetic."

He hummed. "I get that." He tilted his head toward you. "But, once you're done crying, are you gonna try to get him back?"

You furrowed your brows in confusion. You weren't even gonna consider that. "No."

Are you gonna be sad about this for years to come?"

"No."

"Y'gonna give up dating altogether and insist that he left an unfillable hole in your heart?"

"Why are you asking me this shit?"

"Because if you were really pathetic, you probably would've said something other than no to those questions."

You paused, letting his words marinate. And then you chuckled. "Yeah. Sure."

"I'm serious!" He laughed. "There's a lot worse things to do in this situation than just crying."

"I guess you're right." You sighed. "But, still. I don't think venting to a stranger is one of the better things to do."

He chuckled. "I'm Hobie."

"I'm Y/n." You were surprised that this random guy was actually making you feel better. But, you weren't gonna complain.

"Now we're not strangers. Which hopefully means you'll tell me a little more about yourself and about this whole breakup."

You, once again, considered calling him nosey. But, for some reason, you weren't opposed to the idea of telling him more.

"Well," You began. "He and I had been dating for 5 months, for the first three or four months, he was really sweet. But... I don't know. This last month he was being really distant and he was always seeming kind of disinterested in me."

"So, was there any real reason for the breakup?" He asked.

"It was sort of out of nowhere. We didn't have a big argument or anything."

"This guy really does sound like a prick." Hobie scoffed. "I've only just met you, but you seem pretty cool."

"Thanks."

"Yeah. Besides who'd ever wanna break up with someone who could get them free pizza?" He smirked playfully.

You couldn't help but laugh. "Shitty free pizza." You corrected him.

He shrugged. "Doesn't matter if the food's shitty, long as it's free."

You opened your mouth to reply to him when someone called your name, one of your coworkers.

"It's been 20 minutes." Your coworker said, peeking their head around the corner of the building.

You sighed and got up. "I've gotta go." You told Hobie as you stuffed your hands into the pockets of your jacket. "Thanks for keeping me company."

"It's no problem. I enjoyed it." He said, smiling up at you.

You wanted to ask for his number, or his socials, whatever. But, you'd just gotten out of a breakup. It felt wrong asking for someone's number so soon, even if it wasn't really with romantic intentions. So instead, you just said goodbye and went back to work.

You got inside and were taking your jacket off.

"Who was that guy you were talking to?" Your coworker asked.

You glanced over at them and shrugged. "A stranger."

"He was really hot."

You paused before signing. "Yeah, he was."

[peachy-panic]

Wrong Place, Wrong Time (pt. 1)

DO NO HARM.

Whew. After months (almost a year?) of marinating this chapter, I've decided to cut it in two. Thought about titling this chapter: Shit Hits The Fan. Enjoy!

WARNINGS: BBU setting, struggles with bodily autonomy, recovering alcoholic, mentions of violence

Jaime hits the ground with more force than he expects. His back takes the brunt of the fall, and for a moment, he is rendered breathless. A few weeks ago, the impact might have triggered a memory of real violence. Now, he gulps in a few deep breaths, feeling the grass at his back, until Ezra’s face eclipses the sunlight overhead. 

“That was better,” Ezra says, extending a hand. Jaime takes it and lets himself be pulled to his feet. 

“I can’t seem to stay on my feet,” Jaime huffs, frustrated. He swipes an arm across his face, pushing aside the hair that clings to his forehead.

“You’re doing fine,” Ezra says. “Getting knocked down is half the process of learning.”

Jaime grimaces. “I must be learning a lot, then.”

Ezra grins. “You are,” he says, sounding like he might actually mean it. “You’ve already improved from where we began. For now, take five and drink some water.”

“I can go again,” Jaime insists, already rocking back into his sparring stance. 

“We have all day.” Ezra grabs Jaime’s water bottle and pushes it gently against his chest. “You’ll burn out quickly if you don’t pace yourself.”

At the finality in his tone, Jaime relents and collapses back onto the grass. He downs half his bottle in one go. 

It’s been over a month since Ezra offered to teach Jaime how to spar. At first, the idea unsettled him in a way he couldn’t pin down. He didn’t understand the point of it. Ezra knew more than most how little Jaime’s ability to fight mattered; it isn’t an imbalance in physical strength that keeps him in his position. It is the law, the society, and the institutions decades in the making that hold the end of Jaime’s leash. Something about learning the art of self defense and knowing he is never allowed to exercise it feels more cruel than not learning at all. 

One session, Ezra had wagered. Train with me once and see how you feel.

The first time, Sebastian stayed to observe at Jaime’s request, perched on a piece of exercise equipment in Ezra’s basement gym. Jaime, who spent the week leading up antsy and nervous, watched with rapt interest as Ezra wrapped his hands. 

They started slow. 

The first time Jaime hit the ground, the room went silent. In the split second of shock and pain, a flare of violent memories flashed before him: a handler shoving him onto his back, his foster father slamming him up against the hallway wall. Distantly, he heard Sebastian’s voice break through the budding panic. “Maybe we should call it a day?”

Something about that—the grounding reminder of where he was, who he was with, and that the choice was his to walk away—snapped him back into his body. Ezra watched him from where he stood several feet back, not coming to his side and not saying anything in response to Sebastian’s concern. Instead, he watched Jaime, waiting to see what choice he would make.

The choice was his.

Jaime pushed himself onto shaking legs, nodding once to Sebastian before meeting Ezra’s unwavering gaze. “Let’s go again.”

Ever since that day, Jaime has taken to training with a level of enthusiasm he didn’t realize he was still capable of feeling. There is an itch for it under his skin when he wakes up some mornings. When he stretches, he relishes in the way his muscles burn from their previous session. On his morning runs, he thinks through new techniques Ezra showed him and commits to perfecting them next time they meet. 

On the evening after their third sparring session—Jaime still sweat-damp and shaking from exhaustion in the passenger seat of Sebastian’s car—he realized that this feeling was familiar. It was a sense of liberation he hadn’t felt since he last sprinted across a soccer field under the stadium lights, since the night he tore off across the backyard of a party with Derek at his side, high on the revelation that he might want to kiss him. It was the realization that training with Ezra made Jaime feel in control of his body for the first time in a long time. And that is a gift he can never repay. 

Ezra sinks down onto the grass beside him, uncapping his own water bottle. It’s almost embarrassing how he barely breaks a sweat against Jaime. Maybe one day he’ll give him a run for his money. 

From the screened window above the kitchen sink, Jaime can hear laughter from inside the house. He titled his head and smelled… something? Sebastian and the others insisted they would take care of dinner tonight and leave Jaime and Ezra to their workout. Jaime doesn’t know much about Sam and Aria’s skills in the kitchen, but…

Ezra smiles at him, nodding his head toward the sound. “How do you think it’s going in there?”

Jaime shrugs and lets his head fall back, enjoying the sun on his face. Spring is starting to blossom, slowly but surely, and it’s the first warm day of the year. “Nothing is on fire,” he says. “So it can’t be that bad.”

****

“Cilantro can substitute oregano, right? They’re basically the same thing?”

“No,” Sebastian and Aria say at the same time. Sam’s expression falls. The frown paired with the 1950s-housewife-style apron creates quite the endearing image.

“It’s not too late to order Thai food,” Aria mutters, pouring herself another glass of wine. Sebastian chuckles around a swig of lemonade. 

He didn’t make a big deal about staying sober these last few weeks, but he’s pretty sure Aria clocked it anyway, judging by the way she has kept the bottle out of arm’s reach of him all evening. He pretends not to notice. She pretends not to notice him not noticing. 

It’s been a good day. 

He can tell Jaime tried to hide his enthusiasm about a return visit all week. He never asks him about it outright, but his demeanor visibly perks up at any passing mention of Saturday dinner at Sam and Ezra’s. Sebastian offered to take him over there before work on any given weekday so that Jaime didn’t have to spend the day alone in the house, but that’s where his enthusiasm waned. Jaime isn’t quite comfortable enough to be alone with anyone except Sebastian, but Ezra comes close, he thinks.

It’s good. It’s so good to see Jaime like this—surrounded by people who care about his well-being, expressing more autonomy than he has ever been allowed in Sebastian’s presence. It’s moments like this that tempt Sebastian into believing that it was worth it, slogging all these months through the misery of WRU, just to bring him to Jaime. To bring Jaime here.

And maybe it was worth it so Sebastian could meet the others, too; his first friends in a very long time. 

They are laughing when the front door opens, so none of them hear the unexpected entrance until Julian Hernandez is suddenly standing in the doorway.

The room goes silent. Sebastian nearly shatters the glass in his hand to keep it from slipping to the floor. 

“You need to leave,” Sebastian says, the panic overriding any facade of politeness.

Julian, who is skeptical of Sebastian on his best day, says, “Excuse me?”

“Shit,” Aria says, stepping up beside him. “Jules, he’s right.”

Julian looks around, taking in the sight of all of his friends there without him, and Sebastian thinks he sees a quickly masked flash of hurt pass through his expression. “You asked me to take a look at your transmission last week,” he tells Sam. “I brought my tools.”

“I did say that,” Sam says. “But I didn’t mean tonight. I’m sorry. This… isn’t a good time.”

His mouth presses into a thin line. He glances over at Aria. “Yeah,” Julian says. “I can see you’re busy.”

“It’s not like that, Jules.” Aria insists. “Tate’s—” she starts to say. But it’s too late. It’s too fucking late. 

Because then the back door slides open and Jaime steps through, trailed by Ezra. They’re mid conversation, murmuring quietly. Both of their shirts are soaked through with sweat, clumps of hair clinging to their foreheads. Jaime is smiling—honest-to-god smiling—and Ezra is laughing at something he said, until his eyes meet Julian’s from across the room and he goes still. He puts a hand on Jaime’s shoulder. 

“Fuck.” It’s Julian who says it, a breathy whisper as he realizes the clusterfuck he has just set in motion. 

It’s the last sound in the room before shit hits the fan. 

Jaime is the last one to spot the new presence in the room, and when he does, his entire body locks up. The blood drains from his face, making his pale skin nearly translucent. His knees hit the ground before anyone can intervene. 

****

@whumpervescence 

@shiningstarofwinter 

@distinctlywhumpthing 

@whumptywhumpdump

@nicolepascaline

@anotherbluntpencil

@hold-him-down 

@crystalquartzwhump 

@maracujatangerine 

@batfacedliar-yetagain 

@thecyrulik 

@pumpkin-spice-whump 

@finder-of-rings 

@melancholy-in-the-morning 

@insaneinthepaingame 

@skyhawkwolf

@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump 

@mylifeisonthebookshelf 

@dont-touch-my-soup 

@whump-world 

@inpainandsuffering 

@cicatrix-energy 

@quietly-by-myself 

@whumpsday 

@extemporary-whump 

@the-whumpers-grimm 

@thebirdsofgay 

@firewheeesky 

@whumperfully 

@hold-back-on-the-comfort  

@termsnconditions-apply  

@cyborg0109  

@whumplr-reader  

@pinkraindropsfell  

@whatwhumpcomments

@honeycollectswhump 

@pirefyrelight 

@handsinmotion  

@alexmundaythrufriday 

@scoundrelwithboba 

@starsick1979 

@b0rgid

@whumps-and-bumps

[saintmurd0ck]

i've got you, darlin'

masterlist

pairing: frank castle x afab!reader

summary: frank makes getting your period a little easier to bear

warnings: mentions of heavy periods (cramps, pain, body aches, but no bleeding), fluff and frank looking after you, protective frank!!!

a/n: for my sweet @chellestrash 💗 who deserves the world (and frank castle)

He knows, even before your eyes flutter closed and your grip tightens on the sheets. He knows, just from the way his name comes out in a hoarse whisper, more of a plea than a prayer.

Frank kneels onto the ground, his voice a gentle cadence in your ear. "That time again, huh?"

You swallow harshly, unable to stop the pained grimace distorting your face, at a loss of how else to say yes. It seems like a simple answer, a candid one, but it's a response you've come to loathe. 

Because every month, not unlike clockwork, it's an age-old reply to the same question.

Your body starts to seize, despite the breathing exercises running rampant through your head — in through the nose for three, hold for four, out through the mouth for five — and the heavy blankets doing absolutely nothing to warm your frigid skin. 

Ice and searing fire glitter in your veins, a complicated dance with no ending, not bothering to tiptoe around the white-hot knife twisting into your stomach. 

"M'right here, sweetheart," Frank murmurs, at the ready, dropping Advil into your gnarled, outstretched hand, before lifting a glass of water to your lips. 

He helps you upright, making sure the pills go down, watching your reaction to see if you need anything more. 

Your eyes dart to the kitchen, a silent communicator of the one other thing that's missing, but Frank shakes his head, placing the heat pack across your abdomen in near-perfect synchronisation. "Already got it."

A meek "Thanks, Frankie" is all you manage amongst the bouts of blinding discomfort, more of a rasp than intended. Curling up into a ball, you bury your face into the pillows, doing your best to ground yourself, to let his scent settle over you in a wave of calm. 

The mattress dips as Frank sits down next to you, dragging a soothing hand across your back, alternating his touch between long, languid strokes and featherlight circles. 

"Honestly sweetheart," he muses, the hint of a smile flitting across his face, "you'd make a great Marine."

You blink at him, disconcerted.  

He gestures towards you, chuckling. "I tell 'ya, the guys thought they were tough shit, but one week of this and they woulda been beggin' for mercy. You put 'em to shame."

You roll your eyes, mustering a weak smile. "Well it's not like I have a choice, do I?"

"Yeah? And? Ain’t makin’ me any less proud."

The next cramp snowballs into you before you have a chance to respond, impending fatigue crawling up your spine in lashes. 

And then his hands are on you, his body sheltering yours, encasing you with every ounce of protective warmth he can muster. He holds you closely, nestling your head in the crook of his neck, letting his arms fall into place. 

He presses a kiss to your forehead, into your hair. “I’ve got you, darlin’. I’ve got you.” 

Sharpness turns to a throbbing, dull ache, though it reverberates in your bones, turning your muscles to jelly. 

Still, you grasp at him, clutching him tighter, as if he’s the one thing in the world that could actually get you through this. 

You suppress a bout of muted laughter. You’re always going to be the one getting yourself through this, no matter what, but…

At least Frank makes it more bearable. 

“It’s going to be a long week,” you sigh, your words muffled against his chest. 

And it’s true. You’re going to be here for a while. 

But he’s got you. 

And it’s gonna be okay. 

[aechii]

getting into a fight with jude then you break up w him , then months later he sees you at a party n still wants you back 🙏🏽🙏🏽

₍₍ SiX FEET UNDER ₎⁠₎

PAiRiNG ?! toxic!ex!jude x exgf!reader

GENRE ?! angst

C/W ?! she/her pronouns used, unhealthy relationship, something about writing toxic!jude that has me brainrotting, reader knows her worth, profanity, a small cameo of playboy!trent, drinking (sip responsibly ppl)

A/N ?! i love love love writing toxic!jude, fight me. other than that, plz do enjoy because for once in a while, im liking what i've written <3 [next fic will be a trent one, dwdw]

~°~

"you're not fucking getting me, jude!"

the heat she felt is all encompassing, red, burning fury for a man— boy, who timelessly strung her along with reins of faded promises and stagnant affection. a piling mountain of 'what could i have done better?' weighed like rocks and bricks, yet if her mother were here, she would've looked on with absent surprise.

she had warned her daughter, begged her even, that men— boys like jude had their words proclaimed as if in the finality of red ink, but their minds basked in a bath of sinful infidelity.

but [y/n] craved love. a feeling she had never encountered fully as it was more of a come and go, never marinating into her flesh and heart. but jude— god, jude, with his heightened charisma and intoxicating smile, had promised to love her from sunrise to sunset, from dusk till dawn.

yet, if those words held any truth, then they wouldn't have stood there, in an air of edged demise.

"listen," jude looked completely uncaring, dragging a hand down his face, "if you can't fucking tell, i'm trying, yeah? and it's not everyday i'm gonna be available."

"i never said i wanted you here everyday, jude," [y/n] cried, frustrated. her bones felt heavy, yet it was the hurt in her chest that blinded every sense of her's.

jude threw his arms in the air, scoffing, "then what the hell d'you want, [y/n]?" his voice resonated with exasperation.

"for you to be 100%, jude, it's not that hard! and if you can't handle a relationship— an exclusive relationship, then don't waste my time!"

they were tipping over at the edge of the cliff, and their fall was inevitable. frankly speaking, [y/n] should've known that their whole... involvement with each other was just a sprint to this foreshadowed end. it started off rocky, and no matter how insistent the red lights were, her eyes were glazed with blatant ignorance.

jude's presence then was like a toxin, accumulating in her muscles and causing every inch of movement to release pain. she needed to leave, with not a turn of her head back, and put jude in her first and only failed attempt of what could've been a blissful experience.

"you know what? i'm done— i can't stand here looking stupid for a boy who doesn't love me the same way," she scoffed, turning on her heel to climb the stairs.

she wished she hadn't had heard it. maybe it would've made her departure easier, that jude, truthfully, cared about her and just had the pieces of his mind misplaced and skewed. that maybe all they needed was space and time to seek and mend before they could try again.

but what she got was like a slap to the face, and the sickening truth that jude was never hers. and never wanted to be hers.

"since you can't understand where i'm coming from for shit, by all means, [y/n], leave."

+_-

the party had been, literally, timeless for jude. he hadn't known for how long he swirled the red cup of [spiked] punch pressed into his hand as he leaned against the door frame and observed the busy bodies that made him stick out like a sore thumb.

it had been months, 3 months, as jude'd been counting, since [y/n] bode her adieu to their relationship, or rather, whatever remnant of it remained. he felt like a disassociated body, existing for the mere fact that he had to, not because he wanted to, and part of him wanted to believe that it was all part of the 'life' experience.

it wasn't.

denial was a vile thing, and everyday, he woke up thinking that their end was her fault, and not his. that whatever they had was a lesson among others, and that he had to move on and find someone else that he could attach his data to.

but he knew, knew that [y/n] was a person that appeared like a blue moon, and soon enough, he found himself lost like a needle in a haystack and regretting. had no one but himself to blame, even his damn brother told him so.

his appearance externally, to those who didn't know what revved inside him, was a continuous ebb and flow from one party to another. whatever he had to do to make him forget was his priority, and if he had to get mind-numbingly drunk to do so, then it was welcomed to be his guest.

it was his 3rd one of the week, by approximation. more or less, he didn't care, nor did he want to know, because recklessness was what seemed more comfortable than guilt and shame, and he was so sure that his body was more alcohol than water. counted his lucky stars that it was the end of the season and so he could do whatever his heart urged him to do. his heart, keyword there.

his darkened mood seemed to have seeped into the room because after hours of remaining stagnant doing nothing, trent walked up to him, identical solo cup in one hand and the other weighing on his shoulder with concern.

"guilt is eating you up, eh?" trent chided, although not as cheerily as expected. jude grunted and took another sip as he huffed out a flippant, "shut up," that had trent throwing his hands up, as best as he could, in defence.

"look- i've been there, done that."

jude looked at him suspiciously, "you've had flings, trent."

"yeah," he shrugged, mellow yet firm, "to forget about her."

"never knew that," jude said with an air of surprise. trent wasn't necessarily the best person to come to in terms of... serious romance, per se.

just as trent went to retort, jude's eyes cast around the room, and zeroed entirely on one hovering figure, meddled with a group of more girls who looked far too merry compared to the one that caused jude's tunneled vision, and before he could stop himself, his mouth punched out a, "fuck."

trent caught whiff of jude's exasperated and frozen countenance, "what?"

it took a whole body and more for jude to respond, "she's here."

then trent's head whizzed around, seeking for the girl whose scarce presence had his friend in complete misery and his line of sight paralleled jude's, "i... did not know she was coming."

"me too," jude said automatically, and as if they had a mind of their own, his feet began to move. trent noticed immediately, and a tough grip wrenched around jude's bicep, "where do you think you're going?"

"to talk to her?" enunciated as if it were a question, but there was an undercurrent of certainty that made trent want to slap jude for his sheer stupidity.

"and do what? beg for her forgiveness as if you did not walk her out your home hand in hand?"

jude scowled at trent's bluntness, "it wasn't like that."

"well it fucking seemed like it," trent chastised.

jude was completely deaf to trent's words by then, as the second she was left alone by the bar, he had an aim. an aim to get her back by the end of the night, and if he didn't, he wouldn't walk out there with all pieces of him intact.

did he need her? yes. and it may have taken him too long to realise, but jude didn't care. it was all part of the 'life' experience.

he managed to slip out of trent's vice grip (who, at that point, had given up drilling pleads into jude. he had to plummet back to reality, one way or another), and by auto-pilot, walk towards [y/n] who has too busy ordering another round of shots to even notice his arrival until his words punctured the air, "hey."

[y/n] spun around. rapidly and in complete shock as her eyes were blown wide. she had wanted to utter everything and nothing at all, but her mouth seemed to malfunction, to both her dismay and relief, so she resolved to a questioning jut of her head forward.

jude nervously scratched the back of his neck, "i uh- how have you been?"

she thought for a few seconds then shook her head conclusively, "as best as i could be, jude."

it may have not been intentional- matter of fact, who had jude been kidding? it was intentional, the icy tinge in her tone and closed off-ness as she settled her stance and crossed her arms. a blank space, gaping and hollow, was left in silence as jude tried to find words to say.

"i'm sorry."

[y/n] looked at him incredulously, "you're sorry?"

jude nodded.

and then she laughed. jude would've blamed it on drunkeness if it hadn't been for the obvious, mocking sarcasm as she stopped and looked at him just as quickly as she started.

"you're funny jude, very funny," she chuckled, turning around to slide a shot glass from the counter, raising it in gratitude to the bartender who gave her a nod back, before patting jude's arm to walk away.

he was delirious by then. in absolute confusion, wondering what he had done to seem so... ridiculous to [y/n]. he had apologised, hadn't he? made sure to make it as geniune as he mouth could mold it and that was enough. it had to be.

he spluttered, reaching out to stop her by her wrist, but, as if his touch were hot, she slapped him away, "don't you fucking touch me, jude."

"i said i'm sorry-"

"and you think that's enough? to do what, jude? get me back?"

he nodded and she laughed again, chesty and completely deprecating.

"you know, let me give you advice jude," her expression submerged jude 6 feet under, it felt like it, "don't date. you're completely shit at it."

jude was definitely 6 feet under.

[jeremyguytf2]

hey buddy I noticed its that time of the month for you.... If you need pads lmk!! I'll help you ^-^

you dare shoot at my dick and then try to convince me that i am menstruating.

What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you little bitch? I'll have you know I graduated top of my class in the Navy Seals, and I've been involved in numerous secret raids on Al-Quaeda, and I have over 300 confirmed kills. I am trained in gorilla warfare and I'm the top sniper in the entire US armed forces. You are nothing to me but just another target. I will wipe you the fuck out with precision the likes of which has never been seen before on this Earth, mark my fucking words. You think you can get away with saying that shit to me over the Internet? Think again, fucker. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of spies across the USA and your IP is being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, maggot. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your life. You're fucking dead, kid. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can kill you in over seven hundred ways, and that's just with my bare hands. Not only am I extensively trained in unarmed combat, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the United States Marine Corps and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable ass off the face of the continent, you little shit. If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little "clever" comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking tongue. But you couldn't, you didn't, and now you're paying the price, you goddamn idiot. I will shit fury all over you and you will drown in it. You're fucking dead, kiddo.

[eoieopda]

menace (pjm) - pt. i

Just because you hate him doesn't mean you can't fuck him.

Pairing: Park Jimin x Kim!Reader Type: 1/6 (Mini-Series) ⇢ Next Chapter | Masterlist Word Count: 1.8K Summary: Your shithead brother, Seokjin, is throwing his annual Valentine's Day party. You didn't want to go in the first place - and now his shithead friend, Jimin, is responsible for getting you there. Content: Smut (18+ - DON'T TEST ME, MINORS); Seokjin's younger sister AU; fuck buddies that hate each other; mean!Jimin; brat!Reader; spanking and one (1) pussy slap; degradation; v fingering; orgasm denial; ✨ t e n s i o n ✨ A/N: I've been marinating on this idea for a minute, so I figured why not try it on Valentine's Day with no prior warning? Jade chooses violence, always. I dedicate this to my wife, @jihopesjoint, because she deserves a Jimin fic for once, lmao. Tagging: @borahae-k @i-purple-buff-bunni @pamzn @myimaginationsrunningwild @nonbinary-demonbrat @mgthecat @btschimeyplanet @jaejoontrashpanda @taebaelove @cyanide-mustard @xjoonchildx @jkoofier (couldn't tag)

“Stop gawking.”  

Your tone was flat, and your eyes were fixated on your own reflection as you fussed with your eyeliner. It had been made abundantly clear to Seokjin that you wanted nothing to do with this party, but your brother never listened. It’s tradition, he’d whined, the reservation has already been made.  

“I mean it. Fuck off.”

You broke the eye contact you’d been maintaining with yourself and glanced over your reflection’s shoulder. Standing and smirking near the door, Park Jimin cocked his head to the side. 

Far and away the worst of your brother’s friends, you added Jimin’s presence in your life to the long list of grievances you held against Seokjin. Other notable entries on that list were: Seokjin shirking off his promise to drive you to the club; asking Jimin to sub in on his behalf; and failing to inform you of the lineup change because he knew you'd kill him with advanced notice.  

On Jimin’s list of infractions — among many, many other things — was his refusal to let you finish getting ready at home. He was insufferable and impatient, but he was your last resort. Knowing this, he'd forced you to hurriedly pack up your cosmetics, which meant you had to finish applying them in the club’s green room.

That motherfucker. 

“Are they uneven on purpose?” Jimin scrunched up his nose in feigned confusion, gesturing back and forth between your black wings.  

You glanced at him briefly before returning your gaze to the task at hand. “Is there really nothing better you could be doing right now? Laying down in the middle of an intersection, perhaps?” 

“Here I was, thinking you’d be grateful for the attention. This is your second consecutive Valentine’s Day alone, isn’t it? Poor girl.” Jimin cooed.

When you didn’t turn to acknowledge him the way he expected, you heard footfalls approaching ominously from behind.  

“Attention’s what you want, isn’t it? Looking downright desperate in this fucking dress.” Jimin’s palm collided harshly with your ass cheek through the fabric of that fucking dress, fingers digging in and daring you to bruise.

He should’ve known by now what you could and couldn’t take; but if he’d somehow forgotten, your lack of reaction would serve as a necessary reminder. After all, not far from his grip was the bite mark he’d left you with last week. 

What is this — amateur hour? 

Your bored expression — blinking idly back at him in the mirror — incensed him and you knew it. Jimin’s frustration with you was palpable, never-ending, and wholly reciprocated. It vibrated off him, echoed off you, and trapped you in a perpetual fever pitch. It'd been like this for months, and you got the feeling that it’d stay this way until one of you cracked and tapped out. 

It sure as shit won't be me.

Eventually, his hand left you. Jimin himself, however, did not. He stayed put behind you and said nothing; simply watching in silence as you smoked out your lower lash-line with deep, matte brown. His expression was indecipherable, but undeniably focused.

You wondered if part of him relished moments like this. If — in the rare quiet where you weren’t fighting or fucking — he felt at peace. He certainly looked that way, but not for long.

You never let the dust settle, though; never let him get too comfortable, or think he was truly welcomed. You ruined it with pleasure, always, by opening your mouth and saying something sharp.  

Then, he’d do or say something cruel in response with the sole purpose of pissing you off. And then that toxic carousel would keep on turning. Around and around and around you went, each silently satisfied that the other was still spinning, too. 

Finally allowing Jimin to know that you’d caught him staring, you rolled your eyes. “How about, instead of leering at me, you go find Seokjin and make unsolicited observations about his love life? There’s plenty wrong there to keep you occupied.” 

He smirked, just slightly, still refusing to acknowledge the fact that he liked your sense of humor.  

“Or —” You drawled, painting your lashes black with mascara. “You could find someone to fuck that actually enjoys your presence. Statistically speaking, there has to be somebody for you.” 

When he turned on his heel and headed for the door, you expected that he was storming off. You didn’t look up, unaffected by his near-constant theatrics. That boy was entirely too dramatic, and if the one thing he wanted was your attention, he wasn’t going to get it.  

But instead of hearing the door fly open and then slam shut, you heard the lock engage. The faint, metallic click from across the room sent your heart into the seat of your throat. Soon enough, he was pressed against the back of you, hot breath causing your pulse to sprint. 

Jimin plucked the tube of mascara from your fingers, earning a glare. “This isn’t waterproof, is it?” he asked with a frown, eyes scanning the label. They flicked up to you and saw the unasked question on the tip of your tongue.  

“Because I’m going to make you cry.” His tone was matter of fact as his rough hand slid up the length of your spine to the space between your shoulders. Pinned with your cheek pressed into the countertop, you gasped. You immediately regretted that small concession. 

You couldn’t see Jimin's expression, but you knew without a doubt that he was sneering. He quickly gathered the short length of your dress in one hand, which he held tight at the small of your back. Even more harshly, his hands grabbed at the waistband of your thong. He dragged it down in one swift movement, well-practiced but never gentle.

The force of it all caused your cheekbone to dig harder into the countertop. You winced as it smarted, but inwardly, you loved it. Jimin would never hear you say as much, though.

Your underwear dropped unceremoniously around your ankles, leaving your center completely exposed and on-display. A loud smack erupted as his hand collided with the previously corrupted skin of your ass, undoubtedly leaving a fully formed handprint where he’d struck you. You hissed through gritted teeth, but the sting was quickly muted when he grabbed a handful of your delicate cheek, fingertips pinching hard. 

When he spanked you again, it wasn’t on the doughy flesh of your ass; it was your unsuspecting, already-aching cunt. Your mouth fell open and a whimper tumbled out. To your dismay, he removed his hand quickly and held it in front of your face.

“Do you see how fucking wet you are?” Jimin scoffed with fluorescent light glinting off his slicked fingers. “Already a mess, and I’ve barely touched you. You’re pathetic — you know that, right?” 

You mumbled your reply, but with your cheek pressed hard against the counter, you knew it was incomprehensible. He cocked his head once more in that arrogant, impossible way he always did. 

“Didn’t catch that, princess,” he said dryly. His hand spread under your jaw and gave you no choice but to look at him. “One more time, with feeling.” 

Insolence building in the pit of your stomach, you narrowed your eyes at him. Loud and clear, you bit back, “I said, you’re right. You’ve barely touched me, princess.” 

Judging by his flushed face, you had him feral. Good.  

Jimin grabbed your wrists and pulled you flush against his chest. One arm slid under yours, crossed diagonally across your heaving chest, and gripped the strap of your dress. His hold forced you up on your tiptoes, while his other hand forced your legs further apart. 

“Such a fucking brat,” Jimin growled against your neck, teeth then nipping at the sensitive spot behind your ear. There was a brief flicker of amusement in his darkened eyes when your low moan escaped you. It quickly dissolved into involuntary mewling as his tongue flicked out to spread its heat over the marks he’d left there. “You want to be punished so badly, but I don’t think you can take it.” 

Your voice was breathy, weightless, but there was unwavering defiance in your words. “Try me.” 

Jimin had no choice but to respond to your challenge by dragging his fingers down the soft skin of your pelvis; the coolness of his rings left goosebumps in their wake. As his middle finger dipped down to your clit, you willed your knees not to buckle.  

“Eyes up,” He ordered, his laser-focused stare ricocheting off the mirror to you. When you rolled them instead, he pushed his long digit into you without warning. You jolted, wavering on your tiptoes for a moment until you were steadied by the forearm across your torso. “Eyes up.” 

You blinked, stunned, at your reflection. The hand gripping the strap of your dress dropped to the already hardened nipples peaking through the thin fabric above them. It was impossible to focus on the way he pinched at each of them, or the way he rolled them between his thumb and index finger, because his middle finger was curling against the spongy spot inside of you at an unforgiving pace. 

“You’ll need more than one if you intend to take all of me,” Jimin hummed deviously in your ear. “Have you earned two?” 

You nodded, turning to putty in his hands as he continued to abuse your g-spot. 

“Stupid girl,” Jimin clicked his tongue, then ordered, “Speak.” 

“Give it to me,” You spat, though the fight left you as soon as his ring finger slid into your weeping hole. It worked in tandem with his middle finger, scissoring and stretching you open. And then that goddamn thumb pushed hard into your clit, flicking at it cruelly.  

You were teetering on the edge of oblivion with white hot heat building in your core, and pleasured tears welling up in your eyes; but you were relentlessly bold. “Harder.” 

Jimin smirked as you rutted your hips against his hand. He let out another dry, damning laugh, and then he did the unforgivable: He pulled his digits out of you mere moments before your orgasm could crash over you like a wave.  

You scowled at him through the mirror, but you were thankful he couldn’t see the way your hammering heart dropped dead on the floor of your chest.  

“I hate you,” You seethed, panting. “Fucking menace.”

Jimin placed a chaste kiss on your temple, in total juxtaposition to how roughly you normally treated each other. “If I recall correctly, you told me to fuck off,” He murmured against your skin. The hand that abandoned you whispered down the length of your neck, then disappeared off the slope of your shoulder. “So, I’m off.”

When he sauntered over to the door, you were too furious to say anything. In fact, your jaw was clenched tightly enough to crack teeth. It only got worse when he called out over his shoulder with a lazy wave of his hand, “Fix your face. I warned you about that mascara.”

[g-xix]

oh my days did u hear about wilbur soot literally physically abusing shelby

YESYESYES I DID!!!

For the girlies that don't know: I was a minecraft girlie in 2021.

And Wilbur Soot was a big part of that MC phase. He was undeniably hot, but he was also quite open ab mental health stuffs + created quite a safe space for minorities whether that be the gay community, mental health talking space... That's all from the top of my head. In short - he's hot and an empath and ppl liked that ab him

He also kinda showed his "quirky loco character" in music vids or just in streams.

Kinda ironic he's now fulfilling the role that character he mockingly made, tho.

What did he do? Well, he was in a relationship w Shelby Shubble and his way of showing "affection" would be to bite her. Kinda understand biting as a way of showing love as long as it's not life threatening, painful, or in aggression... I mean, ChrisMD does that shit all the time to ArthurTV n it seems more endearing than to really do any bads.

Thing is, Wilbur would end up hurting Shelby. Aaaand so Wil said 'hey let's make a safeword for u 2 say when it hurts so that ik and can stop so i don't harm u'.... but when Shelby used that safeword, broski wuld either grind down or go a lil bit harder b4 letting go.

And Shelby's described it as she would oftentimes scream/yell bc it was so hard, and he'd 'smile' afterwards which is mad psycho (term used loosely) imo. Because also, he'd do ts in public??? Yk, with his friendship group around him n Shelby, the lovely jovely couple? Straight out weird negl.

So, there's context.

Lots of varying opinions online which i would soooo love to get into...

BUT DISCLAIMER BEFORE I DO: Realistically, this is abuse, and thus it is a crime. I've talked about this on my page before - cancel culture can be unecessary in minor incidences, and cancel culture can be not-enough in instances whereby people have simply done illegal things.

This is one of those illegal things. So, whilst I do chat about this light-heartedly or for entertainment, gossip-y purposes - do realise that this is a real life problem that has has major issues in many peoples' lives.

Now, continuing with the juicy waffley discussions that ppl like hearing:

So firstly, some of the Twitter memes are fucking hilarious. I do love that under Wilbur's Twitter apology, loads of MCYTers have joined to clown his goofy ahh. And all those memes saying that Bill smelled such a shit apology he returned to twitter after years + the DSMP are like Avengers in Infinity War returning to all fight enemy No1 WILBUR...

But that being said, DREAM REPLYING TOO????

I spoke ab Dream being a groomer around Christmas time + heard loads of ppl out on vouching for Dream or calling him disgusting, dahdahdah... But the fact that sm ppl are turning around and praising Dream for calling out Wilbur's goofiness is acc MAAAD.

Why's everyone forgotten Dream is j as goofy? And an alleged groomer? And just plain? Not even plain something, brodie is just the plainest mf i've ever seen. Ever since he face revealed, his personality j evaporated on out of his body (anyone feel this asw?)

But no, ppl who are now agreeing w Dream to combat Wilbur as if Dream hasn't also committed what is debateably a crime (ik he 'cleared up the rumours' but it's v hard to fight of groomer allegations when you let them sit and marinate for approx 6 months) is fucking WILD shit to me.

Secondly, people are analysing loads of Wilbur's other prev actions too and saying these should've been red flags to Wilbur being an a-hole before we even heard Shubble's solid proof.

And some of these clips of evidence (e.g. Niki saying Wil bites her + threw her, Tommy getting his hand stomped, throwing apple at Techno) feel very valid.

But other bits I do wonder - are they just being over analysed? Yk, like with the clip of Wil shouting at Tommy for streaming + stealing his wallet, i was super sure that was staged as is (j had it confirmed now by the Twitter community note asw lol) and also, whilst Wil's shouting does feel extreme and hurtful from a viewer pov... Having a wallet stolen, place of work broken in to, litr knowing the place where you work to make all income could be taken away from u bc a friend thought it funny to break in n loudly + rowdily stream... i gotta say that some form of anger or upset is valid there. And this isn't to validate Wilbur's assholery, this is just to point out that whilst ppl are throwing clips into the fire and saying "this is more proof Wil was a bad person from the start" - do try see other interpretations of it and form your own line of reasoning - yk - "is this a valid point or is this someone using the drama to get some extra likes and attention to boost their account" (because believe me, ppl would - if ppl would use Techno's death to get more channel views and interactions - ppl would also most definitely use abuse as a means to engage more ppl).

Aaaaaand let's talk about the little Lovejoy band. Ngl i fucken loved their stuff, quite sad to see it go down the drain because 3/4 of them are public targets, now.

So ik we hate Wil for being an abuser. And I've seen that ppl dislike Mark bc he supported Maccies (what did he do fr tho bc i have no clue - did he j eat a McDonalds or what?) And we hate Ash Kabosu for saying it's bad to make fun of those deaths on the submarine...

Controversial opinion but I don't blame Ash allat much??? Now imma explain myself - but pls understand that i don't knoe 100% ab the situation, im v detached from the MCYT sphere of the online community.

But hear me out.

I'm a big believer in cherishing life, life is v important, life is a blessing.... Not from a rly religious pov, moreso in a spiritual way. Because if we only get one life, fuck, it's pretty damn precious. And whilst all those Oceangate memes were haha heehee funny watches, at the end of the day, people did die. And I do find that quite sad.

People say it's fine to laugh and make fun of those who were in there and died bc they were just billionaires who went down there for their own personal entertainment.

Just because they're billionaires doesn't make them any less human than us? Sure, they have a lot more money and are probably a lot more detached from working class issues which the majority of the population faces... But their drowning will have hurt and caused just as much pain to them as it would to us if we were in their situation. And my god, I can't even begin to think about the pain their families must have felt.

Those deaths were a fucking tragedy, realistically - and maybe i'm 'overreacting' here - but c'mon, empathy is literally encoded into our DNA as humans, surely I'm not the only one that can see the heartlessness in just laughing and memeing those deaths?

So Ash Kabosu haterism I don't fully understand, is the conclusion of that sub-rant.

And then I think this is the final little bit I'll discuss considering this is a loooong post:

James Marriott.

Jimbo Mazza, Jimbatron, James Marriott.

Lowkey my big flex, I've been a fan of him since 2020, and I got into his hater-commentary content initially. And ngl, when he transitioned to Minecraft? It was so fkn obvious he was trying to tailor to the MCYT audience to get their approval and entrance into the MCYT community, it made me absolutely cringe - and the blindness of everybody to that fact was insane to me.

Like, he was literally beegggging to be added to SMPs, he'd try and portray this "uncontrollable, quirky" character and would be so "unhinged" that everyone would love him... But ngl, that shit was literal brainrot, and he had you guys (me included tbf, bc i'd watch - just cringing whilst watching) ROTTING your brains with spamming the chat w allat bs that u do on Twitch

Nowadays, I like James tho. I feel like he feels ingrained enough within the community to branch out and not have to play up to the disturbing, disgusting cringefest - and so now he's funnier and having a better time streaming.

I mean, he looks absolutely great too - his tours have him confidence-boosted (rightfully so), because he's in great shape, like, he's genuinely lost noticable fat and put on muscle which has him looking trim as ever - he's grown his hair out into a flattering mullet - Shit, i believe looksmaxxing is the boy-equivalent of the makeup industry profiting off of womens' insecurity....

But the Jimbatron has absolutely looksmaxxed for the best.

That being said however, people saying "I OFFER JIMBO AS A REPLACEMENT FOR WILBUR!!" are fucking weirdos (respectfully but also kinda not)

Bro has just abused people and you're mourning the loss of a content creator and oh no - your favourite band - so you're trying to serve up replacements like a fucking chef that's ran out of a specific ingredient??????????

Yeah, James is less problematic and has 2x the personality Wilbur has- BUT WHY DOES IT TAKE WILBUR COMING OUT AS A FKN ABUSER FOR PPL TO START PROMOTING JAMES????

This is like that whole thing whereby ppl put other girls down to point out to success or beauty of other girls: it takes everyone noticing how bad Wilbur is, to point out the goodness of James.

James litr banned people who wouldn't stfu about Wilbur in his chat in early streams, bc he was sick of ppl following him for Wilbur and who just wanted to talk about Wilbur on James' platform.... I don't think James rly wants to share an identity, or have his platform built from being against Wilbur.

Not proof read this post fully. But take-aways from this: -Yeah Dream is cooking Wilbur on Twitter but don't forget he's an alleged groomer + is deffo using this as a way to get back into the audience's "good books" -RIP Lovejoy but some1 explain what Mark did fully + why ppl think Ash is so abominable for showing empathy to ppl dying -Rmbr that this is acc a serious crime, don't downplay ts -Stop fucking promoting James Marriott thru Wilbur's downfall, it rly discredits James' authenticity and original building of a community -So proud to say that after a few months of getting into MCYT stuff i felt as though Wilbur was icky + just plainout didn't like him/got odd vibes -And lol, acc so jarring how Wil reminds me of this guy in my yr - complete mummy's boy, underestimates and belittles women bc his mum handed everything to him on a plate n so he doesn't empathise w them but rather expects the world from them whilst simultaneously treating them like shit, 'radical', extremely 'woke' about modern situations but is so stubborn and refuses to see two sides of a picture.... Tbh I might j hate the guy in my yr and be projecting that onto Wil

Btw, feel free to argue w me in my inbox ab this but whilst i was quite critical - pls do not be mean to me or criticise me that harshly - if im talking to some1 one on one, i won't be this mean

(ALSO ANON, SORRY BC I WAS QUITE RUDE IN THIS REPLY BC I LOWKEY FORGOT I WAS REPLYING TO U, I WAS IN MY OWN HEAD AB WAFFLING AB SHELBY N WILL, LY AND TY FOR ASKING AB IT THO BC I DEFFO NEEDED TO WAFFLE AB IT SOMEWHERE)

[drunkenskunk]

Welcome to another Drunk Skunk™ rant!

It is entirely possible that you have noticed: I love Warhammer 40k. At the same time, I hate Warhammer 40k... okay, hate is probably the wrong word, but let me explain.

40k is one of my favorite sci-fi settings because it is, hilariously, one of the few that actually manages to get the scale of Outer Space right. Most sci-fi writers have no sense of scale, but 40k is somehow able to convey the unimaginable, incomprehensible, terrifying vastness of Outer Space correctly.

Granted, I think it does this entirely on accident, because everything in 40k is exaggerated beyond the point of absurdity. The scale of everything is massive, every number has several zeros tacked onto the end of it, travelling anywhere takes months, years, even decades, and... that's just how Outer Space is. You can't exaggerate on what is already functionally infinite.

As a result, 40k as a setting has an enormous amount of potential. No matter how much we see of the Warhammer galaxy, we will only ever see a bare fraction of it, and there is always going to be more - and stranger - stuff hidden in pockets of the galaxy that has slipped entirely beneath notice for decades, if not centuries. Or even millennia!

But here's the problem I have. All of this potential? It is almost always completely wasted by Games Workshop. Nearly every single time, GW ignores the massive amount of potential in the setting they created, in order to focus on boring shit that nobody cares about like even more fucking space marines. It's infuriating.

As far as I'm concerned, there is no better example of this in the entire setting... than the Tau Empire.

The Tau annoy me, but not for the reasons you think.

The most common complaint I see leveled against the Tau is that they are the "good" guys, and that they don't fit into the Grim Darkness of the Grim Dark far future of Grim Dark. This is untrue. Moreover: it was never true. Even when they were introduced in 2001 with their first codex during 3rd edition, they were not good guys.

I've always held the suspicion that people saw things like their catchphrase "The Greater Good" and they read things like "the Tau are not overtly hostile," and took all of that entirely at face value, because a sizeable chunk of this fucking fandom has no media literacy skills.

It still amazes me that Warhammer 40k - a game physically incapable of subtlety - has fans that miss the blatantly obvious.

Before I get to my main point, let's clear the air on something right now: the Tau are bad guys, just like all the other factions in 40k.

If you were to place the Tau in any other science fiction setting, they would be a terrifyingly evil authoritarian space hegemony, with a firmly held belief of "Manifest Destiny" and constantly expanding the borders of their imperial holdings through the use of dirty tricks, illegitimate treaties, and good old fashioned military adventurism spurred on by their vast military industrial complex.

Yes, the Tau typically engage in diplomacy first, but that's usually only to establish a casus belli to claim the moral high ground in a conflict because the Tau are obsessed with appearances and love to play the Long Game. Yes, the average standard of living in Tau space is higher than the Imperium, but that's not a high bar. The Tau have a rigidly enforced caste system, and you can imagine how they deal with their "client races" who might disagree with that and even other Tau who refuse to fall in line.

Or have we all forgotten about Commander Farsight?

... I feel like I may have gotten a bit off track.

Okay, so: the simple reason the Tau annoy me is because there was a whole lot of potential there, and all of it has been completely wasted because Games Workshop doesn't seem to understand what made them interesting in the first place.

See, when the Tau were introduced in 2001, it was quickly established in the first codex that the only reason they even managed to make it to the "present" of 40k was due to a series of accidents that allowed that particular scrap of nowhere to slip beneath everyone's notice.

But here's the thing: we didn't really need that excuse. Every time we see maps of Tau space, it's always zoomed in to such an extent that it looks much bigger than it is... because, unlike every other faction, you can't have a full map of the galaxy that only focuses on the Tau, because it's always just a pinprick.

My personal favorite of these maps is the one from the 5th edition rulebook, but it's common with all of them.

To put this into better perspective: Tau space is almost always described as a sphere about 300 light years in diameter, which is roughly the same size as "The Bubble," the cluster of human worlds centered around Sol, in Elite Dangerous.

And that, right there, is why the Tau should be interesting, at least to me. They represent what could exist in the hidden parts of the Warhammer galaxy that slips beneath everyone's notice because SPACE IS BIG. The Imperium of Man may technically cover the entire breadth of the Milky Way galaxy, and "hold" a million worlds... but there are 100 BILLION stars, and even more planets besides, in a galaxy that stretches 100 thousand light years from end to end.

That is A LOT of Outer Space that could hold any number of secrets and weird alien species that nobody would know about until somebody accidentally stumbles on them.

The Tau could have - should have - been a jumping off point, allowing Games Workshop to make the setting feel even bigger and far more strange than it already does. The Tau could've been the template for introducing "pocket empires" to the setting: smaller xenos armies that people could use in skirmishes, but without entertaining the illusion that they have the military projection power to stand up to the other factions on an appreciable strategic scale for an extended period of time.

And yet...

It fees like Games Workshop consistently misunderstands what should make the Tau interesting. Every new codex, every new edition, it feels like we get more and more of GW trying to be like "No, no! The Tau can definitely stand toe-to-toe with the Imperium of Man! They build tall rather than wide, and are ABSOLUTELY a threat to the Imperium, we promise!" when in reality the only reason the Tau are even still here is because the Imperium always has bigger problems to deal with.

There was the bit I mentioned earlier, where the Tau were initially saved after they discovered fire due to a mixture of freak warp storms and the Age of Apostasy causing the records to get lost. The Damocles Crusade ended in the Imperium's withdrawal because of the imminent arrival of Hive Fleet Behemoth. The Third Sphere Expansion was only successful because Failbbadon Abbadon launched the 13th Black Crusade at the same time on the other side of the galaxy, blew up Cadia, and split the galaxy in half with the Cicatrix Maledictum. Every single time the Tau do anything, a much bigger threat always shows up, and causes everyone to forget about the Tau until they inevitably go back to poking the monster.

Like, I know it's GW doing this, but sometimes it feels like Tzeentch is secretly pulling strings behind the scenes to specifically ensure the continued survival of the Tau, for no other reason than simply because the Changer of Ways thinks its funny.

And that's not even talking about how they've slowly morphed into The Gundam Faction.

Like, it used to be that the Tau Empire was supposed to be this big conglomeration of many different alien races all working together. And there are token mentions of that in the 9th edition codex, with a big list of names largely devoid of context. But as soon as you see these guys in action on the tabletop, it's immediately clear what they're about. You only ever see Tau, and you only ever see Big Robots.

Which... it's not bad, the model range looks great, don't get me wrong. But it still feels slightly disappointing, when you think about what we could have had.

I love Warhammer 40k.

But I also hate Warhammer 40k.

Because I see all this potential... and, inevitably, I see it squandered.

And it frustrates me to no end.

[akwolfgrl]

How sweet it is to be loved by them 18

Zoro watched him take the pup into the kitchen after eating. They were both on birth control, (he needed to start putting the gel again, he hadn't been able to because he had been tied to a pole) but he inner alpha enjoyed watching their mate with a pup way too much. It didn't matter that neither of them were ready for a pup. He still longed to see his husband with a pup of their own. To watch him grow round with thire own mini me, who would they look like most? Would they have Zoro hair or sanjis? Blue or gray eyes? The curly eyebrows? Zoro shook his head to rid himself of the thoughts.

“How long have the two of you been married?” The beta Sanji worked for asked.

“About a month,” Zoro had spent nine of those days away from his husband.

“Who proposed?”

“I did, I saved up for a pair of earrings for Sanji, I meant to do something nice but when I went to visit with a couple of friends I just proposed on the spot when I saw him again,” Zeff had been pissed, but Sanji had said yes…after kicking him that is. He didn't even ask the old geezer for Love-cooks hand…not that the blond cared but Zeff sure as shit did.

“That is so sweet! Ahh, young love,” She shifted and placed her hand on her cheek. “I remember when Misao and I got married. He was so handsome and kind. He was a marine one day he had to leave us and I haven't seen him since,”

Zoro wasn't sure what to say to that, and luckily, he didn't have to, Sanji and Rika had returned.

“Mom guess what! I made some new things! I made one with starbrry on top, and sanji helped me make a mango sticky one! You have to try them!”

“Ooo I can't wait to try them,”

<>

Koby walked with the rest of the Marines down to where the houseboat was docked. He had intended to go alone, but that hadn't worked out. He just hoped that a fight wasn't about to break out. These Marines stood no chance, but his chance of joining would vanish.

He spotted them, the kind women who had fed them and her young daughter saying their goodbyes, hugging Zoro and Sanji. Luffy sat atop the houseboat watching. Thire sails were unfurled, and the only thing left to do was untie the boat. The women and the pup stepped off the boat, Koby watched Zoro untie it.

Everyone lined up, Jeremy and himself standing in the front. Koby saluted them as they began to sail away.

“Thank you very much!” Koby shouted. “I will never forget you for the rest of my life!” Koby owed Luffy everything. He wanted to be confident like Luffy, steadfast like Zoro, and strong like Sanji.

“I've never seen a marine salute a pirate before,” Zoro muttered.

“I've seen a marine salute a pirate, I'm still traumatized,” Sanji remarked.

“Koby! We'll meet again someday!”Luffy waved and shouted back.

“Group salute!” Jeremy yelled next to him. Everyone saluted as Luffy and his new crew sailed away. “You have great friends,”

“Yes sir!”

“We have just saluted pirates and violated marine code! So the punishment will be no food for a week!”

“Yes sir!”

[mamamittens]

Oh, Sweet Child of Mine (Pt. 13)

Platonic Yandere Whitebeard Crew (Ft. Others) & Reader Insert

Main|First|Previous

Warnings: Yandere behavior and a wide variety of burn related injuries, as well as drowning. If yandere content makes you uncomfortable, please do block the tag 'oh sweet child of mine' as well as any variation of 'one piece yandere' that you feel is necessary.

This is the end of things. All that's left is the epilogue. Your choices have consequences, I've only seen them through.

Word Count: 2,325

Marco chatted with an older gentleman about the local weather, meandering his way to any strange arrivals at the island. While he didn’t see Teach, it was possible he was hiding out at an inn until Marco left.

He found himself constantly pissed and surprised at how damn clever Teach was.

Several times they managed to just barely miss him out at sea. If Marco didn’t know any better, he’d assume that someone was telling Teach exactly when it was time to leave. But that window of time had been shrinking for the past month. Where once they missed him by a week it was now a matter of hours. And Marco could feel how close they were.

“Yeah, this weather really brings out weird people, doesn’t it… Say, have you seen any shady characters around lately?” Marco asked, refraining from fiddling with his buttoned-up shirt. Not exactly subtle to question the locals with a massive Jolly Roger staring at them.

Marco didn’t even get an answer being the sound of a distant explosion reached his ear. He sighed, fully expecting to see fire on the horizon from whatever shit Ace had gotten himself into now.

First Smoker and now this?

His eyes rolled over the sea and widened with shock.

A column of fire and smoke violently erupted into the sky in the direction of the other island he’d sent Ace to investigate—wrongly assuming that he’d find less trouble with a smaller island.

Marco was airborne in an instant, speeding over the land and sea as he rushed to find out what was going on.

The minutes ticked by as his lungs filled with sea salt from diving to gain speed before gaining altitude to do it all over again. Getting faster and faster with each repetition. Boats blinking by as he crossed the expanse.

Damn near half the island was on fire in some way or another. Demolished buildings and rocks littering the sea in debris fields as people fled quickly.

Marco banked sharply, ice in his heart as he spotted the marine vessel moored nearby.

He found Ace on the other side of the island facing fucking ADMIRAL AKAINU of all fucking marines. Your familiar shape pinned to the admiral’s chest. Teach dead—where the fuck did his head go?!—just behind you both.

Marco was fit to sweep down and toss Ace into the ocean his own damn self when the young man threw a fiery punch at the admiral. Only to find that it was himself that was burned.

The literal worst case scenario matchup for Ace and you were right in the middle of it.

Marco wanted to rescue you both—he really did—but clearly Akainu wasn’t planning on killing you. The crazy bastard even shielding you from excessive blows.

At the very least, he could plan to steal you back later. But Ace was certainly not getting such consideration. Akainu planned to kill him. If it was just Ace he had to worry about, he’d go down right now and take Akainu head on with no problem—okay, a bit of a problem, he’s not an Admiral for nothing. But at any moment The Mad Dog could turn on you and Marco had no idea if your devil fruit combined with his would help. Hell, if Akainu had just slung you over his shoulder, Marco could probably pick you up with a small distraction.

But there was no way Akainu wouldn’t notice him aiming right for his chest.

And Marco—much as he ached to admit it—only had one solid plan of action.

Retreat.

Marco tilted his wings and prepared to dive at Ace. Hold onto the stubborn bastard and take them both far away.

The marines would fuck up eventually and you’d be right back where you belong. Even if ‘fucking up’ was just not having a full escort to Marineford as Marco stashed Ace somewhere he couldn’t blast his way into a fight he can’t win.

A massive ball of lava arched into the sky, the heat searing as it passed him by barely an inch. His body beneath the phoenix fire burning bright to heal the damage before it cauterized completely. Leaving a deep ache in his wing that promised to take him down if he lost his head again.

Marco reared back, soaring higher to avoid a repeat. To get a moment to think since clearly Akainu wasn’t entertaining a retreat either.

Fuck!

He had to get Ace. Fast.

--*--

You remember the first time you really understood what your devil fruit was. There weren’t any other users near you when you first ate it, so it took some time before the effects became clear.

A man came to the island. Ostensibly a traveling stage magician. He was good at crafting a compelling stage presence, but the entire time you watched him, you got this strange feeling. Like a faded memory recalled through scent. A series of seemingly unrelated images and sensations undeniably connected to one person. A vague emotion. All of it strung together like pearls. An odd sense of creeping exhaustion seeping into your skin.

Cut grass and mint. Woven daisy chains tangled in your hair during summer. Spring rain and dewdrops on misty mornings. Softer than buttercup petals and flashy like daffodils after winter.

You watched as he offered his beautiful volunteer ‘assistant’ a playing card. Flicking his wrist to then ‘magically’ present a white rose that blossomed in his hand.

The drain went from a dripping tap to a river.

The rose grew, vines wrapping around his arm with thorns and blooms sprouting until he and his unfortunate volunteer was consumed by a rose bush.

They were fine, but more than a little cut up from the thorns.

Teach’s devil fruit was like a forest gone silent and dark. Shadows in thick water dragging your feet as you walked. Breath fogging the air as the atmosphere pressed down on you. Threatening to swallow you whole if you tripped. It felt like a graveyard emptied of it’s dead and leaving you alone with ghosts. The threat of a knife still sheathed in a sleeve.

Ace’s fruit felt like a campfire at night. Consuming your view with flying embers, reaching high into the sky. Warm laughter and cinnamon smoke curling around a hearth fire wreath. Blazing with conviction so bright it dimmed the stars. Surrounding you in excess.

Marco’s fruit was like a firework. A cry shooting through the air in triumph as the atmosphere burned with it’s brilliance. The flash of the sunset and sunrise just as it slips past the edge of the horizon. Flooding your senses with thick incense as birdsong echoed. Bitter medicine and tangy sweets on your tongue.

Whitebeard’s fruit was something a little different. A tremble in your bones. Strength and uncertainty held in the same hand. The ground beneath your feet shifting on a level you could only just barely sense. Heavy bass that thrums in your heart. The short hairs on the back of your neck tingling. Senses reaching for a source with no name. An echo of something much larger than yourself.

Held in place, frozen with your heart stuttering in fear, you bathed in the feeling of Admiral Akainu’s devil fruit. Exhaustion burning away to ash as horror bled from your lungs.

Hot and cracked, uncompromisingly deadly around you. Fire pouring like thick liquid from the earth. Consuming everything in it’s path as it simply oozed forward. Belches of toxic gas as magma was ejected in thick clumps from broken rubble. Life smoldering in it’s presence before being smothered under it’s weight. Move or be moved. It smells like death and cinders as burning ash coats your lungs and skin.

You reflexively tried to curl your hand into a fist and your muscles spasmed, nerves screaming at the abuse so soon after your shoulder had been set.

Panicked, you looked at Ace, aware that your new ability would be useless if you couldn’t even hold it for a second. He would have to get close to deal damage and in that timeframe, he’d be close enough for Admiral Akainu to kill him with ease. But Ace didn’t seem to know that, his lips twisted into a snarl as he locked eyes with Admiral Akainu. Fire sparking in his hands as he clenched his fists, scorching the earth around his feet in a burst of heat.

He screamed, damn near feral as he charged forward with his arm reared back.

Ace’s fist was stopped by Admiral Akainu’s hand, a blast of heat ringing out like a shockwave. Admiral barely let his raised hand drip with magma before Ace shot back with a startled hiss, eyes wide in shock.

“Your devil fruit is beneath mine in power level, Fire Fist. And that’s before my partner got involved.” Admiral Akainu declared with a slight, smug grin.

But Ace wasn’t about to back down. Spinning on his heel as he launched a fireball at Admiral Akainu. Aside from turning to shield you from the direct path, it flew harmlessly past him.

Attack after attack was simply batted away or ignored completely. Like the Admiral was taunting Ace.

Playing with his food until he got bored.

A flicker of blue and gold in the sky drew your attention and Admiral Akainu’s.

You nearly sighed in relief at the magnificent sight of Marco preparing to dive.

Good!

T-This was good!

He could take Ace and get out of here!

Admiral Akainu threw back his fist and hurled a mass of molten lava into the sky, nearly clipping Marco. The pirate instantly scrambling to gain altitude to protect against another attack.

While you wholeheartedly believed that Marco could face Admiral Akainu, it would be a massive risk with Ace and yourself so close to the crossfire. And Ace would never leave him behind. And if you overtly tried to assist, there was every chance the marine would simply break your neck for being a traitor.

Maybe with luck, you could have ‘dialed down’ Admiral Akainu’s devil fruit to allow Marco and Ace to flee—assuming Ace even let it happen to begin with. But your damaged hands couldn’t handle the tensed position right now without flinching and breaking the bloody scabs. You weren’t sure you could repeat the feat for an appreciable amount of time either. They’d need more than a second to get the hell out, after all.

You had no doubt Akainu would explode if he realized you were helping your friends escape.

Your thoughts screeched to a halt.

Explode.

You looked around you at the devastation. Every jeer and blow Akainu delt shook the ground and brought hot magma to the surface as he wound himself up. Losing his shit as Ace refused to falter and Marco kept trying to rescue him without getting hit—he’d heal from that, right? Could he? You weren’t sure and the thought that Marco could actually get hurt scared you—

You squeezed your eyes tight. Let the world fall away as you imagined that dial again. The dizzying heat around you fading to a buzzing pressure.

The needle bouncing in and out of the red with every attack.

If you could turn it to zero, totally cutting off the power of his devil fruit, then what would happen if you pushed it the other way?

 The image of a volcano came to mind. Violently exploding as plumes of gas and smoke ejected into the atmosphere.

Akainu was already capable of such things.

Just like that magician could already create bushes from a single flower.

Ace needed to get distance. Marco needed a distraction. It wasn’t going to be fun. It certainly wasn’t going to be very safe. But it would double perfectly as both an escape for your friends and an alibi for assisting them.

A sudden, explosive volcanic eruption seemed like exactly what you needed.

You wrapped your less injured arm around Akainu, placing your bloody hand on his back as he made a soft noise of surprise. You looked up at Marco, your eyes connecting as he seemed to suddenly start to dive down instinctively.

You mouthed one word.

Run.

“Dial up: Overclock!” You pushed against the connection between your fruits, the air sucked out from your lungs.

For a moment, nothing seemed to happen. Akainu was frozen, staring down at you with an expression bordering on awe. Heat rising between you as suddenly, the ground buckled.

Falling and then heaving up.

Ace screamed your name in horror.

Marco crying out with a sound more avian than man.

You didn’t realize the volcano would be underneath you.

Magma rushed up like a geyser, slamming Akainu and yourself into the air as though Whitebeard himself punched up beneath your feet. It happened so fast you don’t even recall the moment after.

Just thick, black smoke rushing around you until you cleared the top of the billowing cloud, almost floating for a moment. Skin scalded and cracked, bleeding from any number of burns you didn’t even have time to feel.

Akainu no longer in sight.

Then the ground rushed towards you, yanking your innards first as you screamed. Barely having time to hope you didn’t hit land before you realized you’d been ejected at an angle, skin seared and the air cutting past you as the sea rose to meet you instead.

The you hit the water as though it was made of bricks, knocking out the air from your entire body as you gasped, sinking beneath the waves motionlessly. Salt burned your wounds and eyes and lungs. Limbs frozen for any number of reasons—take your pick really—as you sank beneath the waves.

With no idea if your plan worked, you could only watch as darkness consumed you. Your heart burning as you choked on seawater.

This wasn’t how you wanted to be free.

[whoishotteranimepolls]

hello, finn here, resident one piece "insane tag" writer.... im doing my duty to defend mr. smoker. smo-yan, if you will.

what are my credentials in commenting on this matter? Well. Glad you asked. I've been a onep fan for admittedly not that long, but in that time (like... 8-9 months?) i've messaged one of my close friends. hm. discord receipts.

681 times about him. also you know that one post? yeah from "smoker. smo-yan." to "i fucking love him good god" that's all me. glad we've established my expertise here

2. look at him. first of all, im raising my eyebrow at you anon because woahhhh looking 60 is fine for me. just perfect, actually. they grey/white hair is fucking wonderful to me personally considering i also love rayleigh and beckman.... also just like. every other part of him. he has huge boobs that he refuses to cover because he's allergic to shirts for some reason. he has leather gloves (would suck on any day). when also jacketless, he wears his jitte with a thick strap over his chest that is So droolworthy. he has a Fat Ass. search up stampede smoker because that's like his peak look. his face scar is endlessly sexy. the slicked back hair (more recently) and the more messy spiky look from earlier in the series both serve in contributing to his bad boy persona, which leads me to my second point: the dichotomy of personality.

3a. part a - the bad boy delinquent persona. if you only take him for his surface level actions and words, he seems a little bit mean. like every gruff, rough-around-the-edges mad dog delinquent type. just look at him as a marine cadet, head shaved and frowning. look at the illustration oda did of him as a kid, holding a nail-imbedded bat. he's loud and brash and commands a whole marine squad, he's big and always has a frown on his face and he's arguing and cursing and you just expect him to be unkind. but. But.

3b. But he's not. he's not unkind at all. He's not nice, maybe, but he's so kind. when tashigi has her crisis about justice vs the marines vs "doing the right thing" are often, actually, at odds with each other, smoker supports her in his own gruff way. tells her he'll be there to support her. and. the scene of all time;

4. la pièce de résistance - his character introduction. oda does character introduction SO well in general (see: mihawk, zoro, galley-la shipwrights, countless others) but the smoker intro is my top intro of all time, it's SO good. to recount to those who don't know, we basically see this big scary gruff guy - shirtless, obviously strong, all spiky hair and big stompy boots - and a kid bumps into him and spills their ice cream all over him. He obviously has a reputation as a powerful guy, because the villiagers around all beg him for forgiveness, ask him not to hurt the kid - and yknow what he does? He says to the kid "looks like my pants ate your ice cream," drops a few coin into their hand, and tells them to buy more scoops next time. that's the most attractive thing i've ever seen. he does masculinity like NO other. gods.

5. strong moral compass - doesn't often agree with general marine guidelines. he's pretty shit at being a marine, honestly. tells the brass to go fuck themselves often. follows his own sense of justice, and even though he hates pirates.... temporarily allying himself with them is not off the table, not if it means more justice (in his eyes). he doesn't like innocent people being killed. in stampede, even as everyone attempts to leave the island in light for abuster call, he stays because there must be something he can do. hina sighs and calls him stupid for it, but takes tashigi koby and helmeppo away anyways, showing that this has happened before, likely multiple times.

6. can he stub those cigars out on me. please. please. plea- [comically large piano falls on me, cutting off my speech]

For context, they are responding to this post about Smoker

It's always the last paragraph that pushes it into horny jail territory every time

And he does have one of the best intros. I hope they keep it in the live action

[kastlenetwork]

Hi! So I'm pretty new to the kastle fandom and wanted to know if there are any like- classic fics or interviews or memorable moments in panels and cons (with the actors) that I should know about? I know about the interviews that are on the kastle wikifandom page but only because I've read them.

helloooo! welcome to the family! it's been quite quiet lately, but frank and karen are always in our hearts lolol and every now and then there's a little resurgence, so that's nice. umm first up interviews. there's a lot of little quotes here and there that were a big deal. we didn't get many interviews of the two of them together, if i remember correctly. i think two comic cons were pretty exciting.

here are some interviews from comic con 2017 yup

this is a cute clip from last year, where deborah talked about how jon's intense but really uplifted her. and that they want to work together again.

(i'm looking at kastle's wikifandom and, really, the big interview quotes all seem to be there.)

“ … just in terms of whether this is Jon’s story to tell or my story to tell, you just want to kind of be respectful of everybody’s contributions. Jon and I have certainly felt that there is room for a romantic story in there. And there were certainly scenes where we took it farther in some takes than we did in other takes. We’ll have to sort of wait and see what the editors chose, and how far they decided to push it. But we as actors allowed for that possibility.” -deb cinemablend

deborah and jon were both supporters, but deborah was always including frank into karen's romantic potentials:

“But all of the romance I’ve gotten to play, with any of the characters in the series, whether that’s Frank or Matt, they all come from a need. From a lonely person, a person who doubts whether she is deserving of love.” -deb collider

**

“I like that Karen can say, ‘How far down this road of violence of revenge do you go before you’re ripped apart?’ and he can look at her and go, ‘I’m already ripped apart. And you are, too.‘” -deb 92.1 bobfm

**

“When professor [Jeph] Loeb [Marvel TV head] told me we were gonna do a series on The Punisher,” Bernthal continued, “first thing i asked him is would I have the pleasure and the honor to work again with one of the most honest, the most kind, and the most talented actors I’ve ever had the privilege to work with.” --jon ew

oh! karen page being announced for the punisher. very cute.

"i just want to say, you guys don't love him as much as i do" was very exciting when it happened lmaoooo. the hope for kastle was high.

*****

i'll be honest up front and say, i tend to forget a lot of stuff? so, basically, i can read a fic and then read it again months later and it's like a brand new experience. which is both a blessing and a curse. so, i basically just zoomed through my bookmarks to try and find some things?? 😩😩

(i'm scanning my bookmarks and.............a lot of them are basically just smutfdjklgsdfjglkdfjglkdfjg)

ballads for a dead man ❤❤ [three parts, unfinished] Safe up in the mountains with Frank following a bloody showdown in Hell's Kitchen, Karen wonders just how much more complicated things between them can get. She's about to find out.

these heavy words, your open heart 😘😘 (this was a kastlechristmas gift to me from @carry-the-sky 😊❤) “You told me once that I was honest. That I don’t lie to you. But the hospital—you asked me to start over, and I said I didn’t want that.” Karen sucks in a breath. Frank’s eyes are still on her, wide and bright. It’s the most vulnerable she’s ever seen him look. “I lied,” he says.

The Reporter  [kinda iconic ❤👀] Force Recon missions keep Marines isolated, entrenched for long periods in covert locations. They rarely received visitors, and in Frank’s long experience, the visitors were almost never civilians, let alone gorgeous blondes with mile long legs and sky blue eyes. Frank was trying not to stare. They all were. Well, everyone except Bill, who’s face had just split into a shit-eating grin.

The Flower Cam [oh god, the flower cam! i just remembered!! ❤] It had been a long time since there had actually been any flowers in the window. She must have trashed the white roses after his latest bullshit at the hospital with Madani and the kid. Good. Good for her. She should forget about him. But still… Frank couldn’t help but check every once in a while.

actually just, everything in their ao3. i have all this bookmarked.

(..................god, my bookmarks are really all smut. this says a lot about me.)

Castle’s Auto Shop ❤❤ yes. yep. Karen Page is in need of a car mechanic. Castle’s Auto Body Shop seems a reasonable choice. There’s just one problem: This little auto shop has become a well-known spot where less than honorable people to go get their car fixed…only to have justice find them at the next stop light. Having her brother’s truck fixed there means Karen will have to own up to a few secrets in her past.

Blood and Bone ❤❤❤! this is the fic that has seared itself into my brain. i've never once forgotten this. iconic. Frank Castle is a boxer at the top of his game. Laconic and anti-social, he has a reputation for being an incredibly-tough interview. Karen Page is a sports reporter trying to prove herself in a male-dominated field. She's done playing games--trying to be the "Cool Girl" who caters to the male fantasy--and now she's on a mission to take no shit. "For a while, the fact that an interview with Castle lasting longer than 5 minutes even existed was big news. Splashed all over the message boards—circulated among boxing and Castle fans alike. The very concept that someone actually got the man to sit down for more than a breath of time and give multiple-sentence answers to a question—it was huge. Massive. It was the only thing Castle fans could talk about. Until three months later, when Frank Castle disappeared. Then that was the news. It was the only news."

this is hard lmaoo how ludicrious. i have about seven collections from some of our events, as well. there's loads of good stuff in there:

kastlesmutweek 2018

kastlesmutweek 2019

kastlechristmas 2018

kastlechristmas 2019

kastlechristmas 2020

kastlechristmas 2021

kastlechristmas parent collection